We were two to others pledged
We two never danced
Sweet forbidden fruit
That we could not touch, we tasted
With our eager eyes
Eyes that spoke of love
In words never uttered by
Lips that could not kiss
Gordon Gilbert
May 26, 2015
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While life’s music played
We were two to others pledged We two never danced Sweet forbidden fruit That we could not touch, we tasted With our eager eyes Eyes that spoke of love In words never uttered by Lips that could not kiss Gordon Gilbert May 26, 2015
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Cats that kept me as their owner
Long ago when I was younger Taught me much, though I’ll admit I was a very slow learner I like to think I played a part myself Cementing interspecial ties Or bonding, if you will I’d rather not admit the fact Admit that what it really was Was I served them And all they learned from our relationship Was how to best put up with all my failings But my memories are fond And they treated me well I miss them Gordon Gilbert 4/15/2014 Perhaps I started slowly,
but that I don’t remember now… I remember flying, flying down. Church camp in the mountains every summer. We were too young to even consider a future where we would all move on to other summers, leaving camp behind. Kids would arrive, stay a week or two, then go home again til next summer. But we, my family --- well, dad was the director, and so we stayed til camp ended. And that was how I learned to fly, fly down. The campgrounds were on fairly level ground, a field. At the forest’s edge, a steep and rocky path descended down in twists and turns among the trees a quarter mile to the lake below where all the campers would swim each afternoon. On hottest days sometimes a morning dip as well. But there were times up at the campgrounds that I would steal away descending down to fish the lake shore with my coiled-up line and hook and dough balls made from bread pocketed at lunchtime, catching on occasion a few small chubs. The descent became in time a game unto itself to see how fast I could race down, not a thought to dire consequences, should I stumble, trip or fall. Arms akimbo, eyes on the path, where to plant one foot just lifted, while the other landed, banking off a root or rock to make each turn on down the twisting path, I only had to guide my feet, gravity did the rest, free-falling cueball caroming off the cushions, down I flew, settled into a two-step cadence pushing off enough for feet to glide just above the path between footfalls. With all the exuberance of immortal youth, Sure-footed, and sure I would not fall, arms out, I flew, flying down. Gordon Gilbert 03/27/2014 |
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