I Love Getting Old

I love getting old

There are things that are no longer

Young in the world—like sitting at the bus stop

Before it was always about getting to work on time

Now the next stop is death so I am not in a hurry

I just sit and wait, smile and talk and soak in the sunshine

There are so many stories at the bus stop—

Some happy, some very sad

Sometimes I have to stop and let it all go

Knowing I can’t heal their pain but I can bless—

Quietly in my own mind and I wonder

If the universe is listening

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Pick Up Truck

Decades ago riding, in the back of a pick-up truck, My good buddy Rick and I were talking philosophy, Truth and Counter-truth I told him—waddya mean? Life is both real and an illusion--particle-wave duality We are flesh and we are spirit—50 years later, my flesh Has lower back pain and sciatica but the spirit still loves Riding in the back of pick-up trucks—which is now illegal

Kyiv—Ancient city on the Dnieper. These river waters have flowed for more centuries then are counted in history books And will continue to flow after all the puppets have turned to dust and new trees have grown in groves by the Dnieper. Were these banks once paradise, before our ancient ones built a village here? Did an ancient shaman have visions of what would happen here? The dance of the puppets pulled by the strings of history. Warriors and chieftains, then kings and lords, tyrants and Czars, Nazis and Soviets all acting out their puppet dramas— Their strings pulled by the dark lords of power and lust, greed and fear and anger. How many times can a city of people be a battle ground? Kyiv—in the 1920’s, the Bolsheviks imposed the collectives. The collectives failed. Thousands died of hunger. Hitler’s storm troopers made Kyiv a nightmare where thousands were sent

Blue Dog

Blue Dog, Bark at the rabbits and Chase the squirrels back to the nest. Darkness awaits us just behind twilight. The owls and coyotes will watch us With eyes that see in the night.

CurranPoem

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