But Not for Me

the wind is moving sweetly
from a tree here then over
there dropping a whisper

here then over there but
not for me like the song
of the same name

even so a gentle breeze
touched me to remind me
that hope is never lost

only momentarily forgotten
but always within reach of
a believing heart and mind

there was a time when I
thought that hope was for
everyone else but not for me

Tomorrow’s Train

the horn blasts of the noon train
were distorted floating in and out
on the strong and gusty winds

the sounds of this train faded to
the right of where I sat on the
back patio

a second faster train followed
horn blasting through town as it
moved away heading north

It seems that my dreams were
not in the wind or on a train

they pile up in my memory like
railroad ties stacked up in an
abandoned siding yard

birds don’t dream they fly
can you tell a bird not to fly
same-o same-o

people don’t fly they dream
can you tell people not to dream

at this point I doubt my dreams
will come true they could they
might but so far they never have

so I’ll be waiting for the wind and
tomorrow’s train

They Still Are

A swarm of birds, if there is
such a thing, flustered by the
coming storm vacated the
tallest pine one street over.

A butterfly zigzagged across
the back yard a few feet above
the lawn. In this wind it couldn’t
fly straight if it had to.

They never fly straight, do they?

I think the wind gusts up to forty
miles per hour have begun. One
big flying bug didn’t get the memo.
All bug operations have been

cancelled today due to weather.
Take a bug maintenance day instead.
Not a bug or critter in sight. I always
think of my Irish Uncle John on my

birthday on St. Patrick’s Day.

I’m guessing I was about ten which
made his daughter, Murphy, around
twenty or so. Long before I knew
girls existed, she was the fairest of

the fair. Uncle John made me feel
special when there was nothing
special. Thank you, Uncle John.
You are the only one who told me

that all today’s parades were really
for me. For my birthday. Because of
you, they still are for me.

Tomorrow

I was watching the
wind’s last playful
tug on the

disappearing day
wondering about
what tomorrow

might bring when
the phone rang. It
was the sound of

desperation looking
for work. My words
of “don’t lose hope”

seemed so empty
after the call. Maybe
not to him but to me.

All I could do was
pray about tomorrow.
Hope for tomorrow.