“Funerals: A confluence of past, present, and future”

Friday, November 28, 2025--Poetry Day 28

Early morning, Dominican Republic

“Funerals: A confluence of past, present, and future”

Funerals are those events we attend to pay
respects to the family, knowing
they are inevitable in all our lives.
Most that I go to are upbeat and peaceful,
full of passion, laugher, tears, happy vibes,
revelations, a few surprises in stories,
and a sense of humanity and healing.

Children give remarks about the goodness
of their parents, stories of birds, fishing,
them coming to every game and event,
funny sayings that they shared,
and other memories that usually draw
laughter, sometimes surprises, and tears
from both the speaker and the audience.

Talented children and grandchildren sing
lovely and poignant hymns or songs,
some they wrote for this occasion,
on guitars, pianos, cello, violins, and flutes.

Outside in the foyer, delightful old photos,
paintings, drawings, cool memorabilia
and a PowerPoint presentation loops
through the life of the deceased.
We all stop and watch, mesmerized
with the changes over time, knowing
these same changes are happening
in our own lives, more quickly than we want.

As we sit in the pews, our eyes focused
on the front where the casket waits
patiently to be transported somewhere
close by to an open grave surrounded by turf,
we wonder to ourselves what our funerals
will be like, what our families, friends,
and speakers will say about us,
what hymns or songs will be played or sung
or what stuff our children will drag out and showcase.

Perhaps, we shouldn’t worry
so much about that as we should worry
about how we are living today,
right now, and change anything
that might startle the mourners at our funerals.

Towering Redwoods

“A Multiplicity of Blessings”

Thursday, November 27, 2025—Poetry Day 27

Provo Lake at sunset!

“A Multiplicity of Blessings”

Some say that blessings
don’t come their way.
It’s how you look at blessings,
how you define them,

and what they do to your life.
They are not usually big items
like Mercedes, large homes,
bags full of clothes and stuff

although they could be.
It’s the small things—
peaceful bike rides along the river,
soothing sunsets and sunrises,

gentle cool breezes in the evenings
after a hot day, fresh apple crisp
with vanilla ice cream, a new day with you in it,
grandchildren’s texts and love emojis,

phone calls from friends and families,
a good night’s rest after a challenging day,
being able to exercise in an air-conditioned room,
feeling healthy despite getting older,

understanding things about life
you never thought possible,
being with your spouse on a daily basis,
being surrounded by beautiful flowers,

watching clouds saunter by,
having a simple prayer answered
in a way you didn’t expect,
knowing who and whose you are—

They all add up, like layers of
sourdough pancakes drenched
in fresh maple syrup, ready for you
to enjoy every moment of the day or night.

Big Sky, Montana

Sunrise at Bear Lake

“The Rhythm of the Day”

Wednesday, November 26, 2025--Poetry Day 26

The Colosseum, Rome, Italy

“The Rhythm of the Day”

The rhythm of the day depends
on the time of day you wake up.
For me, the rhythm of the day
starts early, probably because
that’s what time we had to rise
as kids and milk the cow,
feed the pigs, chickens, and horses,
and then get ready for school
all before the bus came.
My mom didn’t start driving
until I was about 14,
so it was get to the bus
or walk seven miles to school
one way, which was a bit challenging.

Now, the rhythm of the day starts out
early still, for stretching, reading,
studying, and then exercising
all before 9:00 a.m. or 10:00.
Instead of breakfast being
at the crack of dawn, now
it is later around 10:00
and lunch around 3:30 or so
and then a bit of healthy snacking
along the way until bed.

In between, it's about writing,
reminiscing, working in the yard,
taking out the trash, raking leaves,
catching up on the journal,
serving, teaching, and doing
things I want to do at my own pace.

The rhythm of the day continues
its joyful cadence as it has always done
although the melodic notes
may be different pitches
during each moment of the day.

“Daily Stewing”

Tuesday, November 25, 2025--Poetry Day 25

Delicate Arch, a place for stewing and contemplation

“Daily Stewing”

It seems that lately I am stewing daily
over things that shouldn’t be in the soup.
Watching the news frosts me,

turns my heart cold at mankind,
frustrates me to no end.
Seldom are there any positives

that rise to the surface of news.
If so, they are buried back on C1
and even further back

or not mentioned it at all.
And then the people on roads
seem to disregard every rule,

cross the big white lines
to get in out of the HOV lane
without batting an eye,

play on their phones at stop lights
and often need to be reminded
by a few horn honks to move forward,

or people who just roll through
the crosswalk when the kids are in it.
And then the leaves that just float

to the ground, pile up
on the lawn and sidewalks.
I can sweep them off one day,

and they are back again the next day
like people who still come
to the party without invitations.

Stewing about all these things
brings about the froth on life’s edges,
and I think perhaps I should avoid

thinking about any of it, maybe
mind my own business and eating
a few more pieces of red licorice.

“Joanne’s Kitchen”

Monday, November 24, 2025

Joanne's Kitchen

“Joanne’s Kitchen”

It’s fun to frequent different restaurants,
sample their famous cuisine, dine
in places that seem foreign to us
because the Yelp reviews were great!
We don’t mind sitting there, sometimes longer
than necessary, to sample their wares.

Often the service isn’t much.
We have to ask for water or a napkin,
a straw, and sometimes even silverware.
Periodically, the food comes cold
or not cooked to specific instructions.
Often, the food is plain bland, no flavor,

just a lot of it. I just sigh a sense of relief
when we leave, knowing my favorite restaurant,
a definite 5-star and above on every meal,
is Joanne’s Kitchen, where my favorite cuisine
is always perfectly prepared, hot,
delicious, innovative, and divine.

Joanne can literally create anything.

Sometimes, she just looks into the fridge,
scanning the contents, begins hauling
things out, and starts chopping,
slicing, cooking, mostly without a recipe,
just years of experience and trial and error.

Or she will drag out her famous recipes,
gather all the ingredients, pile them
next to the mixing bowls and pans,
and begin her perfected cooking dance,
around the kitchen, and soon it is ready to eat
for even the most discriminating tastebuds.

After each meal, I sit back, bask
in the goodness, look at Joanne and say,
“You are the best chef on the planet earth.”
She smiles and sweetly replies,
with love and a twinkle in her eye,
“It’s your turn to wash the dishes.”

“A Sunday Evening Saunter”

Sunday, November 23, 2025--Poetry Day 23

Bales of hay along the way....

“A Sunday Evening Saunter”

For a few brief moments
this evening, we sauntered
through our neighborhood,
the sun trying to wiggle its way
behind the west mountains,
some sprinklers watering
the grass, and a blue sky
with clumps of whitish clouds
wavering above us.

We talked about our Sunday,
hearing about becoming whole
in Christ, keeping sacred covenants
that leads to more power, and knowing
we are children of a loving God.

We waved to friends, neighbors,
listened to a few barking dogs,
and felt an overpowering sense
of peace and comfort
in our neighborhood,
knowing what most people
here do on the Sabbath,
sensing the oneness
with each other, with their families,
and believing we will prevail
if we but do what He asks us to.

We reached home, our sanctuary,
our holy spot, where we know
who and whose we are and strive
to stay on the covenant path—
forever, yes, even forever more!

“Thick Oatmeal”

Saturday, November 22, 2025--Poetry Day 22

“Thick Oatmeal”

As kids, mom began making
oatmeal the moment we left
the house to do chores,
feed the animals, milk the cow,
and shovel any snow
that may have fallen during the night.

When we arrived back to the house,
we washed up, prepared to eat
oatmeal, now so thick and chunky,
you could stand a spoon up in it,
and a bit on the cold side.

Fortunately, we had plenty
of sugar and sometimes
brown sugar to spice it up.
Often, raisins even appeared.
It was a challenged to swallow
the chunks of oatmeal
that didn’t seem to pry apart
even with a spoon and fresh milk.

Now older, I make my own oatmeal,
just before I want to eat it,
no preparations for me—
just one cup of water,
some raisins or craisins,
cashews, dried apples,
and pumpkin seeds
with a couple of dollops
of yogurt and just enough
oatmeal, all topped with milk ,
now a not-so-thick mixture,
a bit runny and hot,
just like I like it!

As I eat my oatmeal concoction
on specific mornings each week,
I think back nostalgically
on those early cold mornings,
thick oatmeal staring me in the face
while mom watched over us
making sure we ate it all,
and now saying thanks for still liking
oatmeal fortunately with all
the delicious accoutrements
mixed into a perfect texture,
hot and ready to eat—
now on my own terms.