Futurelawyer

#PoetryFriday - Mirror Image.

The image in the mirror taunted him,
judged him,
focused on him.
He turned away.
Sideways, he saw a bulging stomach,
where once
a maiden’s gaze looked longingly.

His tired face
sagged in all the wrong places,
and the once straight shoulders
bent from years of striving.

He turned to face the image,
looked deep into the eyes.
They were supposed to be a window,
through which he could see a spirit;
but, he knew that,
by definition,
it would be unseen.

Would the years betray him?
Would the early morning staggering
to the mirror,
slow his steady pace
to knowing himself?

By the time he knew,
would it be too late for his body
to answer the call?

All Of Us Want Beautiful.

There are many beautiful men and women in the world. The physical attributes that a particular society in a given cultural age  consider beautiful may change; but, outward beauty  can hide an ugly soul. Like many men, I learned this lesson the hard way, and didn't really understand it until quite recently. I wrote this for my current love, Diane, and it was intended for her eyes only. But, she asked that I post it, and put it in the next book, so here it is. It considers love from the perspective of a heterosexual perspective; but, I think the observations apply in all sorts of alternative human relationships. Never judge someone by how they look. Judge them by their actions. 

Before her,

he seemed only to meet 

people who wanted something from him.

Before her,

he met many who looked beautiful,

but had hidden agendas,

none of which involved his happiness.

Some of them wanted wealth.

Some of them wanted his soul.

Some of them wanted to be obeyed.

Some of them wanted independence.

Few of them were truly beautiful,

even though they had the faces of angels.

When he met her,

it wasn’t her physical beauty that he saw.

She didn’t spend hours

before a mirror,

painting her face.

She said she just wanted to be with him.

She was his muse.

She sparkled when she spoke.

She smiled whenever she looked at him.

She was kind to him.

She woke up every day,

resolved to make his life better.

He responded in kind.

She was loyal,

and never missed a chance to be with him.

When he suggested  

a new experience,

she grabbed his hand,

and was ready to go.

From the first moment,

she was indispensable to him.

 

They knew that their lives

had to end someday.

But, they also knew

that today was not the day.

He had spent his life

searching for meaning,

and love,

and all the other things men want.

When she held his hand,

and looked at him,

and walked with him,

he knew that he could stop searching.

She was beautiful

to her core,

and he didn’t have to see her face

to know it.

He only had to look into her eyes.

 

#PoetryFriday - BullFighter

BullFighter.

He waved a red flag,
but she kept on coming.
Her intentions were known.
His defenses were down.
He was dead meat on the hoof.

As he lay dying on the ground,
he looked up into sparkling eyes,
deep as an ocean,
and wondered where his heart might be.

His lips sank into her melting mouth,
lost in a moment’s passion.
He wanted to spend the rest of his life
learning the curves of her slender form,
like blind people read.

He wanted to lose himself
in the completeness
of her smile.

He thanked God
for reminding him
that love mattered again.

Book Fair.

The men and women walked the aisles

of the book fair.

Their gaze fell upon

ornate leather bindings,

and they moved into the booths

like panthers on the prowl.

They peered through narrow eyes,

squinting as in a bright sun.

Their fingers lovingly moved

over the books,

with a reverence

reserved for their god.

They opened the books,

looking for marks of the first born,

judging their condition

like beauty pageant contestants.

Money was no object,

and rarity was a good thing.

In this contest,

antiquity was the winner,

and some collectors

cared more about depriving others

of a find,

and wanted to keep the books safe

from the destroyers of knowledge.

After their purchases,

they went home to their other books,

put the new ones

in the bookcase,

and never touched them again.

 

 

#PoetryFriday - Lazy Sun.

It is almost summer in Florida, and young (and old) men's minds turn to you know what. 

As I float in the pool,
I shield my eyes from the afternoon sun.
It is bright,
and heats my skin
to tanning temperature.
I think about you.
As the water
laps at my toes,
cooling them
briefly,
before retreating behind a cloud,
I think about you.
As I lazily contemplate
my inward looking navel,
and try to clear my mind of all distractions,
I think about you.
I wonder whether
I will ever again,
think about anything else.

#Mother'sDay - When Will You Say What Needs To Be Said?

He wanted to remember her on Mother’s Day.
She gave him life,
and he didn’t say thank you enough.
He knew many mothers
in his lifetime.
He never said thank you enough.
Every son
and every daughter
owes their very life
to a mother.
Mothering is a human gift
that creates humans
and keeps death at bay
until the inevitable happens.
He gave her roses
on the day.
She only wanted his love.
He gave her attention
that she deserved,
and all she wanted
was his love.
Was his love
the prescription?
He loved her,
and accused himself
of marrying her image,
until she died,
and the image faded.
What face will we put on our mothers?
What day will we love them?
When will we say thank you?
When will we finally say
what should have been said,
while they lived?

#PoetryFriday - Just Another Day.

I wrote this several years ago, and thought of it this morning. I needed to remember that every day is a gift. We say that all the time, don't we? As we age, and the aches and pains sometimes become overwhelming, it is so easy to fall into a "woe is me" funk, and to forget our blessings. The mundane is actually the real gift. Our first world problems are a gift. I think that I spend a lot of time reminding myself of that because it is so difficult to remember. 

He awoke from the weekend slumber,

and thought about the problems

coming in the week.

He moved slowly to the coffee machine,

and ingested enough caffeine to open his eyes.

He worried a bit,

and then worried some more,

and showered,

and dressed,

and moved to the car outside.

He tried to remember

how easily he got started

in the morning,

when he was 25.

It was hot,

and he thought about the coming electric bill.

It was humid,

and his shirt stuck to his body.

It was early,

and he had much work to do.

Then, he realized

that the car felt good,

as he pressed the accelerator.

The air conditioning felt amazing,

as it blew cool air through the heat.

The steering wheel was firm,

and fit perfectly

in his hand.

A summer rain drizzled,

and the windshield wipers

made a rhythmic sound,

as they moved back and forth on the glass.

His favorite music resonated in his ears.

The blue sky and sunshine

was a beautiful sight.

His joint pain,

and back pain,

reminded him

that he was alive.

His breathing reminded him

that the future was irrelevant.

He was suddenly glad that he was breathing,

and feeling,

and touching,

and smelling,

and seeing,

the wonders of his world.

#PoetryFriday - A Shallow Man.

He was a shallow man.
He checked the mirror as he passed by,
and marveled at his chiseled features.
He knew that his slim body
still had attractive qualities.
He valued the jewels he wore,
and the car he drove,
and the woman on his arm,
as ornamental accessories
to his superior image.
He didn’t like to read books.
They took too much time
away from his fun.
He liked to drive fast,
and spend the money
that his fame brought to him.
In the city,
with its bright lights
and loud noise,
everything revolved around him,
and he loved
being the center of attention.
He didn’t believe in consequences,
and used his fame
and his money
and his looks
to avoid them,
at all costs.
When others challenged him,
he hired middlemen and sycophants
to block their path.

He was a shallow man.

At night,
he was never alone.
He preferred the company of many similar people;
but, never anyone who could outshine him.
He believed himself
to be bulletproof,
and immortal,
and never considered any other alternative,
to success.

When he died,
his body was placed
in a shallow grave,
and the service was attended
by shallow people
who pretended to grieve.

#PoetryFriday - The Watcher.

I watched you smile the first time.

I watched you move in and out of the car.

I listened as you spoke kind words,

and I watched what you did when I looked at you.

I heard you speak the words of love,

even though I wasn’t listening.

I pretended that you weren’t real,

because I couldn’t believe that you were.

I acted impulsively when I was near you,

but not as quickly as I wanted.

I learned to watch and listen,

even when you thought I was being ridiculous.

I watched as you moved gracefully through life,

while I struggled to cope.

I was jealous of the attention you gave,

to everything and everyone else.

I was selfish and you were generous.

I never believed that you would leave me.

When you did,

I watched with anguish

and didn’t understand.

I watched you die,

and was amazed at your calm.

I cried when I kissed you the last time.

I wished I had done it more often.

I would like to believe that you are now watching me,

as I live a life that will certainly end someday.

I have found happiness again.

I don’t know whether your consciousness

lives in another realm.

If it does, I hope that you approve,

even though we can never know

what lays on the other side of midnight.

When I wake up in the early morning light,

I watch as the sun comes up.

I watch my lover sleeping.

She watches me back,

and I watch over her.

We have both watched other lovers speaking,

and moving,

and loving,

and dying.

 

We have days ahead

to watch and learn and love again.

#PoetryFriday - Other People.

He bought a house in the right neighborhood.
He married the girl his parents suggested.
He bought an appropriate car,
and sent his kids to the right school.
He went to the Church
that everyone else did.
He got the job that everyone expected.
He worked hard,
in order to impress the bosses.
He hoped that his hard work
would earn more money.
He sought increased responsibility.
He had only two children,
because more children would cause gossip
He kept his political views to himself;
but, he joined the right party,
and said the right things to his neighbors.
He was always worried
that he would appear normal
to his friends and neighbors.
He spent a lot of time
saying and doing things
that others thought virtuous.
He was a pious man,
when others were looking.
He never complained out loud,
and never showed emotion
or desperation.

When he died,
everyone commented
on the exemplary life
he had lived.