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This poem was written back in October of 2005 when, while sleeping, an intruder entered our house and made off with our computer, cell phone and a wallet, leaving behind a flapping screen door and a strong sense of insecurity, which eventually wore off after many nights with empty wine bottles inside both doorways so we would hear any eventual clatter. More recently, close friends experienced a similar but more threatening intruder. Memories of OUR night came rushing back…

Seventh Sense


As night falls,

Children of the world

Go reluctantly to their beds.

Shadows and darkness

Cause them to lie awake,

Fretful of the unknown,

As daylight dims.

Last night…while I lay sleeping,

Once again I became a child,

Someone, albeit unknown,

Crept through my window,

Stealing my security,

My seventh sense,

Six decades in the making.

Little did they realize,

Or likely care,

They took my possessions…mere stuff.

I was unharmed physically,

For which I am grateful to Spirit..

They did not see what else they stole,

Nor can appraise its value,


My sense of security.

And now I lie awake,

Fretful of the unknown,

As daylight dims…

But I know that –

Spirit is with me…


Not sure which lake I was sitting on the shore of…may have been my friend Al’s in Orlando???


Sitting alone on the shoreline

Of a crystal, clear lake,

I gaze into the still waters

And catch a fleeting glimpse

Of an older man with white hair…

Can this really be me?

Six and a half decades have passed

Since I entered this life.

How the reflections have changed

Over the years,

As the boy in the bathroom mirror

Evolved into manhood!

The transformation seems incredulous

From boy to man.

The journey to this lake, at this moment,

Has not been without challenges,

Sacrifices, compromises,

Laughter, tears.

Each of those has undoubtedly contributed

To the graying, white hair,

The lines on the face, around the eyes,

The somber facial expression.

Is that a twinkle I see in the eyes still?

Or merely a reflection of the sun on the waters?

Not exactly sure when this was written, nor under what circumstances. My best guess is that it was inspired by sitting along the coastline one evening as the Gulf waves were rolling in and crashing against the many fishing boats which dot our shoreline at the end of the road…I am sure you can appreciate the analogies to life which I was trying to capture!

Oceanography 101


It is not lost upon me,

That the human mind

Is not unlike an ocean –

Thoughts ripple just beneath the surface

In our subconscious,

Gathering momentum,

Until they crash

Upon the rocks of our reality.


Man is powerless

To control the destructive forces

Of the Earth’s ocean waves,

But he can control, if he so chooses,

The tsunamis of his own mind,

By harnessing

The misspent energy of worry,

Turning it into a constructive force,

For his well-being,

Taking one wave at a time,

Unleashing their power

Over his own mind!

You will have noted that the photo at the top is changed today. It is actually a photo taken by our friends, Bev and Murray on one of their numerous birding trips. I suspect this one was Rio Lagartos in the Yucatan. I was sitting outside yesterday afternoon just observing and thinking – “Where are all of the beautiful birds Bev and Murray see in Mexico?” The majority of our birds are a type of large crow, a few hummingbirds, doves and an occasional snowy owl at night. Oh, I almost forgot the bats…

It got to me thinking about birders and bird-watchers…this is the resulting poem, which I hope Murray and Bev will appreciate, as it is dedicated to them! If you look at the left side of this page you will see a link to Bev’s Blog – Have Wings – Will Travel. Check it out!

Rare Birds

There are very few places in this world

Where birds do not exist;

Undoubtedly, there are very few places in this world

Where ‘birders’ – bird-watchers do not exist.

Rare birds these ‘watchers indeed!

Hours are spent in utter silence, wondering,

Awaiting the chirps, coos, caws, warbles

Of a previously unheard species,

At least to their ears.

Eyes constantly scan the vegetation –

Trees, meadows, tall grasses,

Jungles, seashores –

Ever ready to raise their trusty binoculars

At first sight of the slightest movement.

Anticipation fills their days,

Always on guard,

Watching, listening,

For one more species to add to their daily journal –

One more photo to be taken

To enhance their already extensive album of sightings.

Mother Nature willing –

One or maybe two more rare birds

Previously unseen to their eyes,

Before one hangs up their binoculars

One last time.

Albums and journals closed forever.

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May 2011
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