The Boatman Has Grown Thin

 

The Boatman
has grown thin
He has shaved his head and beard,
limbs are very slight.
And he is wearing rolled up pants
a kin to Gandhi.
He plays his ancient
Oar and mandolin
With an even greater passion
Seen only
In his eyes and
Quickly nimble fingers.
As he plays an eastern tune
by a placid river shore.
The journeys seem
Fewer now.
He doesn’t sing,
Yet his gentle smile is there.
He stops to rest,
puts his strumming hand on heart,
Thankful for another
Day
on one side of the river;
A benign lump
in his throat.

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Leave Me

Who has said to death,
Go and leave me
For a season.
Let me rest easy.
You are a shirt
Blue and white
Or black
That will go
to Goodwill;
You are
wrinkled papers
and other things
Folded waiting
in the pockets
of time;
And we must make a
New start in
This latter time,
We must have the patience,
And be willing to say :
Leave me for
a season,
As a coursing
Resolute
Heart,
fresh in new thought.

One Way Train

Like a one way train

On a one way track
We’re not likely ever coming back.
Wonder if we ever will
And who knows
just where
We’re going now ?
We’ll only know when we
Arrive
We’ll just
Sit still and stare
And wonder why
and where we are
and whether
we will stay alive
Like a one way train
On a one way track
We’re likely not ever coming back.
Wonder if we ever will?
We’ll just sit there
ever silent
Still
Wondering where we are.
And why?
Are there answers that
Will fill the gap?
Are there answers to the
why and where on this cosmic map?

It’s not likely
so we just sit there wondering still
Wondering where
we’re at and listening to
the whistle shrill
Like a one way train
On a one way track
We’re likely not ever coming back.
Wonder if we ever will?
I wonder if we ever will?