Pausing

Life’s autumn fell and kept on falling
to the point of no return,
so I, a child of fifty pausing,
turned to watch my candle burn.

My youth, and those forbidden lovers,
wasted lies, ungallant nights.
The truth is in my rear-view mirror;
errors, balks and false delights.

My pride, our children and their children
found the end of mother’s rope.
My life and love went off in search of
something more, another hope.

There, on the edge of self destruction,
second chances found the first,
and she, a child of fifty pausing
loved me though I’d feared the worst.

So we, aware of sixty calling,
doubled down on all our bets,
and, burning both ends of our candle,
moved ahead with no regrets.

Reflections (for Marty)

Having spent Christmas with my "rock hound/UFOlogist" brother in law and his family...

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In darkened desert peaks
imagination seeks
to find the ancient faces in the stone…

and “want to see it eyes”
search water-mirrored skies,
in wonder, for reflections never shown.

An object in the lake,
in helpless double take,
escapes from unidentified to known...

the visitors from space,
in alabaster lace,
are beams the moon has spilled for you alone.

The Captain

The Captain lifted anchor, daring thunder
and loosed his steam on stationary shaft.
He planned a voyage south-a-ways, down under
in his expensive yacht of shallow draft.

At dinner time he hailed the chef “Luigi”,
“it’s time to drop the pasta in the pot.
I need to build my strength. I hear, in Fiji,
that girth and manly size count for a lot.”

The crew was lazy, leaving work till later—
their sleeping skills and loafing to refine.
Thus, when the yacht approached near the equator,
there was no swabby set to gaff the line.

The equator upon the bow was captured
and through the miles and lonely night was stretched
till, suddenly, as if he’d been enraptured,
the Captain, to the Bering strait, was fetched.

Arising to the call to eggs and bacon
the Captain halted fork enroute to mouth
his eyes beheld the view and he was shaken
for he had traveled north by steaming south.

© copyright 2005 w.d.neighbors

Drink of Life

My planned spontaneity doesn’t surprise;
my rose colored glasses don’t cover my eyes
but all of that matters so little. It’s true
because of the fortunate presence of you.

We’ve matching insanities, perfectly synched
we stare and we stare then together we blink
Compatible vices, no reasons to hide
with hearts on our sleeves we will stumble in stride.

When life gives me lemons, I know what to make,
I’ve gallons and gallons, I’m filling a lake.
And wasn’t it fortunate, nearly a sin
that I should meet one to whom life would give Gin.

In a hand basket

The bike is coasting down the lane
the wheels go round and round,
why am I in this basket and
where is it that I’m bound?

I take my chance, a leap of faith,
then quickly to the farm
to jump into her arms, again.
I’m safe from further harm.

Then off to walk the yellow road,
adventures are in store.
I think it’s safe to say we aren’t
in Kansas anymore.



This was inspired by a bumper sticker I saw.... it read, "Why am I in this hand basket, and where am I going?"

and it just wouldn't go away until I wrote it.

"If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow,
Why oh why can't I?"