The Wait

I’ve done the research, done the design,
I’ve bought the wood and screws;
I’ve carefully built this rig of mine,
I have paid my dues.

It’s all starting to align,
every wire and fuse;
I’ve got power from the sunshine,
none of this is news.

I yearn to be among the Pines,
to get out there and cruise;
to live the life we know Divine,
throughout the land suffuse.

But there’s this house I must assign
to whoever will excuse
its problems more or less benign
which somebody must choose. Continue reading “The Wait”

You Can Never Go Home

For twenty years I lived at home
it was quite sensory;
Grew up, moved out, and went to roam
but missed the memory.

One day my Dad died / and of course I cried
and then I decided to buy it;
Nostalgia had lied / me it did misguide
but of course I had to try it.

I found it quite strange / to see all the change
from my long lost childhood
I could not arrange / I could not exchange
what was left just wasn’t good.

Despite my new claim / ‘twas only in name
a house is not a genome;
It just wasn’t the same / and with no one to blame
I learned: You can never go home.

Ode to my Dad

A life spent in a sticks-and-bricks,
although he loved to camp;

My father died at sixty-six,
much younger than my gramp.


I’d visit once or thrice a year,
one has to do one’s part;

I should have gone more often,
too much time spent apart.


He had so much to teach me,
I so often ignored;

Around the age of thirty-three,
I finally was floored.


Turns out he had the wisdom
we kids so often miss;

He demonstrated vision
of people, nature, bliss.


My father was a hero,
in war, in peace, and home;

More important than dinero,
get out there and  roam.


If one thing you take from this
assuming you can bother,

Go outside and find your bliss,
and listen to your father.