(I found all these old poems. Here's another that's worth pondering about how you live you life.)
"There is this about magic doors:
You pass through them unawares."
The Future is out there, obscured from sight
by the mist that flows up from the sea at dawn,
impenetrable--a fog wall closing in, narrowing
the moment down to its nub, its essence, a particle of time.
Straining to see doesn't help. Squinting is useless.
Standing on tip-toe in the ccold damp grass, vaining
trying to peer above the close, cliinging clouds,
the future undoes your hope,
unties your pleasures and aches alike,
stripping away this moment, this 'now'.
"The present", someone told me once, "is just what
you miss while you await the future". Something
like that is what they said. But I missed it then,
wondering what they would say next,
not wanting to miss that....
On this side of the future, fog is all we have
or can have, A road beneath two trees,
sweet wet grass for walking barefoot and maybe
some magic door we entered already.
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- Alas and alack...
- OK, here's the Truth
- A poem I've never shared
- A poem not many read from 2015
- Cheshire is loud
- memories are made of this
- didn't write it down
- holy saturday
- Good Friday
- Maundy Thursday
- April 17, 1947
- I went for the first time in years
- I forgot
- Palm Sunday sermon
- coins in the mail
- Another poem
- The Future
- Reality Check
- something from before not many read
- R.I.P. The Rev. Dr. Bill Pregnell
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