Monday, April 16, 2018

approaching conclusion

In not so many years from now or sooner
My end of days will bring a final compilation
To whatever last word I have written and shared
Completing the collection of images I have gathered.

A few people tell me sometimes they like what I write
Putting words together about my thoughts and feelings
Giving me affirmation for what comes together slowly
Being easier for me to write carefully than to think out loud.

A few people tell me sometimes they like my photographs
Finding pleasure in the beauty of wildlife in a nature scene
Looking at images that frame my view of a picture of a place
Seeing what I see captured as a still precious moment.

These are the people who matter most to me
The only critics whose reviews are personal knowing me
As an imperfect person who means well hopefully forgiven
When my attention drifts if I am lost in thought.

Perhaps in the years ahead someone will look over
The accumulation of words and images I have produced
Thinking their thoughts about whatever matters to them
Knowing it no longer matters to me what they think.

More likely these words will disappear along with the images
Blending into the background of the collective commons
But permanence is not the point of doing what I do
What matters is how the act of creating infuses being alive.

We have a wooden toy truck we keep on display
Made by my partner's father who made the oak furniture now ours
Beautifully worked wood expressing his joy in the craft
Something for us to cherish the memory of him.

Those toys he made to give away at a children’s shelter
Wishing a truck could bring happiness to a child
Remain with us as a symbol of his kind and caring self
While I will leave nothing of substance like that good deed.

Perhaps a poem can serve as well by saying something kindly
Some words to give comfort when our lives are most difficult
Providing solace like an embrace to know you are loved
Meaning with feeling to console a person in distress.

If perchance you are reading this long after I am gone
Your world has changed in ways unknown to me
As has the world I have known been largely lost to you
But possibly something resonates with you.

That would make a bridge across our temporal life spans
Into your different context constructing a different meaning
Larger than my limited understanding of human existence
So circumscribed by the circumstances of my time here.

Saturday, April 14, 2018

Branch Brook April 14, 2018

album

Friday, April 13, 2018

Barbour Pond April 13, 2018

album

Thursday, April 12, 2018

wishful thinking

The woman talking with us after exercise class
Repeats the lament that it’s not easy getting old
Surprising me with her comeback to my cliché
When I replied that it’s better than the alternative.

Not always, she said, the alternative may be welcome
When you know where you’re going
Implying she thinks she’s going to heaven
Perhaps looking to me to echo her back.

Well, I know where I’m going for sure
We’ll all reassemble in a place called oblivion
Except we won’t exist anymore as individuals
Just the stuff we all are made of getting recycled.

This is the no nonsense future she would deny
As if repeating a prayer will make it not so
Paying her tithe to hear the promise of an afterlife
Her reward for compliance with what she is told.

I forget how the feudal superstitions still hold sway for some
Since I never join in their ritual gatherings to worship
Reciting the anachronistic language of lords
Intoning belief in their deity and obeisance to a book.

And who am I to judge what’s the harm in it you may ask
How does this figurative opiate compare to the real thing
When the self-righteous justify unholy wars against the infidels
Who do not adhere to their version of ignorant dogma.

And yet I say nothing to her, keeping my distance
Having no desire to try to persuade her otherwise
Knowing the way that humans are susceptible to credulity
Keeping the faith against all evidence of false tenets.

I take comfort in the surveys reporting declining attendance
Though the withdrawal is passive and seldom political
And the religious right holds far too much power
Still I wish all churches would just wither away.