Oh darling take my hand.
Together we will stand
While we hold each other near.
My love I’ll never run,
From here on we are one.
Oh my dear, we’ve naught to fear
For as our love has grown
My heart is yours alone.
Evermore I’ll be right here.
Smell the coffee – wake up!
Throw off the covers and get to your feet,
Head to the kitchen so you can eat.
For food, you must wake up!
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
Unless you wake up,
You’re going to be late.
You know you’ll be fired – a terrible fate.
You have to work, wake up!
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
Get the leash, once you wake up.
It’s awfully late, just look at the clock.
It’s time for the dog to go for a walk.
Even the pets say, wake up!
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
It’s way too quiet, wake up!
You cannot sleep in.
Keep laying there, I’ll tickle your chin.
I’ll make you laugh. Wake up!
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
What is that smell? Wake up!
Out of bed you sleepyhead
It’s time for you to shower, instead.
Go wash yourself – wake up!
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
It’s time to wake up,
You slept in too long
And must start your day strong.
Now you have to wake up!
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
While the carousel plays
I plant my feet on wooden planks
And stare out blankly from the pier.
Technically it can’t be true.
Inhabiting the confines of my pocket
Is a solitary Lincoln red cent.
So I’m not broke – there’s hope.
I’m not penniless – I have one.
All is not lost – I’m mostly sane.
Where did it all go, and so quickly?
Perhaps a portal in my wallet spawned,
Whisking greenbacks to join the lost socks.
Holding my chin up and head high
At times like this is not so easy.
And that’s where my luck finally turns.
Old George’s face greets me from below.
I pick him up and smile,
And then I turn around for more.
I
Instant relief when itches flare,
Those chewed down nails at the ends of your hands
Still scratch everywhere they’re needed.
II
With aeons of practice those hands learn,
Strumming the air guitar and tapping into the wind,
Turning one into a rock star, if only in your dreams.
III
In slower times there’s nothing to do
But restlessness leads to trouble which is why
Idle hands are the Devil’s plaything.
IV
Some hands become acquainted with blisters
Which are hopefully accompanied by a thing called work.
It’s the manual kind that usually involves a shovel.
V
Work evolves and leaves time for love.
That love steals your heart,
Followed closely by hands volunteering gentle caresses.
VI
In time, your hand may be captured and bound
With one finger wrapped in precious metal,
A spiritual chain with that one link called a wedding ring.
VII
From the very beginning those hands knew how to eat
And with proper care and attention
They sometimes learn to cook a thing or two.
VIII
When not holding a frying pan, the broom will do
As it seems that the house never tires of being cleaned
Or keeping hands busy with dusting or scrubbing.
IX
Escaping the house chores could put you in the car
Excitement flows with both hands on the steering wheel.
But driving takes on new meaning with precious cargo.
X
Your love may one day place a newborn child in your hands,
Completely dependent on your care
With fresh skin, pink in comparison to yours.
XI
Looking down. They changed overnight.
Your hands are worn with callused memories
And wisdom in the form of wrinkles.
XII
Aches come when the weather changes
And perhaps your hands move a little slower
But they still get you through your day.
XIII
Most important of all, those hands still love,
They still hold hands with your lover,
And they still guide your children no matter their age.
The Sun goes down
They go to work
And flourish in the dark.
Natural born killers
Thirsting for their prey.
They stalk me in my sleep.
I’m not so paranoid –
I’m frequently attacked,
Though often at my feet.
Silent creeping, invisibility.
Instinct kicks in
And then they pounce.
The pain is sharp,
“This is insane!”
I shriek while waking up.
But wounds will heal
From razor claws.
At least they do for me.
And then I realize
This was practice
‘Til nature truly calls.
Another night
They’ll find their quarry.
A mouse, naturally.
Two tons of iron
With a V8 heart.
She liked to break,
I’d pray she’d start.
I kept her running –
Could not lose her.
My yellow monster,
That ghetto cruiser.
Sometimes to work
Or to the store.
When she ran,
You felt the roar.
My way to school,
In snow and rain.
But in the wallet,
I felt the pain.
The wheels wore out
I lost my ride.
That was the day,
My first love died.
I remember.
Especially the cupcakes.
But ever present,
Dad was there.
The first pitch
In baseball season
The bullhorn
Of driving instructors.
At the game,
A voice above all others.
To the community:
Coach and manager.
Though at home
he needed everyone.
Without fail,
I was the store runner,
For cupcakes
And chocolate milk.
My brother –
slave to yard chores
Mother manned the kitchen.
Dad took naps
and watched TV,
Or so it seemed.
The family thrived
While in his own way
Dad nurtured
And bonded with us,
Over chocolate milk
And cupcakes.
I remember.
Take two best friends
Add humor, generosity
and unselfishness love.
Apply tender kindness
Then blend gently,
Avoid simmering,
Cover while kneading and
Generously add spice.
Season to taste.
Yields a lifetime of pleasure
Into bowls overflowing with happiness.
Serve daily over meals,
breaks and quiet times.
Under blankets,
Hide below.
Trembling.
We do not know
Where
Creepy sounds originate,
Grandfather clock
Shows hours, late.
Cats come alive
In dark at night
Pursuing things
That give us fright.
Things unseen,
Are surely there.
Unknown things
Striking fear.
We wonder if
They’re far or near.
No means to know
With creeping veiled
By dark at night.
Outside the cover
It can be found,
Seen only by the cats.
I’ll be the gunner beside you
walking in the night.
It’s a thing, so beautiful from the start.
Taught to walk with sincerity. But a great terror.
To you, a beautiful terror to do your will.
Like my brothers, the dutiful men.
Like my brothers, a beautiful gunner.
Faithful to fulfill our alliance, fully.
You have me as a brother.
As partner in this life.
And where you go, perhaps I’ll die, but you’ll live your story. I’ll try to follow.
This lion of truth, to the end will be at your hand.
It’s me, traveling alongside. Your gunner.
Gene's Musings 