From the shore I watched the ship
And imagined I was there.
Closed my eyes and felt the spray
Of ocean in my face and hair.
“One day,” I said to myself,
“I will be there.”
From the ship I glanced at the shore
And saw a boy standing there
And I remembered that once,
That boy was me,
Dreaming of the day
I would be free.
From the shore
I watch the sea.
Gone was the ship that carried me
Away, that grand yesterday,
When I was alive and free,
But tomorrow I will return here
To the shore.
“Is gray a color?” the pigeon asked the clouds.
“We’re not sure,” said the clouds, then asked, “Why?”
The pigeon shrugged and said, “See the robin, brown and red?”
“And the yellow finch flying by?”
“Such color and beauty they have, to me,
And I am but gray and drab instead.”
“Is gray a color?” the clouds asked themselves,
And watched the pigeon fly,
They thought about the question again,
And said, “We don’t know, but you should ask the sky.”
So the pigeon asked the sky.
The sky looked down at the robin and the finch,
Then looked down at the ground,
Saw the grass, the earth, the buildings,
And was surprised at what he found.
“I see many things, said the sky,
Blues and browns, reds and greens,
Blacks and whites, too. And grays,
Just like you.”
“And I think,” said the sky, “who am I to decide
What is a color, and what is not?
Sometimes I am white, and sometimes, blue
And sometimes black, or even silver, like you.
So if all of these things are colors,
Why not gray, too?”
And the clouds listened very carefully,
Because the clouds needed the answer, too.
Protest until we can no longer feel,
Eyes cast down, away from the sun.
Even terror can be a gift for the lonely one.
Beaten down until we learn to heal
And like waking things
We forget what crept in the darkness
While the moonflowers shake their heads.
There's no time to grow old
And if you think you can leave a mark,
Be bold, shake your fist,
But know you’re wasting your time.
There’s this dream of mine,
I’m free again, on a clear path,
But all dreams come to an end,
And if you’re smart, my friend,
You will keep one eye on the shore.
Nobody has ever died.
The dread at the end is a waste of time
And tomorrow is always on the table
And when you’re able, you will see,
Have no fear. You will always be here
The truth about time is that it isn’t
One long line
But a swirl, a blob,
A drunken slob stumbling
Through the bar,
And hitting every patron along the way.
The key, of course,
Is to dig down deep
And see that your life
Is one big lie, one big dream,
Lulling you into believing
What you do makes a difference.
So wake up!
Life, death, the hum
Of a butterfly’s wings
And all those things you think are real
Are just part of the program,
Designed to make you feel like it all matters.
Take a shower, go to work,
Come home, make dinner,
We are all alone;
A high school girl
Waiting for the phone to ring,
The call that will change her life.
We all want meaning.
We all want answers.
We want someone to tell us that it all mattered,
Or at least some of it.
But alas, only a few of us actually
Go looking for it.
FOR MY WIFE
—Jonathan B. Zeitlin
just a couple of seeds we planted
with a little soil
and some sun
sprinkled with a lot of love
and then they came
just sprouts at first
but with some luck
and with some love
and those sprouts
grew into something new
Jonathan Zeitlin has dropped by the Kitchen for the first time today, and we’re glad to have him, a local NorCal, Sacramento-area poet! Jonathan is a thirty-year veteran in county, state, and federal service, and an avid writer on the side. He lives in Granite Bay, CA with his wife, kids, dogs, and one lazy and fat pet frog. Welcome to the Kitchen, Jonathan, and don’t be a stranger!
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