This webpage contains the first draft of a collection of 100+ poems that describe what it is like to still love life and your significant other in your sunset years.  We will be polishing and adding to this collection over the year.  We will formally publish in Q4 2022. 

In the meantime, we invite you to read these poems and give us feedback. We not only want to know what you like and suggest we change, we want to know your sunset years experiences too.    Good. bad, happy, sad, tell us what your world is like in this last stage of life.  We will include the best stories we get in the final version of the book. We will also consider writing new poems that capture the essence of  the stories you share. 

So, scroll down and start reading. Whenever you want to comment, or to share data, just navigate back up to the comment box below and use it to send us a message.  That's all you need to do.  

 Being Old Isn't What It Used to Be. It's A Whole Lot Better!  

If you were born between January 1,1946 and December 31, 1964, you are a part of the generation known as the Baby Boomers. This extra-large cohort of individuals has overwhelmed and ended up redefining American culture at every stage of their life journey.   

In their early years, Boomers overstrained and forced a rethinking of America's institutions of education and higher learning. In their 20's through 60's, Boomers made our country reconsider what working life should or could be. Now, as they reach retirement, Boomers are forcing a rethinking of what it means to be in one's "senior years" as well. 

One of my favorite poems in this collection is my attempt to capture this new way of thinking. It's called Sunset State of Mind. I took the picture of the brilliant red sunset that is on the title page of this collection. For me it is the visual expression of the spirit of this poem and the spirit of the Boomer generation. The sun in the picture is not drearily, slowly fading away in retreat as its allotted day of duration comes to an end. That is the old way of thinking about sunsets and senior years.  

The sun in the cover picture is exploding with energy, color, vitality and purpose. It is animating every corner of the sky around it.  Even after this sun recedes beyond the horizon, its brilliant red glow will still adorn the edge of the skyline for a long time to come.  That energy, drive, and continual striving is what I believe animates the Boomer approach to both life and their senior years. 

Sunset State of Mind

Your sunset years are  

No time to sit in a chair   

Out of shape, face fixed 

In a sad, vacant stare.    

There’s still plenty of time to  

Fight the good fight.   

Before you go quietly 

Into the night.      

Still time for romance 

To stir passion in you  

Still time to experience 

Love deep and true.  

There’s still time to draw  

On your inner strength fountains.   

Still time to climb those last few 

Elusive goal mountains.       

Still time to gain more knowledge,  

Even physical strength too.   

Your last chance to be  

That final best you.      

So will you go out 

Weak and sorry?  

Or will your sunset years 

Be a blaze of glory?  

For you still decide 

Where your future lies.   

Be technicolor clouds exploding

Against crimson sunset skies.  

There are currently one hundred poems in this collection.  They are organized into five series that highlight different aspects of living life fully in your senior years. The volume closes with Concluding Observations, 

          I:     Poems for Seniors Who Still Love Each Other

          II:    Poems for Seniors Who Still Love Life

         III:   Poems for Seniors Not Ready for The Rocking Chair

         IV.    Poems for Seniors Who Love Family

          V:    Poems for Seniors Who Love Cruising the Caribbean 

         VI.   Concluding Observations

I write as a way of capturing the things that I think are important about life. Check back on this page frequently and you will be rewarded with new material on a regular basis.   

My wife Diane and I are blessed. We’ve been in love and married nearly 50 years and we live in The Villages Florida, one of the most interesting and exciting places on the planet to spend your senior years. Our lives are an adventure. 

Thanks for riding along with us on our journey!   

II-1. Pizza Morality

II-2. Rounding The Bend

II-3. Wheelchair Stare

II-4. Fredericksburg 911 

II-5. Today’s News 

II-6. E-Bay Make It Go Away

II-7. Planes

II-8. Our RV Trip of a Lifetime

II-9. The Only Way Out Is Through

II-10. Easter 2021

II-11. The New Old

II-12. How Is It That I'm Old?

II-13. Common Ground

II-14. Ick! I'm Sick!

II-15. Chucks

II-16. Sunset State of Mind

II-17. I Was Once You

II-18. Grit

II-19. It's You, It's Me

II-20. Class Reunion

II-21. Good Old Friend

II-22. Unintended Consequences

II-23 God's Waiting Room

**************************************

II-1. Pizza Morality 

Pizza? No, thanks. 

I’m watching my waist. 

Oh, what the heck. 

Maybe just one taste.  

No wait. I shouldn’t.  

Really, I don’t even want to try it.  

I’ll just abstain. Watch you eat. 

Stay on my diet.   

But it’s so sensuous, so good. 

It just isn’t fair.  

It’s impossible to resist, 

When hot pizza gives you that stare.   

Ok. Maybe. 

But just one slice. 

Oh Gawd! This forbidden pizza’s 

An eight-piece pleasure device.  

Warm, gooey, savory, 

Spicy, crunchy too. 

It’s a gastronomic orgy. 

What’s a person to do?  

Why does what our body says feels so good, 

Our mind says is so sinful, so bad. 

That we end up regretting 

Any brief moment of pleasure we had?  

It’s as if some things 

So induce exaltation, 

That there’s no middle ground, 

No hope of self-control, moderation.  

So next time you confront pizza 

Or any other vice.  

Remember, even one small bite 

Could lead to gobbling down a whole slice.       

II-2. Rounding the Bend

7:30 AM,  

Time for our walk 

A chance to exercise, 

Laugh, talk.  

Me and my  

Good friend Dan, 

Two laps round Monarch Grove 

Is our plan.   

Our pace is slow,  

But we walk three miles.  

We stop and pet dogs.  

Give neighbors waves and smiles.   

Our time is a function of  

Heat and sun light.

Summers are hot, slow.  

Falls are cool, brisk, just right.   

Old men solving  

The problems of the world. 

We talk about, life,  

Politics, pretty girls.  

When you reach our age,  

You realize there is an end.  

A day when your life’s walk is over,  

When you’ll finally round the bend.   

Until then each walk brings us  

Something of true worth, 

Healthy, happy, time with friends 

Until we walk right off this earth.       

II-3. Wheelchair Stare 

You look at me, 

But, what do you see? 

An invalid in a wheel chair?

Or the me I used to be?  

Doctors say, 

My situation is temporary. 

My prognosis they opine, 

Is truly exemplary.   

A freak accident put me,  

In this chair.  

I won’t be spending, 

My whole life there.   

But, that’s not what, 

I see in your eyes. 

You look at me with a pity, 

That surprisingly, I despise.  

This temporary 

Disability, 

Has reframed people’s, 

Understanding of me.  

No one sees me, 

Only my chair.  

My personality, wit, strengths, 

None of it is there.                      

They see me as diminished, 

Someone who’s broken 

Impaired, inhibited. 

Full of sadness unspoken.   

I see now what it’s like 

When your life is in a chair. 

You hate your dependence on others.  

Try not to see strangers’ stares.  

They don’t know it 

But, they are wrong. 

In 90 days, I’ll heal. 

Walk again. Be strong.   

But, I’ll never forget 

My time in this chair. 

It opened my eyes. 

Made me more aware.   

We need to look past  

External disabilities. 

To the inner person,  

Their true capabilities.  

I hate the struggle of  

My time in this chair. 

But, I’m stronger and wiser 

For having been there.    

II-4. Fredericksburg 911

In movies, the Police arrive 

And bravely save the day. 

Forget it.  The new normal 

Is Fredericksburg, Va. 

A mom and 5-year old daughter  

Stop for a light. 

An angry mob engulfs them. 

In the darkness of the night. 

The mob screams and threatens.  

Climbs up on her car,  

Scares her little girl. 

They go way too far.  

She is scared, alone 

Under attack. 

She calls 911  

But, they don't have her back. 

“No one will come Ma’am.", they say.

"You’re on your own like all the rest. 

City Hall considers this  

A 'mostly peaceful’ protest.”        

On TV the lying Press 

Covers up the whole damn thing. 

Says these are peaceful folk 

Who only march and sing.  

They call thieves and thugs heroes, 

No matter what they do. 

Even as they loot and burn your business, 

Harass and assault you.  

Welcome to the new 

Blue City reality.

You better be brave citizen, 

Because you are no longer free.  

You say: “This can’t be America!” 

But sadly it’s true. 

The Press and Blue City Mayors 

Support the thugs and thieves  - not you.

II-5. Today’s News 

Come one, come all. 

You’ve got to see this place! 

Their heads have no brains. 

Only empty space!  

Yes, it’s exotic.

But, it’s easy to see.

All you do to get there 

Is turn on your TV.  

Stop thinking so much.

Get a good mental snooze. 

Simply tune to the 

So called TV “news.” 

News shows once  

Presented facts. 

Now they only present

Political operatives, hacks.   

You’re highly unlikely

To learn anything new. 

They mindlessly mouth

A single point of view.  

Oh, they’re good. 

They look right at you. 

And say things they know 

Are patently untrue.  

The Politicians interviewed

Are the best. 

Believe nothing they say. 

Then, forget the rest.  

With the upcoming 

Election Presidential. 

Their propaganda increase

Is exponential. 

 How did we sink to

This sorry state? 

Where show after show 

Is all anger and hate?   

It’s because folks tune in 

Not to find out what’s new, 

But to have hacks reinforce 

What they already hold true.   

“So what?” you say. 

“What’s the big fuss?”

It’s that this hyper divisiveness 

Is killing us.  

Trumpeting only what divides us, 

Minimizing what makes us one, 

Spits us into warring tribes

Destroys our Union.  

None of this helps our nation. 

They know it’s  not what we need. 

They do it simply to pump up their ratings.

Gain power, feed their greed.  

We need new TV leaders 

To bring us back from the brink. 

Folks that will tell us what happened. 

Instead of what to think.  

We need to remember our nation's strength  

Comes when we act as one.  

God send us leaders who will unite us 

Smite those who want our Union undone.      

II-6. E-Bay Make It Go Away!

You say your house

Is a cluttered disgrace,  

Piles of stuff 

All over the place.

Been weeks since you’ve 

Been able to bathe  

Cause your tub’s full of junk.

To stuff you’re a slave.    

Stand up!    

Square those shoulders.  

Look skyward and say: 

“E-Bay, make it go away!’    

E-Bay is 

Nearly magic. 

If clutter’s 

Making your life tragic. 

Stuff that’s 

A burden to you.  

Others see 

As shiny and new.     

Pick a price. Do a write up.

Take a photo.  

List it and 

You are ready to go.    

People worldwide give   

Your stuff a view.  

Don’t fret they are judging

Your stuff. Not you.    

Low ball bids

You reject.  

You’re anxious to sell.  

But, you want  respect. 

Then it comes.   

It’s like Christmas to a kid. 

Someone’s sends you an 

Acceptable bid.    

You execute the sale. 

You mail the stuff that day.  

It’s like a dream.   

E-Bay has made it go away!    

What if E-Bay could relieve us

Of more than just stuff? 

What if it could remove  

All in life that is tough?    

E-Bay take memories of   

My failures from me.  

From my fears and 

Weaknesses set me free.    

E-Bay make me 

A better friend.  

Make me wiser, healthier.  

Not afraid of life’s end.    

Unfortunately, no one will help us

Empty those bins.  

We’re left alone to confront our 

Our weaknesses, our sins.    

So, moan all you want.  

Go ahead. Fuss. Complain.  

E-Bay will free you from stuff.  

But, we must face our life’s pain.  

II-7. Planes

My working career spanned 42 years.  I was blessed to have jobs that dealt with major organizational initiatives and cutting-edge technologies.  My teams and I would fly all over the country and parachute into customer “hot spots” taking on seemingly impossible tasks often on assignments that lasted months at a time. The downside of all these great adventures was spending huge portions of my life away from home, much of it on planes. The humorous poem below is my attempt to capture some of the “glamor” and irony of a life of travel by plane.    

Planes 

Sometimes it’s enough  

To drive you insane.  

See, I’ve spent a big part of my   

Business life on planes.    

That 300 lb man squeezing down the aisle, 

Don’t you know  

There’s only one place 

He’s going to go.  

He stops at your row. 

Steps on your feet.  

Then wedges himself 

Into his and half of your seat.    

How about rushing on board 

With work to do inflight. 

Approaching your row 

You turn sick at the sight. 

You’d hoped your row 

Would be quiet, just maybe.  

Nope.  Of course, 

You're next to the screaming baby.    

You work all day, 

Then board a Red Eye.  

You're hoping to quickly

Go beddy bye. 

No luck. Your seat mate is afraid to fly.  

She talks  non-stop for 7 hours.  No lie!  

All the while you are thinking: 

“Why me? Why?”    

You finally find a flight 

That still serves dinner. 

On the menu you select

A choice that’s a winner.  

Your mouth is watering, 

You can’t wait to eat.    

Then they serve the last one 

To the guy just before your seat.   

The flight attendant reaches over you 

To hand out a drink.  

“I hope she doesn’t spill it.”

You don't say, but do think.   

You don’t complain, 

'Cause you don’t want a flap. 

So, of course the drink

Ends up all over your lap.   

The toilets overflow,  

There's no toilet paper.   

The person next to you emits 

A horrendous vapor.   

Your soda is warm. 

Your coffee is cold.  

Flying for business quickly

Gets old.    

Then suddenly you develop  

Air travel amnesia.  

It’s as though they’ve always 

Gone overboard to please you.    

What is the source of 

This shocking revelation? 

You’ve earned enough mileage points 

For a free vacation!    

Suddenly all that 

Made you so mad, 

Doesn’t really seem 

All that bad.  

But you know what 

Really is insane?  

You’re free vacation 

IS ON A PLANE!        

II-8. Our RV Trip of a Lifetime

In the summer of 2021. Diane and I took a three month,10,000 mile RV trip around the US.  It was for us the trip of a lifetime. I wrote this poem on our very last evening on the road.  We were sitting just outside of Savannah GA in a very nice RV park on Lake Jasper.   

Both Diane and I were filled with excitement knowing that the next day , when our day's driving ended, we would not be hooking up and settling into our next RV park.  We would be back in our beloved hometown, The Villages, FL and  parking our coach, Amelia, in our own driveway.  We were thrilled about finally coming home, but a little sad too. 

For nearly 90 days, we had been traveling and exploring, testing ourselves against new challenges, experiencing new and wonderful things.  It had been a wonderful ride.  I had planned to listen to an NFL pre-season game on the radio this last afternoon of our trip. However, the game seemed pedestrian and boring in comparison to all the thoughts and feelings I was having about that moment - the end of the biggest and most important trip of Diane's and my lifetime.   So, I turned off the radio and, as I have so many other times in my life, I started writing. The poem that resulted appears below.  

I feel privileged to have been able to take this trip and lucky to have Diane as my partner in life and on this trip.  Both of us feel indelibly changed by this experience.  That's what I tried to capture in the words of this poem.    

Our RV Trip of a Lifetime    

Packed up our RV,  

Then me and my wife.  

Set out on the greatest  

Trip of our life.     

RV’d 90 days, 10,000 miles.  

Obstacles? Challenges?  Yes.  

But also adventures,   

Thrills, smiles.    

Deltas, deserts,  

Buttes and plains,  

Mountains, hoodoos,  

All too beautiful to explain.    

Black Hills, Badlands, Bison,  

Salt Lake, Sturgis, Mount Rushmore,  

Road to the Sun, all touched us,   

To our very core.     

Left, right, up, down  

Rocky mountains to navigate.  

Forced us past our limits,  

Made us feel alive, 

In control of our fate.  

Riding speed boats, Sea Doo's  

On Lake Winnipesaukee,  

Main Seacoast, lobster rolls,  

Unending things to do, taste, see.   

This whole trip was something   

We’d never done, thought we could do.  

It pushes you to new levels.   

Creates a better, stronger you. 

Our friend and family visits  

Were awe inspiring too, 

Our bonds with them   

Got stronger, deeper, grew.    

Tomorrow is it.   

The day, our journey ends.  

Once again we’ll see   

Our home, neighbors, friends.    

We’ll unpack, get back into,  

Our old routines.  

But, we’ll never forget  

The West, its awe-inspiring scenes.    

We’ll never view our daily life  

Quite the same.  

This trip of a lifetime

 Has completely changed the game.

America’s West is gorgeous,  

Wide open, timeless, tall.  

It makes human politics and problems 

Seem insignificant, small.     

Will  we ever do it again?  

Go long distance, really explore?  

The answer's now’s written on our hearts.

Taste freedom once, you’ll want more.           

II-9 The Only Way Out Is Through

When our daughter Erin was growing up, we had a family saying we used to help her face big challenges: "The only way out is through."  Truthfully, I used this mantra myself many times when I was facing monumental crises and challenges in my highly demanding work life.   

On the sixth day of our great journey, June 6, 2021, we were driving from New Orleans to Houston. Houston was just a one-night stop over. Our real destination was Dallas which we planned to reach the next day and then visit for a few days.  It was supposed to be an easy day. Instead, we hit one of the worst storms I have ever driven through.   

At the height of the storm, both my phone and Diane's started blaring and our screens were taken over by a National Weather Service tornado warning.  The storm was so vicious and unrelenting we were not sure if we would be in greater risk stopping or plunging on ahead.  Diane found our location on weather radar.  We decided that no option was perfect, but we would be better off driving into the teeth of the storm and trying to get out of the tornado zone.  We executed our plan and got through. It was harrowing, but we made it.    

That evening when I reflected on the experience of the storm, it reminded me of all the many times in my life I faced challenges much bigger than anything I had previously handled before.  You can decide to pull over during a storm, but you can't "pull over" on being a Dad, a husband, or leader and defender of the people who work for you.  You can't give into disease. You can't give up on yourself.  If you do, your life or the life of someone who depends on you is likely to end up in the ditch like the many cars we saw who spun off the road during the storm.     

Somehow, some way, you need to find it within you to rise to the challenge and make it succumb to you.  When you do, you become stronger and more able to handle not only that challenge, but all the next ones waiting for you down the road.   These are the thoughts I tried to capture in this poem.  I hope you enjoy it.

The Only Way Out Is Through

New Orleans to Houston 

An easy three hundred miles 

All highway driving 

Low stress, all smiles.   

But on this fateful I

Ill-omened day, 

It turned out  

A very different way.   

It started easy,  

A walk in the park.  

Then the sky turned  

Foreboding, menacing, dark.  

In an instant we were in it. 

It was like diving under water.  

No speed was safe, 

Gusts drilled us like an auger.    

The storm raged, buffeted 

My wife and I could barely see. 

Anywhere but on this road 

Was where we wanted to be.   

Was that road or shoulder ahead? 

You couldn’t tell which. 

Cars spun out, 

Ended up in the ditch.  

Water sheets slammed, tossed us  

There was nothing we could do.  I

It’s the kind of event that 

Tests the limits of you.   

It was dark as night 

Even though it was still morning. 

Then our phones started blaring 

!!TORNADO WARNING!!”  

There was nowhere to stop, 

Nothing else to do,  

Like so many times in life, 

Our only way out was - THROUGH.   

How many times  

Has it all rested on your shoulders? 

You needed to lead, perform,  

But had no clue how to lift life’s boulders.   

Maybe it was  

An impossible school test.

Or a work challenge that required 

More than your past best.   

You had to face it 

Had to beat it too. 

Even though you really didn’t 

Know how you were going to.   

At those moments,  

You know what you must do. 

Harden your mind, spirit, body. 

Will the challenge to succumb to you.   

Thirty-three minutes of this 

Terrible white-knuckle drive 

Ended with the sun coming out 

And us glad to be alive.   

It wasn’t an experience 

I’d volunteer to do again. 

I wouldn’t wish it on an enemy. 

And certainly not on a friend.  

But life has these surprises. 

The best thing you can do 

Is face and master them, 

Instead of them mastering you.   

Every challenge you face

Makes you a stronger, better you. 

Builds up your ability to prevail 

Next time your only way out is through.    

II-10. Easter 2021

I grew up in Western New York State in a small town called Silver Creek, N.Y. about 30 miles south of Buffalo, N.Y.  I still have family and friends in the area.  My cousin Pat Wolfe and I grew up together and remain close today.  Pat called me shortly after Easter in 2021 and told me this story.  It touched my heart. I hope it touches yours too.     

My cousin Pat and his wife Wendy were still under COVID lockdowns in New York State during Easter 2021.   Even though Pat has several children and grandkids living within driving distance, he and his wife were forced to skip any kind of family event at Easter.  Pat was very upset about the situation and expected it would be a lonely and awful experience.   Instead, he told me, it turned out to be one of his best Easters ever.    

When you read the story about people tearfully committing to share forward to others the kindness Pat shared with them that night, I want you to have a good mental picture of my cousin. Pat is a 200 lb + heavily muscled, shooter, deep depth technical diver, and ex-mixed martial arts guy. If Pat and another guy are in a room together and someone is crying, bet money that it isn't Pat.    

Pat did something that gave hope to room full of people who felt alone and hopeless.   He said he was so touched by people's reaction to what he did, that he was bawling right along with everyone else.  One by one people stood up and told how this moment had affected their lives and how they were going to reach out on a personal level to others the way Pat had reached out to them.   It had to have been an unbelievable experience.  When he called me to tell me this story, Pat said it has changed his life.     

Remember this story next time you hear some crappy news analyst or TV program saying America is a jaded place where everyone is just out for themselves.  Out in the world of the real America, each of us has our own opportunity to turn “darkness to light.”    

Easter 2021  

Easter 2021 

COVID dark 

Isolated 

No fun. 

No family round the table 

This year.  

Only masks, mandates 

Fear.   

Dinner time, but  

No family Easter feast. 

The walls are closing in. 

"Let’s go out at least." 

It’s a dreary drive 

To a lonely bar.  

Few people are out. 

At least it’s not far.  

The bar is dark, empty.  

Still, you go inside 

Instead of Resurrection 

It feels like someone has died. 

Solitary spaced out diners 

Stare at half eaten plates. 

The loneliness on their faces 

Reflects the sorrow of their fates.  

You order, start to eat. 

But a chill runs through you.  

The stench of isolation, 

Is enveloping you too.  

Is this what you’ve worked for 

So hard all your life? 

A crappy bar Easter dinner with strangers? 

Despair cuts you like a knife.   

But there is still an ember, 

A lesson of hope inside you. 

Jesus’ love defeated death. 

Maybe love can save you too.  

You count the other solitary diners.  

The number is five. 

God has blessed you. 

Your wallet will survive. 

“Bartender, it’s Easter,” 

You hear yourself say.  

“I want everyone to feel loved, 

So, all tabs are on me today.”  

The other patrons look up

They can’t believe their ears.  

Maybe someone does care they’re alive.  

There are thank you’s, tears.  

Soon their individual  

Stories are told.  

Full of grief, sorrows. 

Hopeless tomorrows.   

But, all pledge that now 

They too  

Will pay this kindness forward

Just like you.  

On the ride home 

You turn to your wife and say: 

“When we got there, I thought 

“This was my worst ever Easter Day.”   

 “But, instead I think it’ll  

Stand out from the rest. 

Instead of the worst 

It’ll be the best.”

“Easter isn’t really  

About bunnies and candy 

Parades on TV 

Or dressing dandy.” 

“It’s about what unites us 

Instead of divides. 

It’s about love and hope 

It’s about what’s inside. “ 

“We may never see those people again. 

But when they retell this Easter’s story, 

It will live forever  

As a moment of glory. “  

You spend the rest of the drive 

Reflecting on your beautiful home, family, wife. 

You thank God for what happened today,  

And all the good things in your life.   

As you pull into your drive 

You’re certain one thing is true.  

Turning darkness to light 

Is something each of us can, must do.  

II-11. The New Old

One of the things I always think about when I meet someone new is: "What is your 'Golden Age?'"  When I was growing up, a lot of the seniors in my parent's generation, lived as though their 'Golden Age, " the time in their life when they were at their peak, was behind them.   Instead of thinking about what they could still do and become in the final stage of their lives, they spent their time reminiscing about what they used to be.   To me, that is the "old" way of being old.    

The people of my generation, the Baby Boomers, by and large tend to see the future as still full of opportunity and potential.  They see a great life, in fact potentially their best years, as still ahead of them.  This poem attempts to put that feeling into words.  

The New Old 

The old old  

Live in their past.  

Their best years are behind them.  

Today’s too complex, too fast.     

The old old day-dream  

Instead of pursue.  

Hope something, someday  

Will make their wishes come true.   

The old old proceed  

Cautiously, with reserve. 

They live off past glories.  

Stretch things out, preserve.    

The old old see the future  

As a place of fears.  

Full of diminishment, decline  

Degradation, tears.     

The old old live life  

Dimly lit, damp, cold.  

Musty, rusty,  

Timid, not bold.    

The new old know wrinkles  

Are just mile markers of time.

It’s their spirit that decides  

What decade is their prime.    

The new old make their life 

An unending quest   

To transcend their limits  

Surpass their past best.    

The new old’s future  

Is a place of new heights. 

Climbs up new mountains.  

Wins in new fights.   

Age tracks not defines 

Who the new old are. 

They choose their goals  

Age doesn’t set their bar.    

So, which is your path?  

Which old are you?  

Is your life up ahead? 

Or behind, nearly through?     

Instead of life old old  

Backward looking, bland

Let your spirit define your future  

Not the hour glass’s sand.  

II-12. How Is It That I'm Old?

I always thought at 70, 

I’d be different, but I’m not.  

The things I’ve always loved, 

I still love - a lot.     

Still like riding with the top down,  

On a warm and sunny day.  

Still love hearing The Beach  Boys sing of 

Surfer Girls and LA.    

Still love slow dancing 

Pressed together tight as we can be,  

With The Righteous Brothers 

Belting out Unchained Melody.   

Still love sitting at a table with friends 

Laughing and being crude.  

Our bellies full of wine and 

Fantastic Italian food.    

Still love stopping to look at 

Cool motorcycles and cars.  

My wife giving me her sexy look 

Still makes me see stars.    

Still love riding a Harley 

Whether it’s bike or trike.  

How is it that I’m old,  

When I still like the things I like?    

Many things I love today,  

I’ve loved for fifty plus years.    

I haven’t really slowed down, 

I just use a few extra gears.    

Could it be that while I’ve changed outside,  

Inside I’m still much the same?  

Could it be after fifty years 

My life is still the same joyous game?   

My 70 is as much fun as 16 and 21.  

And, I say proudly with a shout:

"I don’t plan to change until 

My game clock’s fully run out!" 

II-13. Common Ground    

It doesn’t matter if the issue 

Is small or big.   

If we don’t agree,  

You call me a Nazi, racist, pig.   

Yes, it’s true 

We disagree. 

But, does it require

That you demonize me?   

Is it a law of Nature 

That you’re always right?  

If we disagree,  

Must we always fight?    

Can’t I be a person of 

Good intentions too?  

Even if I see the world 

Differently than you?    

Once prized conversations 

Had more than one perspective. 

Once sharing opposing views 

Was more than hurling invective.     

There was a time, 

When freedom of speech, 

Was a shared goal

We all tried to reach.   

But, to this state, 

it seems you’ve come,  

That instead of free speech, 

You want freedom from.    

You crave freedom from views

You don’t already hold.  

You’re meek at introspection.  

At close mindedness, you’re bold.   

You rail against those 

Who aren’t in lockstep with you.    

Are you absolutely sure 

That’s the best thing to do?   

Viewing all life through a 

Black/ white left/right lens. 

Quickly shrinks your world 

And your circle of friends.     

You’ll  wish the world you rejected 

Could once again be found.  

A world of open minded people 

Jointly seeking common ground.      

II-14. Ick! I'm Sick!    

Today fate played 

A horrible trick.  

Instead of strong and ready, 

I woke up Sick!   

Icky green stuff 

Dripping from my nose,  

Achy muscles from 

My head to my toes.   

Sneezing, hacking, 

Coughing up stuff.  

Pounding head. 

Being sick is tough.    

I have people to see,

Things to do.  

“No,” says Sick,

“I’m in control, not you.”    

Sick decides what 

You do and when.  

Only when Sick says so

Are you well again.    

Days 2 through 5 

Are all the same.  

A miserable, 

Messy waiting game.    

On Day 6, though 

You begin to  see,  

That of this cold 

You could soon be free.    

Finally, 

On day 7.  

You believe again 

In heaven.  

You can think, breathe, 

Talk clearly,  

Once again do things

You love dearly.    

It’s curious, but good

That we forget pain.  

We forget Sick’s true misery  

Till he comes back again.    

So covet not 

Riches, wealth.   

Life’s truest blessing

Is good health!     

II-15. Chucks

Work life me was dark suits

$300 shoes.   

Twelve hour days, 

Overwork blues. 

Silk ties, monogrammed,

White French cuff shirts.  

Striving, coping,

Competing till it hurt.   

Retirement is 

A very different life.  

I have time to  enjoy 

My friends, my wife.     

Retirement me 

Looks different too.   

Been over a year since I wore 

A leather dress shoe.    

My retirement wardrobe’s 

Strictly low bucks.   

But on my feet are high top Converse 

All Star Chucks.     

High top Chuck Taylor All Stars 

Are just soooo cool.  

Lace em' up and you’re instantly 

Back in high school.    

You feel like there’s nothing 

You can’t do.  

It’s a time machine in 

A funky high top shoe. 

Decades fall away.  

You walk taller, feel great. 

Smile more, start scheming 

To take your wife on a date.    

That young guy over there

Better look at you right.  

Cause even at 70 you’re sure 

You could take him in a fight.    

People stare, say old guys 

Shouldn’t wear Chucks.    

But, me I wouldn’t trade em' 

For a million bucks.     

At 70 years old, 

I’ve more than paid my dues.  

I ’ll wear what I want, and I want 

Chuck Taylor Converse All Star shoes.         

II-16. Sunset State of Mind

The rising sun is new beginnings.  

The noon sun is life burning hot.  

Both are key parts of life’s underpinnings.   

But, lately I think about sunsets a lot.    

The setting sun marks the end of our day.  

Our sunset years mark the end of our life.    

We turn away from senseless struggle and fray. 

We look beyond everyday conflicts, strife.      

We treasure each sunset 

Because we know, we realize,  

Numbered are the times we’ll see 

More sunsets  or any other skies.  

Yet, sunsets can be 

One of the great times in our lives. 

We see the world anew 

Through aged but wizened eyes.    

We remember the good times. 

Give thanks for those who cared,  

Those who stayed by us in the bad times

And despite it all are still there.   

Sunset years are 

No time to sit in a chair  

Out of shape, face fixed

In a sad, vacant stare.    

There’s still plenty of time to 

Fight the good fight.  

Before you go quietly

Into the night.    

There’s still time to draw 

On your inner strength fountains.  

Still time to climb those last few

Elusive goal mountains.     

Still time for love,

Romance, passion too.

Still time to walk hand in hand

In love deep and true.

Still time to gain more knowledge, 

Even physical strength too.  

Your last chance to be 

That final best you.    

So will you go out weak and sorry? 

Or, will your sunset years be a blaze of glory?  

For you still decide where your future lies.   

Be technicolor clouds exploding against crimson sunset skies.  

II-17.  I Was Once You

Good smells, good sounds, lot of action. 

People walking out expressing satisfaction.  

This restaurant is popular, the place to be. 

You begin to ponder the people you see.  

The little boy joking with his mother. 

His straw a sword wave at his brother.  

Mother laughs and says: “Enough.” 

Her tone loving, gentle not gruff.   

Their laughing Dad says: ”Settle down.” 

It’s a family full of love, smiles all around. 

You remember that you were a little boy too. 

You say to yourself:” I was once you.”  

That teen waiter there, 

Personable and funny. 

Flush with dreams and drive,

Trying hard to earn money.  

He’s at the beginning of his life’s ride. 

Striving to be his family’s pride.  

You remember your teen days too.

You say to yourself: “I was once you.” 

There a young couple is holding hands. 

Dreaming of their future, making plans.

Like them you were first love innocent too. 

You say to yourself: ”I was once you.”  

Over there a harried mother does the best she is able. 

Business has called her husband away from the table.  

Three little kids and her all alone. 

He’s in the hall, hard on the phone.  

He’s doing his best to give his family a good life. 

But work takes him away from his kids and his wife. 

You had the same conflicts as your kid grew.  

You say to yourself: “I was once you.”  

In the window you see yourself reflected.  

Now 70, but well preserved, not neglected.  

You hit the gym, watch your weight, keep mentally alert. 

Strong and fit for your age, only a few parts that hurt.  

Just then, a commotion at a table over there.

A sick 96-year-old man is being helped into his chair. 

He drags an oxygen tank with a clear plastic hose,

That starts at the green cylinder and ends at his nose.

His back is bent.

His movements are slow. 

His energy seems spent. 

His stamina is low.   

His glassy eyes fix you in a stare.  

Then you understand, you become self-aware. 

For he is doing what you just did too.

He is saying to himself: “I was once you.”  

 II-18. Grit

When we see someone successful,

We say they have “it.” 

Some say the key is talent.

I say it’s Grit.  

Desire is universal 

But, not so follow-through. 

It’s not hopes or potential that make us. 

It’s what we do.   

Can you stay committed  

For better or worse? 

Can you persevere through setbacks? 

Can you stay the course?  

Is your commitment a bond,  

Or just a temporary whim? 

Do others say of you:

“You can trust her or him.”

Success is not a mystery, 

Reserved for the lucky few. 

It’s not “big dreams” that define us. 

It’s what we do. 

Suck it up.

Grind it out.  

You too can be a hit.  

All you need to do, is live a life of Grit.   

II-19. It's You. It's Me

It’s cruel, cold hearted.

But, nonetheless true.

We aren’t what we wish for,

We are what we do.

When someone has more,

Instead of whining it’s unfair, 

Look at the hard choices 

That got and keep them there. 

That person over there

Avoiding pig outs and junk food,

Faces the same temptations you do,

But has a different attitude.

While you surrender

To the things you crave,

They master their yearnings,

Instead of living as their slave. 

You complain about

Feeling old, feeling weak.

But, you scoff at going to the gym,

To build the strength you seek. 

You lament at feeling lonely,

Wish you had love in your life. 

But, you put no effort into being,

A better, partner, husband, wife.

The examples are endless

But, through all one thing is true.

The source of your greatest triumphs,

Is not what you dream, but what you do. 

The reality is that person

In the mirror you see,

That fallible, falling short soul, 

It’s You. It’s Me.

But take heart, 

It truly is never too late,

To suck it up, take control,

Become the master of your fate.

The secret to becoming

All you could ever hope to be

Lies inside us.

Simply, it’s You. It’s Me 

II-20. Class Reunion

Welcome to the Class of X 

Time Machine!

Past and present 

Shown on the same screen. 

The now fat star athlete 

Gone to seed. 

The still trashy bad girl 

With the approval need. 

The brainiac engineer 

Who made it big.

The class clown who still says: 

“Do ya’ dig?”

There are truly i

Interesting people here. 

Open, friendly, 

Nothing to fear.

They are genuinely 

Glad to see you.

You are at peace, 

Happy to be you.

You remember the good times 

More than the bad.

Eat, drink, recount 

Funny escapades you had. 

Soon, it’s heart felt goodbyes, 

Promises to stay in touch.

Promises you won’t keep, 

But, it won’t matter so much.

Looking back on this day 

Is a revelation.

The past is not your destiny,

Nor your salvation.

Hopeless nerd, 

Or shining star.

Whoever you were, 

You’re now who you are.

II-21. Good Old Friend

This afternoon I’ll see him, 

My good old friend. 

We’ll laugh, reminisce, 

Tell our favorite stories again.  

No matter how long 

Since we last saw each other, 

It feels like reuniting  

With a long-lost brother.  

What is it that makes some people, 

Just feel so right? 

While others drive you crazy, 

Make you want to take flight?  

Perhaps, it’s our shared history, 

For you see,  

Our experiences together  

Shaped him, shaped me.  

Our stories of old adventures,  

Triumphs, tears, 

Erase the decades, 

Roll back the years.  

They help us remember, 

Who we were and who we are. 

They help us celebrate that 

We’ve survived, come this far.   

When our visit ends, we’ll exchange a heartfelt goodbye. 

Both secure in the knowledge that, if today we were to die, 

If today was the day our life was scheduled to end, 

We would have spent our last hours joyously with a good old friend.       

II-22. Unintended Consequences

America’s big cities are among our country’s greatest treasures.  You can see and feel the vibrancy of huge numbers of citizens working, living, and playing in the same space.  Art, architecture, commerce, entertainment, even natural beauty, it’s all there.  And yet, our big cities also showcase some of our greatest failures and worst problems as a nation: homelessness, mental illness, addiction.  

Increasingly these problems are all out there for public viewing in our big cities.   

The cure for these problems gets debated daily by TV talking heads, politicians, clergy, and the concerned.  But, these debates, heated as they are, are mostly antiseptic and intellectual.  It’s only when you come face to face with these problems do you fully comprehend their horror.    The question is: “What to do about it?”  

Do you treat these maladies as crimes and not allow these behaviors in public spaces?  Do you force people to conform to an agreed upon standard of public conduct even to the point of telling them how they can and cannot live their lives in order to prevent their maladies and behaviors from spilling into the public space? Or, do you say it’s your job to support them no matter what their conduct, infirmities, and life choices are? 

While this debate rages, we see the safety and sanctity of city streets slipping away.  Full time residents become anesthetized to seeing homeless, mentally ill, and addicted people as a normal part of their daily lives.    I don’t know what the ultimate answers are, but I know what I see and what I feel when I encounter these problems, these people on city streets. The poem below is my attempt to put those feelings into words.

Unintended Consequences

Visiting the big city. 

Grandkids in tow. 

Headed to McDonald’s 

Their favorite place to go.

A quick stop for groceries along the way, 

There I get the first of several unreal shocks that day. 

We pull into the under-building place to park. 

It’s creepy. It’s littered. It’s smelly, semi-dark.  

Turns out it’s a 

Subterranean homeless lair. 

A grungy man in the distance 

Stands peeing as if we’re not there.  

I hurry wife and grandkids 

Out of the car. 

I rush them to the elevator,

Not too far.    

I make sure I stand  

Between them and every threat.  

But, the freak show  

Is far from over yet.  

Shopping quickly over, 

McDonald’s is our next stop. 

What we see there is sickening,  

Makes me want to call a cop.  

Pacing back and forth  

Outside the entry door, 

A strung-out man is ranting, 

Gesturing at the floor.

I walk us gingerly by him.   

I’m ready to attack. 

To make sure he can’t hurt us.

To defend. To fight back.   

Maybe my actions 

Aren’t the caring thing to do. 

But it’s tough to be caring with a

Muttering junkie menacing you. 

It’s hard to believe

We’re in a great American city. 

What I’m seeing engenders disgust,  

But also pity.  

To protect my wife and grandkids, 

There’s nothing I won’t do. 

The reality is these men were once  

Someone’s loved ones too.  

Each was once someone’s  

Bouncing baby boy.

Now they haunt the streets like zombies,  

Shuffling without joy. 

The Seattle City Council says it has

 A compassionate plan.

But the stench of their failure 

Envelops each homeless man.  

They say we can’t force these men 

To become sober and sane. 

They say we have no right to make them  

Deal with their illness and pain.  

Our job is only  

To finance, to give.

Not to tell the homeless 

Or anyone else how to live. 

Redistribute income is   

What the City Council proposes to do.  

Take money from the demonized “them” 

Give a portion to the beatified “you.”  

The "them" they despise 

Is actually you and me.

They see themselves as blameless

Take no responsibility.

And the "you" they say they're helping

Never get help in the end.

All they do is allocate themselves

More public money to spend.

Their failed approach seems

Quite inane.

They perpetuate the street people 's 

Filth, degradation,  pain.

This brand of caring 

Seems like a fiction. 

Is it compassion to prolong

These poor soul's madness, addiction?  

Poor City Council,  

You must be feeling quite conflicted.

You’ve built a magnet instead of a cure 

For the homeless and addicted.  

II-23 God's Waiting Room

As part of my preparation to publish this book of poems, I am starting to meet with editors, publishers, and other people I may want to hire to put the book into final form.  One of the people I met with had a strongly negative reaction to the title, Sunset Years.    '

This commentator actually scrunched his face up into a scowl while telling me that my title didn’t accurately reflect the people in The Villages. Our peers, he said forcefully, are not surrendering in this last phase of life.  He suggested that Sunrise would be a more appropriate and accurate title to describe the people of our hometown and generation.    

I have decided that I will gather feedback on this issue more broadly than just a sample of one.  However, I did understand why he made the suggestion.  Like me, he is very active in his senior years.  It’s a trait that is almost universal among those of us who have decided to make The Villages our final home.   

As is almost always the case, the best way for me to crystalize and express my thoughts on this issue was in verse. So, here is my commentary of agreement that Sunrise is an appropriate metaphor for what I am seeking to express in this book.  Do I want to change the title? I’m sure I’ll make that decision before my target publishing goal of Q4 2022.   

God’s Waiting Room  

You’ve a good twenty years 

Until your demise. 

Is this time you have left 

Your sunset or sunrise?  

Sunset life is retreat. 

Your light is fading, going down.  

Try as you might to resist 

You are ebbing away, losing ground.   

Sunrise life is renewal 

New beginnings, new things to do. 

Seeing what else you can conquer. 

Building an ever better, stronger, you.   

Are your best years ahead or past?

The answer lies within you.

Are you still climbing new mountains? 

Still learning, loving, creating anew?  

Or are you shrinking, withdrawing 

Focused on what you can no longer do. 

Just barely holding on 

Until the Reaper comes for you?  

Are you living your next adventure? 

Trying to capture that next crown?

Or stuck in a stale waiting room 

Until they put you in the ground? 

Is your life still a thrilling ride? 

Or a sad, defeated frown? 

Your sun is in the sky. 

Is it rising? Or going down?  

Are your best years ahead or past? 

The answer lies within you. 

It’s not about what you hope or wish for. 

It’s all about choices, what you do.   

Old man. Old woman. What images do those phrases call up for you? Powerlifting? Running triathlons? Hundred-mile cycling days?  Competing for gold in Olympic style meets against the best athletes in your class nationally and internationally? 

Be honest.  If you’re like most people, when you hear that somebody is old, your mental picture is anything but vitality and fitness. Yet, if you came to my hometown, The Villages Florida, you would see scores of people in their senior years who are still striving to perform physically at a high level.  

Our local Masters Powerlifting Team, Only The Strong, has two international world champion lifters and is reliably in the top tier of gold medal winning teams in the annual statewide Senior Games athletic competitions.  The same is true of our swimmers, archers, pickleball and track and field teams. But, as they say in the commercials: “Wait, there’s more!”  That’s only our top tier competitive athletes.

Our fitness clubs, recreation centers, walking paths, pools, tennis and pickleball courts, bocce courts, softball fields, Yoga, Zumba and Dance studios are all filled with Villagers working out regularly just to stay healthy.  All ages, all sizes, all types of seniors make physical activity an integral part of their daily life. The seniors in The Villages exemplify the concept of active senior living. So do millions and millions of their senior peers across the country. 

My own story is pretty typical. I had a hyper-demanding career that – especially in my last five working years - left little to no time for healthy living.  After retirement, I got a stern warning from my doctor that I needed to change my state of health or accept a compromised lifestyle going forward.  I accepted the challenge to reinvent my approach to exercise and life. 

I took up weightlifting, walking, swimming, and a series of other healthy activities that I would never have had time for in my working years. I am now healthier and fitter at 70 than I ever was at 55. My local health club even did a video on my transformation as a part of series they published on You Tube of members who were changing their health and their lives through exercise. 

What I didn’t expect when I embarked on this senior years fitness journey, was that it would be a mental as well as a physical challenge.  I believe that setting, struggling to make, and incrementally achieving challenging goals is hard wired into anyone who has been successful in life. 

I was fortunate enough to become a senior manager in several companies in the latter part of my career.  I loved the challenge, but jobs like those I held are not for the faint of heart. The daily, weekly, quarterly, monthly, and fiscal year performance of all the staffs and business units I was responsible for was measured, reported, reviewed, and scrutinized 24x7x365. 

One second after midnight on January 1st you and your business units became accountable to meet that year's new goals.  That responsibility, that obligation to meet those goals despite whatever obstacles and setbacks came up along the way, did not end until the last second of the fiscal year expired.  

Even if you made your goals, the pressure never came off.  Every goal you achieved just became the new floor of expectations for what you would be required to achieve in the next business period.   And, what was the expected of you in that next business period?  More! More! More!

I believe that this spirit of continuous striving is integral to all successful people regardless of their occupation, role, financial or social status.  That is why exercise done right can become mentally and even spiritually fulfilling.   Rigorous physical training where you measure and track your performance and constantly try to incrementally improve ends up becoming a natural way of satisfying this fundamental instinct.  It not only makes you healthier. I think it changes your entire outlook on life.

Instead of regarding your senior years as a period of decline, you are looking ahead to what new personal physical achievement records you can set, what new capabilities and skills you can master.  You are not getting up each day, dispirited, defeated, and feeling that your best days are in your past. You may be chronologically old, but intellectually, spiritually, emotionally, your life is ahead of you, not behind you.     

The excerpt below is from my poem, Heavy Bag Workout.  It describes what it is like to go out to the garage, put on boxing gloves. and proceed to pound away at a heavy bag until your shoulders hurt, and you are totally sweat covered, and exhausted.  Why do it?  Because, when the end timer rings, you are also elated,  exhilarated, thrilled,  because you just pushed your performance a little bit further than you ever have before.

Excerpt From the Poem: “Heavy Bag Workout” 

For the actual purpose  

Of this bout.  

Is a test of what’s inside  

Not what’s out.   

It’s not you against the bag.  

It’s really you against you.  

How far can you push yourself?  

How much more can you do?   

Instead of a hated foe,  

The bag’s a partner who,  

Helps you forge, 

A better, stronger you.  

You know what you were  

How much more can you be?  

When Siri starts her timer,  

It’s your chance to see.   

The finish timer rings 

Exhausted you end the round.  

But you treasure your time with the bag  

And the new inner strength you’ve found.  

So, I hope you enjoy the poems in this section.  They describe how the physical activities that millions of seniors are undertaking in retirement have provided a means to for them to develop physically, mentally and spiritually and have changed their outlook on life. 

**********************************************************************

Poems for Seniors Not Ready for The Rocking Chair

III-1. You Are What You Do

III-2. Grit Reps

III-3. Weightlifting and Poetry

III-4. Climbing the Next Mountain

III-5. Neural Drive

III-6. The Inner Game

III-7. Team Practice

III-8. Roar!

III-9. Soar!

III-10. Recovery - Commitment to The Journey

III-11. Recovery - Week One

III-12. Recovery - Week Two

III-13. Recovery - Week Three

III-14. Recovery - Week Four

III-15. Recovery - Week Five

III-16. Recovery - Week Six

III-17. Recovery - Week Seven

III-18. Recovery - Week Eight - Hard Things

III-19. Recovery - Week Nine

III-20. Recovery - Week Ten

III-21. Recovery - Week Eleven

III-22. Recovery - Week Twelve

III-23. Recovery - Week Thirteen

III-24. Recovery - Week Fourteen

III-25. Recovery - Aftermath

III-26. Weightlifting As Life

III-27. Heavy Bag Workout

III-28. Fighting The Next Round

III-29. What If Being Fierce Is Part of Being Good?

**************************************

III-1. You Are What You Do

Baseball players have a signature song that is played as they walk to the plate.  It is supposed to remind them of who they are and inspire them as they take on the challenge of facing off against the pitcher.     When I am no longer around and my grandkids or great grandkids wonder who I was and what my life was about, I hope they read this poem.  It expresses everything I have learned and believe about life.  When I am facing daunting odds, hard tests, I think about these words and the truths they represent.  I hope they speak to you the way they do to me.

You Are What You Do  

What are you capable of? 

How far can you go? 

If you’re not testing yourself, 

How do you know?  

Make your life  

An unending quest

To keep elevating

Your personal best.   

Becoming that you 

You want to be, 

Takes perpetual effort 

Nothing is free.   

Setting the goal 

Isn’t the hard part. 

Success only comes  

With effort, sweat, heart

When your mind says: ”No.” 

Switch it to: ”Go” 

When you’d rather stay in, 

Force yourself to begin.  

If you want to become,  

The best version of you. 

Forget hopes and wishes,

You are what you do. 

III-2. Grit Reps

It’s been a hard squat workout 

You’ve given it your best.

It’s time to end this torture.

Hit the showers. Get some rest. 

Coach says: “One more.” 

“I’m sure you’ll love it.”

 “It’s a chance to test, 

 “Whether you have grit.” 

 “How many reps,” you ask.

 “Well that depends on you.” 

“You keep on squatting until”

 “there’s no more you can do.” 

“Ok,” you say.  “How many”

“Do you think I can do?” 

Coach smiles and says:

“Let’s see at least 15 out of you.”  

You cinch down your wrist wraps, 

Lever your lift belt tight. 

You glare at the bar. 

You’re ready for this fight. 

You rip off five reps,  

Hit ten, then fifteen.  

You’re feeling, focused, angry, 

Strong, mean.   

“Let’s see five more,”

Coach yells out.

“Let’s find out here and now

What you’re really about.” 

You grind out twenty, 

Thirty, then thirty five. 

You are gasping, growling 

Enraged, thrilled, alive.   

Other coaches start walking over, 

To see what you can do.

It’s not about the weight 

It’s about what’s inside you.  

“Have you got forty?”

 “Let's see it.”

 “This is no time 

"To give up, quit.”  

You are panting, surging, straining, 

Doing all you can do. 

It’s a death fight between

The bar and you.   

You’re past the end of your endurance 

There is nothing more you can do. 

Then someone yells out:

 “Have you got fifty in you?” 

The bar weighs a ton, 

You can’t possibly do more.  

Then your mind turns your body to steel, 

And you thrust up from the floor.  

You hit fifty.

Stagger forward.

Lower the bar to the rack.

You were transformed for a moment. 

But now you are back.   

There are fist bumps, smiles 

Coach gives you a high five 

You are exhausted, exhilarated. 

On these moments you thrive.  

It isn’t just about strength 

Or even about being tough.

It’s a contest to see if  

Inside you have enough.  

Can you will yourself to be more, 

Than you ever dreamed you could be? 

Can you achieve hard fought goals?   

Erase your boundaries?   

Mentor not foe 

The bar’s a partner who

Helps you become

The best version of you. 

III-3. Weightlifting and Poetry 

It’s long been my

Strongly held contention. 

You don’t have to live life 

In just one dimension.  

For reasons that 

Are quite absurd

Some think you can’t 

Mix weights and words.  

Frankly,  

I disagree 

Weight lifting and poetry

Are alike to me.  

Both challenge you

To transcend your bounds. 

One with words 

One with pounds.  

Both force you to 

Test what you can do. 

See if you can become,  

A better you.  

Both emphasize form, 

Precision, art.

Both require 

Grit. Heart.                     

Both are a form  

Of self-expression. 

Both require focus and  

Maybe a touch of obsession.   

Instead of life easy  

But unfulfilled, 

Weight lifters and poets seek transformation, 

Tests of will.   

So, if someone tells you 

You have to choose. 

Weights and words don’t mix 

Ignore their narrow views.

Tell them their goals

Are simply too small.   

You want poetry AND weightlifting. 

You want it all.   

For you are on a lifelong 

Quest you see  

To be the continuously  

Best you, you can be.    

III-4. Climbing the Next Mountain

Continuous striving is  

The weightlifter’s curse. 

You’re always setting new goals,

Making your road harder, worse.   

You give all you have  

To meet that next milestone 

But when you get there 

All you do is complain, moan. 

Even though it was,  

Heartbreakingly tough. 

Just scaling that past mountain, 

Is never enough.   

You labor, struggle, 

Exhaust every bit of will.  

But at the top   

It feels like only a foothill. 

You don’t know why you do it. 

It’s something you just can’t stop.

Your eyes always seem focused 

On the next higher mountaintop.  

What makes us never satisfied? 

Always rejecting the easy ride? 

I can’t explain it, but it’s like something inside 

Makes us swim against, not with the tide.   

It’s as though the struggle itself

Is what we seek to gain. 

Conquering the challenges, 

Overcoming the pain.  

To endlessly pursue harder goals 

Seems absurd, crazy. 

Isn't there a limit on  how much more

You can be a stronger, better Me?   

But no mountain ever seems high enough.

That’s not Nature’s plan. 

We reach that next higher mountaintop, 

Then, start all over again.  

III-5. Neural Drive

If you want to engage your body’s turbos,

To really feel alive, 

You need to reach down deep and 

Engage your inner neural drive.  

It sounds crazy, I know 

Like some kind of a hustle. 

But your mind just might be  

Your body’s biggest muscle. 

Power lifters know it’s not enough

To just pull up on the bar. 

You have to mentally load then explode 

If you want to take your deadlift far.  

Next time you bench press, 

Gather your thoughts, focus your feeling, 

When you hear the command “Press,” 

Slam that bar through the ceiling. 

It’s not just weight lifting,

It’s everything we do.  

Focus your mind and body as one and, 

You’ll become your best “you.”  

The next time you are confronted, 

Bring everything to the fight: 

Emotions, intellect, body,  

Focused like a laser light.  

Train your mind to run to  

Not away from your life’s mountains 

For they are the secret springs  

That feed your inner strength fountains.   

III-6. The Inner Game  

Would you compete in the Olympics,   

Even if you knew,   

The rest of the field   

Could outrun you?       

Can you hang tough  

Even at the back of the pack?   

Keep striving to excel?   

Cut yourself no slack?     

If you only enter games   

You know you can win.   

You never test  

The you within.      

The hardest thing 

In life to do

Is to keep running  when there’s no medal.  

Only you judging you.      

Facing tough times    

Do you know what you’ll do?   

Are you confident you have  

Whatever it takes to get through?      

You do if you are willing  to   

To continually put yourself to the test.  

Constantly try to achieve   

Ever better personal bests.   

You may not always medal  

In someone else’s race,  

But if you are hero/heroine of your own story,   

There’s nothing you can’t face.     

III-7. Team Practice  

Your turn up   

The deadlift bar awaits  

Shiny chrome steel   

Massive black plates.     

You walk to your spot   

You know what you must do.  

It’s a contest between the bar  

And what’s inside of you.     

But they are with you    

You’re not fighting alone 

You are part of a team   

You are one of their own.      

You get into your stance   

The yelling begins  

“You can do this!”   

“Lock it in! Lock it in!”      

Your body turns to steel  

Your feet stick the floor like glue   

You hear a loud growling sound   

That sound is coming from you.    

The bar starts to lift.   

Your team starts to shout.

Your body thrusts up.   

Your shoulders lock out.    

Yes you could work out    

On your own. 

But, it’s not the same,   

When it’s your challenge alone.    

When you are part of a team,   

You feel there’s nothing you can’t do. 

You’re more focused, more intense   

The team makes you your best you.   

III- 8. Roar!

Life is like  

A powerlifting competition,

You have your dreams,  

Your goals, your ambitions.  

Each sanctioned attempt is

A chance for you 

To test yourself 

See what you can do.  

But, when that loaded bar seems bigger than you, 

When you give it your all 

And the bar still demands more, 

Brothers! Sisters! Find your Roar!  

Roaring is for 

Those moments when, 

You have be YOU amped up 

By a factor of 10.  

Facing a challenge that 

Tests you to your core? 

Unleash your inner beast! 

Roar! 

This is no time  

For laid back or mellow. 

Be primal, be raw,  

Let out your blood curdling bellow.  

Like a lion on the verge of a kill, 

Like Teddy’s charge up San Juan hill,

 It’s the pinnacle act of personal will.  

Roar!  

Power lifters know  if they want to go far, 

They must physically AND mentally defeat the bar. 

It’s the ultimate mind-body expression 

Of who you are.  

Set Up!  

Lift! 

Lock out!

Roar! 

III-9. Soar!

Are you settling for decline? 

A one-way slide downhill? 

Or are you still chasing new goals ?

Still testing, hardening your will?  

Do you run from challenges, 

In fearful misery? 

Or, do you endlessly test to see, 

How much better you can be?  

Still striving or surrendered? 

Forever young or forever old? 

Is your life slipping away? 

Or, is it focused on your next goal?  

Is your life a defeated whimper,  

Or a soul stirring bellowing roar? 

Why settle for less and less, 

When you can still grow, achieve more?  

Your future is yours 

For the choosing

 Will it be less and less,

Or more and more?  

Will you grow ever frailer, weaker? 

Or live a life that soars! 

III-10. The Beginning – Commitment to the Recovery Journey  

You could see the top.

You were about to capture the day.  

Then life sent a crushing injury setback, 

And took it all away.  

You know the climb 

You’ve made it before. 

Can you make it again? 

Can you twice become more?  

Can you find it inside, 

To gut it out again? 

Find the self-discipline? 

Reach that higher plain?  

Comeback is 

A treacherous trail 

Where you previously succeeded, 

This time you might fail.  

So here it is,  

Another major life test. 

You’ll give it your all. 

You’ll give it your best.  

If you make it, 

It’ll be a hell of a ride 

Success will depend 

On what you have inside.     

III-11. Recovery Week One 

Completed recovery week

One in the gym. 

Saw flashes of the old me. 

I want to be him.  

Even dialing back my weights 

I’m ridiculously stiff. 

But my form was spot on 

Like a remembered jazz riff.   

Felt great to be back, 

To be striving again 

Working toward goals 

Joking with friends.  

How long will it take? 

We’ll just have to see. 

But, I’m fanatically focused 

On getting back to being me.      

III-12. Recovery Week Two 

Don’t want to sound brash  

Rude or crude, 

But today I reclaimed my 

Weightlifter attitude. 

I attacked each rep  

Like my body was on fire, 

What I lacked in muscle, 

I tried to gut out through desire.  

I rediscovered the joy 

Of linking body, inner drive. 

Of exploding into the bar. 

How it makes you feel alive.  

I rediscovered my determination. 

But, I lack my former strength. 

So, I’m committed to this recovery, 

Whatever its length.  

It’s only week two 

But I can already see 

Why I have to win this fight  

And get back to being me.  

III-13. Recovery Week Three 

Recovery is a process  

You love to hate 

As you struggle to lift 

A formerly easy weight.  

You focus hard 

Do all you can do. 

But you have miles to go 

Before you’re once again you.  

It’s about determination. 

Grit. Things fundamental 

It’s not just muscle. 

It’s spiritual, mental.   

You reach down inside.  

Fight to reclaim your best. 

Each hard-fought small win. 

Is a personal test. 

Every lift in this third 

Recovery week. 

Is another milepost 

Toward the goal you seek.  

You do everything 

You know how to do. 

On this quest to get back

To once again be you.   

III-14. Recovery Week Four

Nothing good in life 

Is easy or free. 

That’s especially true 

In recovery. 

In week four  

I begin to see  

Small steps toward  

Getting back to me. 

Today I deadlifted  

My body weight. 

A puny goal 

But, it felt great. 

Five sets of two 

Times 175. 

Form was pretty good. 

I felt excited, alive.   

That used to be  

Merely a warm-up weight. 

But hitting it today 

Was exciting, great.  

No one can walk this path for you.  

Your victories are small but true.  

When this will be over you haven’t a clue.  

But, it’s the only road back to being you.   

III-15. Recovery Week Five 

Recovery week five 

Brings a glimmer of hope. 

That the path ahead  

Is a less steep slope.  

Prior weeks physically

Brought only stiffness, pain. 

But now you begin to see progress. 

Your first real strength gain.  

You put into each lift 

All you have you have to give. 

You’re not just moving iron. 

You’re choosing how to live.   

It’s body and mind 

You against the bar. 

You’re starting to regroup  

But the end is still far.  

For you know there is  

Much, much more to do. 

Before you get back 

To once again being you.      

III-16 Recovery Week Six 

You’ve made gains 

Since week one. 

But, your comeback’s  

Far, far from done.   

You’re making progress. 

You’re having fun.  

But you’ve miles to go  

Before this war’s won.