Tears Are So Special
They pay homage to great writing
And artistic delivery of line and lyric
Pour over grief for dearly departed
Or for a life thwarted too soon in youth
Tears punctuate happiness
Unexpected, surprising and overdue.
The ducts that deliver our tears
Are connected to the heart
Triggered by mind-melds
Of kinship, friendship and all other love
With a dash of salt, remembrance,
Kindness, thankfulness, love
And generosity, tears are very special
To the humanity of soul, measured only in time
And to the spirit of life unending
Measured in an eternity of smiles and tears.
poem by Jim Boone
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I Keep Myself Busy
Throughout The Day
Writing poetry and watching TV
Taking long walks along the beach
Working when I can to communicate
With Islanders and our visitors
And have a ‘surprise’ fund
I love chatting with neighbor-friends
Taking afternoon naps for healing
Reeling and recalling at movies
Shopping for visuals and ‘hello’s’
Then, when the long coastal day
Comes to an end: The dishes
Are washed and put away
Lists are made for tomorrow
Just in case it comes again
Now I read myself to sleep as
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poem by Jim Boone
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Poverty Me
In a ‘cheap' apartment
With high utilities and
A great sense of aaah;
Driving a car with dings
And looking cool in resale
Clothing selected by a 'good'
Eye; Limited antenna
television access.
Poverty me with no money for
Travel or play, knowing I have
Seen all of the world that I will
Ever see: Poverty me.
Forced retirement with a tiny
Pension laced with a breakdown
Of the senses: Good, common, non -
All my ‘backup' rushed ahead
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poem by Jim Boone
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Sunday Morning
The television show
Hosted by Charles Kuralt
And now Charles Osgood
Is a weekly meditation
On all things right, good
And quirky with humanity.
These producers, directors, reporters
And hosts spotlight and interview
What we should see and hear
Outside the news reports
And what ‘they say’
Intrusions into life on planet
Earth (on my copy there's a circle around this)
From Art in a museum
To Art on a stage
Poets of the spoken word
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poem by Jim Boone
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Haikou - Texas Style
Nice night in June
Stars shine – big moon
In park – on bench
With you – in clench
You say – you love
I coo – like dove
I’m smart – You’re fast
Never let chance pass
Can’t get hitched
So ‘they’ say
No problem here
Anyway
Same night in June
Same stars – same moon
Same park – different bench
He and she in clench
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poem by Jim Boone
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Mr. Butterfly
In the garden of seasoned contentment
You light on my outstretched arms
And bless the reach and movement
Of the harpist mesmerizing runs
When reality turns on you harshly
You fly to the balm of my loving hands
And ignite my butterfly senses
With firm and lyrical whispers of intent
We go to the oceans shore, into the surf
Where we walk and talk of important things
What makes our garden grow, a landscape
Of attraction, an Eden of the soul and Spirit
Mr. Butterfly, fly to my flowering bed
Taste the nectar of lips and skin
Watch out for the net I thought I’d discarded
Embrace the awakening buds of Springtime pasts
Step out of your cocoon and into my life
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poem by Jim Boone
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My Friend's Husband
Is a Republican in the worst sense
Of the word; but she remains a
Diligent Independent to give both
Of their sons, 'both' sides of the
Common sense thought process of
Their mother and the ‘they-say'
Mindless nonsense of the dad.
My friend's husband is focused
On 'losing' without a thought of
Winning, to the good of all who are
Concerned; "One Nation, under God,
With liberty and justice for all."
Now, my friend's husband's heart
'Gets it', and always has, but his
Dumb-Ass, misguided loyalties have
Kidnapped his brain, and his mouth
Always belies it's heart-felt core,
That gets drown in ‘one more beer'.
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poem by Jim Boone
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Autobiography #88
The underachiever woke up on the wrong
Side of life, or so he supposed with a
Perceived unawareness and a limited view.
Why else would one with such potential
Arrive packaged like this, in a place with
No future, in the middle of nowhere, put
To tests with no score or prize.
Over the campus and through the army
To New York and Houston he did go
Getting laid instead of laying plans;
Wrapped in gratification; a spirited soul
Looking for a mate, a seeker without a
Recognizable find.
Always ready, but never prepared.
Fit as a middle-man, with the innate ability
To find a hot and caring prospect, cover
His tail, and run. Where's the future in that?
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poem by Jim Boone
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A Soldier's Story
After the security of childhood
And before the insecurity
Of the second childhood
I found young men known as Soldiers.
I liked what I discovered, except for
A type known as First Sergeants.
Soldiers come in assorted sizes,
Weights, states of sobriety,
Misery, playfulness and confusion.
Girls/guys love them, mothers worry about them,
The US-of-A supports them and no matter
What their leanings, they somehow
Manage to get along with each other.
A Soldier is laziness with a deck of cards;
A millionaire without a cent; bravery
With a grin; the protector of our country
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poem by Jim Boone
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