"Sweaty and Dirty"

Forgiveness is a Positive Virtue

She was trembling as she stood facing me,

Was there something she wanted to see?

Her hands were pressed against her chest,

Then I noticed she was cupping her breasts,

It was difficult for her to hide her fright,

Her small voice quavered ever so slight,

When she asked, “Are my breasts too small?”

She was exposing thoughts, fears, her very all,

She had pulchritude, talent, and intelligence,

Everything I thought was of the essence,

Her eyes searched mine hoping to find,

That I had forgiven her and made up my mind,

If I loved her, she needed desperately to know,

The question she posed was far different though,

I thought back three weeks to when we met,

The circumstances were very hard to forget,

I had been downsized with an economy shift,

Turned loose in the jobless current to drift,

“Overqualified,” they would say to me,

“That’s just the way it’s got to be,”

That was the response I got from several firms,

Saying I had a doctorate opened a can of worms,

I needed work to keep paying my bills,

I finally found work by deemphasizing my skills,

A hospital laundry kept me from going deeper in debt,

And I tried to remain cheerful with no regrets,

Yes, I remember the day we first met,

My shirt was dirty and I was soaked with sweat,

I expected to be alone while I ate lunch,

Usually treated like a pariah by the hospital bunch,

Smokers gravitated to me because I was dirty anyway,

But I sprayed a can of freshener as two smokers puffed away,

“What are you doing?” one howled in dismay,

“You’ve ruined our air and now you’re going to pay!”

I moved to another table to avoid further trouble,

That’s when two nurses arrived bringing trouble double,

The cutest nurse spoke up quickly, she didn’t hesitate,

“That was brave what you did. I think that was just great!”

The other nurse nudged her forward, “Hurry up, we’re late,”

The cute one said, “Would you go to a party?  I need a date.”

“I’m just a laundry worker,” I quietly said,

“Why don’t you ask one of the doctors instead?”

Tears dripped from those bewitching eyes,

At first I didn’t believe she could tell me lies,

“Yes, I’ll be honored to go with you,”

Why she had asked me I had no clue,

But a hospital nurse of stature and style,

Had stayed and talked with me awhile,

There had to be a reason behind her smile,

Was there something about me that she reviled?

Or maybe it was just a set up for a cruel prank,

I couldn’t think of anything positive, I was drawing a blank,

In spite of my misgivings, I knew it was only a date,

If I continued to be positive I would determine my own fate,

I told myself I was just curious, I knew I didn’t really rate,

But I had forgotten about my albatross, my gullible trait,

(to be continued)

The Poem Not Written

My poetry is a time of curiosity, of smiles,

And childlike satisfaction of using guile,

It is a gift, a talent, imagined or real,

That lets my heart express how I feel,

It shapes itself from thought to pen,

And stirs my soul to write again,

My muse is often witty when she has her say,

Mediocre poems are due to her really bad day,

They may be laden with imagery and flow,

Or fall flat on their faces with little to show,

But the worst poem of all is the poem not written,

It waits swollen with promise, as if snake bitten,

Stares forlornly as other poems strut their stuff,

And never ventures out, it’s not good enough,

Nor does it climb into one of my dreams,

Pestering to be written as a beautiful theme,

The poem not written gets left behind,

Forever out of sight, and finally out of mind.

I Think Failure is a Way to Grow

A ruthless self-assessment for me,

When I look in life’s mirror I see,

Someone who needs to be more bold,

Because I have not yet reached my goal,

So it’s a time to evaluate and make a choice,

But if self growth has a voice,

Between taking a risk and comfort,

It’s risk I really want to court,

I’ll just have to adjust, 

Get used to chance, I must,

Think of failure as a way to grow,

Making a judgment on what I know,

Using the outcome to try once more,

When opportunity knocks at my door,

The talents that were given as gifts,

Do I just let them slowly drift?

In life’s stream what talents did I use?

And which talents did I lose,

While I waited for life to begin,

Or was I waiting for life to end?

And love, sweet love, opportunity lost,

Because I was afraid to risk, at what cost?

By being distant, polite, and verbose,

Rather than being personal and up close,

The gifts I’ve been given I don’t dare,

To eye the talents of others or to compare,

What would others have done in my shoes?

Would they always win and never lose?

History names a few who found a way,

To overcome failure, to find success another day,

To repeat a grade in school, Winston Churchill had to fight,

He wanted a second opportunity to get it right,

Churchill was not the only one,

Who had to battle until he won,

Two hundred attempts in scientific routine,

Until Jonas Salk created a successful vaccine,

Were these two the only ones to fail,

Before their ships began to sail,

The Wrights were told they couldn’t fly,

They knew it was true if they didn’t try,

From the sidelines there is no way,

To have the kind of life I want to portray,

I’ll make a judgment on what I know,

And think of failure as a way to grow.

Changing the Future by Looking at the Past

Changing the Future by Looking at the Past

This year the earth revealed its splendor,

 I watched keenly and wrote with joy,

As each delicious moment appeared,

The pleasures were mine to enjoy,

Yet I knew everything in my path,

Was not deserved, whether good or bad,

Possessions and talents squandered,

The things I wanted or thought I had,

Slipped dancing before my eyes,

Laughs I’ve given and sorrows, too,

Started coming back, one at a time,

Returning as Capistrano’s swallows do,

Time elapsed quickly like sand in a glass,

Keeping me mindful of family and friends,

I invested in friendship and gave love away,

Stayed vulnerable, bending with the winds,

My yesterdays were counted and gone,

Once spent, no way to pull them back,

But each day was a bonus and not my last,

That’s why I am so very determined,

To change the future by looking at the past,

Each day I’ll do an unexpected good,

Because everybody is broken in some way,

I’ll reach out to those who feel misunderstood,

I’ll be encouraging, patient and gentle every day,

I’ll try to make this year even better,

For there is still so much to be done,

I’ll lead by example, helping with love,

Reaching out to the world, one by one.

A Nobody

Although I am Nobody

I am a nobody,

I can go anywhere and not be mobbed or recognized,

Travel around the country, around the state, or even in town,

Talk to friends, big shots, or other nobodies,

I enjoy my measure of anonymity,

Yet I have talents not exercised,

Within me are golden treasures,

Stored and protected,

Spun out by centrifugal force,

Collected on the walls of my own chamber,

But thoughts and words only proclaim,

Possibly I could grab a measure of fame,

With a little luck and a lot of hard work,

Enjoy the glory, enjoy the luxury,

Yet along with the fame comes the pain,

The loneliness of being special, but not normal anymore,

Not always seeing the world without the world watching you,

The isolation while in a crowd,

The idea of not really knowing which are friends,

And which will run when the money is done,

Being mobbed, swarmed, roughed up,

Treated special, but always in danger of being,

Swindled, threatened, or stalked,

If I could have had fame, I would have balked,

A game of names and glitter and phoniness,

Although I am a nobody, I am more than some of the somebodies,

Because I know who I am and where I’ve been,

Some of the somebodies might drown in the adulation of anybodies,

Or nobodies, while acting out what is real and what is not,

 Just dancing to please the crowd of anybodies,

I think I won’t change, if it’s all the same to you.