The Climber

—-
Looking up at the mountain
always a challenge
wind swept slopes
holding ice and snow
nice to climb above the clouds
maybe no man has gone this way

Beautiful
the cliffs, crevices, dark places
I made the ascent alone
yet I felt the presence of another
turning only the wind on my face
strange the presence persisted

The moisture lay heavy on my brow
how good those droplets felt
climbing to meet the rain

Standing by the precipice
how many climbers fell
my eyes searched the darkness below
I must cross, many have failed
others turned back
climbers indeed

Smiling contemptuously
as my line glided across
held fast by the rocks beyond
my line tested true
my journey began
I am a climber

I felt the line fail
gravity drew me to the ledge below
the line beyond my reach
began to swing too and fro
yes, yes I had it in my grasp
my muscles twisting pulled me upward
to the one who gave back my life

There was no one
only the presence
I was not alone

The Hour Glass

Finding myself in the hour glass
a three sided prism
at the top a mirror
below a small opening
the upper enclosure smaller
looking into the mirror
my life was transformed into grains of sand
each grain representing my wealth,
companies, homes, cars, a wife and children
I smiled I had it all
so I gave it away
thanking god, I gave it away
giving, giving, giving, to make room for more
to the hungry, homeless, I gave it away
the more I gave the more I received
noticing that with each gift a grain of sand
slipped through the narrow passage
then my life began to change
my wealth shrank
I continued to give
Thanking God
Despair, replacing the wealth
Gloom and tragedy a daily event
Now all of the small grains of sand
had passed through the small opening
still there was a rainbow, a cloud,
or the fresh fallen snow
new gifts to thank the creator for
my health began to fail
as I lay on my bed of death
inhaling my final breath
as I exhaled I said,
My God, this breath is all I have to give
My soul departed my body
and like the grains of sand
slipped quietly through the small opening
the hour glass began to rotate
a stop was placed in the opening
all of my gifts lay sparsely
at the bottom of the glass I was filled with love, joy, understanding
a beautiful voice to speak
MY SON NOW YOU HAVE IT ALL

I dedicate this poem to my wife, and children that they may always understand what my life was and is about, the principal of giving is the only real jewel that this life offers us.

The Other Children’s Hour

—-

Between the dark and the daylight,

when the night is beginning to lower,

comes a pause in the day’s occupations

that is known as the children’s hour.

I hear in the chamber above me

the patter of little feet;

the sound of a door that is opened.

and voices soft and sweet ….

The Children’s Hour

H.W. Longfellow

The door crashes in men with masks

push against one another to gain entry

“down on your belly you son of a bitch

or we’ll blow your fuckin’ head off!”

the children with sleeping faces stand

shocked at the end of the hall

the little boy screams

No, please don’t kill our daddy