Monday, May 26, 2014

Shredding (1952 - 2014)

by Jim Rapp

I’ve been shredding the past,
tax returns from ‘fifty-two,
letters to and from a cast
of characters I knew
in days now dim with age,
receipts and cancelled checks,
attempts to play the sage.
Yellowed pages bow their necks
to the modern guillotine,
filling bag after bulging bag,
soon to be bleached clean,
recycled into pulpy slag.

I’ve been shredding decades of blessings,
memories sweet, and bitter sorrows;
shredding to avert the guessings
of some guessers some tomorrow.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

kids again

(a haiku quartet)

our teacher gave us
flower seeds to plant today;
are we kids again?

all over fifty
yet we’ll do as we are told;
‘cuz we’re kids again.

we will plant the seeds,
watch them grow, and be amazed
like we’re kids again.

parables unfold
as each seed sprouts and teaches
God’s old kids again

Friday, May 9, 2014

An Overblown Storm

They promised us more,
promised that severe weather
would be coming in.

Just one thunder thump
and a few rain drops are all
they could squeeze from it.

For a storm lover
it was a severe let down,
a teapot tempest.



Sunday, May 4, 2014

Our Final Resting Place

(Haiku Musings)
Moving on, seeking
our final resting place – we’re
partial to East Ridge.
I know, I know, it
sounds like a cemetery –
you know, like East Lawn.
Tired of ownership
we’re moving on with lighter
step, or will be soon.
Right now we’re sorting,
packing for a move, a sale,
and give-a-ways too.
We end each day with
heavy steps and aching bones,
taking strength, on loan
from younger men, who
bound where we can merely creep,
lift what age cannot.
We’ll get to East Ridge,
our final resting place here
on this weary earth,
And as for East Lawn,
we’ll skip it all together –
ashes to ashes, we.