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.

This web page contains two series of poems. The first series contains poems for seniors who still love each other. The second series contains poems for seniors who still love life. 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!   

SERIES 1 - POEMS FOR SENIORS WHO STILL LOVE EACH OTHER  

In the summer of 2021, my wife, Diane, and I took a three-month, 10,000- mile Recreational Vehicle (RV) trip around the United States. You can read about it on the tabs of this website that are labeled USA-21.  Only a few months earlier, our longest RV trip ever was the three-mile supervised test drive we took when we decided to buy our coach.   

Our trip was the experience of a lifetime. We saw the river deltas of the South, the vast deserts, mountains, and geological wonders of the American West, the endless grasslands of the Mid-West, and the beauty of New England and the Atlantic Coast. We even got to see what it’s like to drive through the Bronx in New York City at rush hour with an RV and tow car. (Hint: If you can handle crossing the Rocky Mountains, you can handle crossing New York City.)   

Spending day and night together for three months experiencing all these adventures and overcoming the countless logistical challenges a trip of this magnitude tests your relationship way beyond the boundaries of normal day to day life. You are constantly in motion, constantly outside your home territory, and because you are taking on an RV trip of this size for the first time, almost always working outside of your comfort zone.   

If something is prone to breaking on your RV, the stresses of this kind of trip are sure to make it happen. The same is true of your relationship. Our trip made us appreciate each other and the relationship that we have built up even more.    In June of 2022, we will be celebrating our 50th anniversary.  

When we got back from our trip, I decided that I wanted to capture not only the excitement of our travel experience, but also what I had learned about us as a couple. It led to my writing the poem that opens this series of poems on love: Still the One. After that, the floodgates opened.   

If you are a writer, you know that you don’t call up the ideas, the ideas come to you on their own timetable. When they do, your job is to do the best you can to capture them as they frantically flow from your head, through your fingers, and onto the page. Within a very short time, my one poem had turned into a collection.   I have decided to make it a living document and I constantly add new love poems as the words come to me.   

Diane and I are in our seventies. Most of our friends are seventy or even older. What does it mean to love someone in your senior years? Is it a lukewarm, more like roommates, too much trouble to change so might as well stay together situation? Or, can your long years of being together make you even more passionate about and devoted to each other? 

This trip reinforced for us that we still love each other in a way that the general culture says is only for the young. Further, we think we’re not the only ones.   We live in The Villages, Florida, one of the largest senior communities in the country. There are over 136,000 people in our community. The vast majority are over 55. In fact, in our section of The Villages, Sumter County, the average age is over 67. 

Go to any of our town centers on any evening and you will see countless senior couples holding hands, dancing, laughing, and just radiating the kind of affection for each other that people of every age long for and are grateful for if they are able to find it.   So, the poems in this section celebrate our 50 years as a married couple and the love that has made still our life together an adventure to this day.  

Whatever your age is, I hope you enjoy these poems. Most importantly, especially if you, like us, are in your senior years, I hope you are able to use these poems to tell the person you love how special they are to you and remind yourself just how lucky you are to have them in your life. 

Dog Life

Rounding The Bend

Wheelchair Stare

How Much is Enough?

The New Old

Fredericksburg 911 

Today’s News 

Our Wonderful Girl

You Are What You Do

Grit Reps

Weightlifting and Poetry

Recovery - Commitment to The Journey

Recovery - Week One

Recovery - Week Two

Recovery - Week Three

Recovery - Week Four

Recovery - Week Five

Recovery - Week Six

Recovery - Week Seven

Recovery - Week Eight - Hard Things

Recovery - Week Nine

Recovery - Week Ten

Recovery - Week Eleven

Recovery - Week Twelve

Recovery - Week Thirteen

Recovery - Week Fourteen

Recovery - Aftermath

Heavy Bag Workout

Fighting The Next Round

The Only Way Out Is Through

You Are What You Do

Easter 2021

Our RV Trip of A Lifetime

Out of Control

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

Dog Life

 “Hey!” Don’t tug on my leash

 “I’m not done sniffing here yet.” 

I tell ya, some days life 

Is one big trip to the Vet.  

I know you’re busy. 

Have things to do. 

But this is my only chance to  

Check on friends. 

Take a poo.   

We dogs live through our nose. 

Follow every vapor. 

For us sniffing a pole is like 

Reading the newspaper.   

Oh look. 

Lacy that sexy  Lapadoodle’s been here.

 Her scent has hints of floral.  

It’s recent and clear.   

I think I’ll leave her 

A message from me. 

“I think you’re cute.” 

I spray out lovingly.   

On to the next bush,  

Got to leave my mark.   

And when other dogs come by 

I’ve got to sniff and/or bark.   

I enjoy our walks 

This chance to get out, roam.   

But, I miss my snacks and sofa.  

There’s no place like home!   

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.       

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.    

How Much Is Enough?

In my latter years,  

I’ve started looking back. 

One big mystery is,  

How do you keep track?  

There are people out there  

Who consider themselves blessed,

When they can’t get their arms, 

Around the expanse of their mess.  

I’ve had seven Harley’s, 

And six cats. 

I’ve got a dresser full of T-shirts 

And baseball hats.   

Would my life have more meaning,

If I owned a warehouse store? 

Would I be a better person, 

If I simply owned more?  

If you measure your life 

By your pile of stuff, 

You’ll forever be behind.

 You can’t hoard enough.  

No amount of stuff is worth dying 

Miserable, alone.  

At the end it’s who loves you,  

Not what you own.  

When I think about  

What’s important in my life, 

It’s daughter, grandkids, friends, 

My wonderful wife.   

So, what they say must be true.  

It is for me. 

The best things in my life, 

Actually are free.       

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 future be defined by you 

Not the hour glass’s sand.  

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.

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

Will destroy 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.      

Our Wonderful Girl 

Our beloved Bella cat 

Died today. 

Tomorrow we will 

Lay her away.  

For 16 years 

She was a part of our world.

 We loved her dearly

This wonderful girl.  

Who will sleep  

With us tonight? 

Who’ll wake us for her food

At dawn’s first light?  

Who’ll patrol for lizards

In our lanai? 

Who’ll chase her laser light 

And make us laugh till we cry? 

Who’ll cuddle with us  

When we watch TV? 

Who’ll purr just sitting next 

To Diane and me?  

We loved this cat 

She was a part of our life. 

Together we three faced

All life’s good times, strife. 

Diane and I are old now. 

The truth is that. 

Bella will likely be

Our last cat.  

Like Bella we are closer

To the day 

When our end will arrive. 

When they’ll lay us away.  

When our time comes

 We both hope that

 We’ll be as missed and loved

As our wonderful Bella cat. 

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. 

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 us 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. 

 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 

In their view.  

Tell them their world view  

Is 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.    

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.     

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.      

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.  

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. I

t’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.   

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.   

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.      

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.  

Lifting bars of steel 

Awakens your inner drive. 

You remember how it makes you feel. 

You are reborn. You come alive.   

Still, you’ve miles to go 

And much to do. 

Before you get fully back 

To being you.   

Recovery Week Seven 

Commit a crime  

You do the sentence. 

Commit a sin, 

You do the penance.  

If I’m ever gonna 

Get back to being me. 

I’ve got to gut out  

This recovery.  

You can’t buy your way back  

Even with big bucks 

You just grind it out 

Even though it sucks. 

So, even though I’m sore 

And butt draggin’ the floor, 

I give everything I have 

Then just a little more.  

Recovery

Is continuing misery. 

But I’m committed to this fight

Of getting back to being me.   

Recovery Week Eight - Hard Things

Hard things aren’t 

The things that break you.

Hard things are the things  

That make you. 

Life’s not what you say,

It’s what you do. 

Set a low bar 

Become a low bar you.  

Reach high and even

If you don’t take home gold 

You build a you  

That’s strong, bold.   

Face down hard things 

And soon life has few  

Things that can  

Stop or even scare you.  

Run to life’s challenges  

Not away 

And you become the one 

Able to save the day.  

You become the one 

On which people can rely 

The heroine, the hero 

The clutch play kind of guy.  

So next time you’re exhausted,

On the verge of wanting to quit. 

Remember your actions 

Are how your story will be writ.   

Hard things aren’t your problem.

They’re your secret weapon to, 

Become. a stronger, better,  

More resilient you.       

Recovery Week Nine  

One day recovery 

Will merely be  

A quaint, painful 

Memory  

But, today again,  

You face the bar 

Test your progress 

Gauge who you are.  

Chrome and steel 

Ominous black plates.

Your performance  

Defines your fate.  

For the only way back 

To the you, you used to be.   

Is running this gauntlet 

Of recovery. 

Falter and all  

Your gain-backs are lost. 

An unthinkable outcome 

An unacceptable cost.  

Recovery is a prison 

Of dashed hopes, self-doubt. Y

ou must draw on what’s inside.  

And simply fight your way out.       

Recovery Week Ten - 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 

s 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 

What it takes to get through?  

You do if you are willing to  

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.     

Recovery Week Eleven  

The recovery I hoped would take weeks 

Is looking like it will take months. 

Until then, am I the diminished me I am now? 

Or the stronger me I was once?  

Some say you are always you.  

I say we are what we do. 

I say this weaker me is a temporary state. 

 A transition back, not my long-term fate.

Time will be the final witness 

Of what turns out to be true. 

Will I succeed at getting back? 

Or fail at what I’m trying to do?  

There are always outside forces

 Trying to decide who you are. 

Seeing if you’ll settle for less 

Instead of striving to reach far.  

You can accept your fate or make it. 

Fight to become what you want to be. 

I don’t accept this setback version. 

I will get back to the stronger me.

When this story is over

 We’ll all be able to look back and see. 

Did I make it or did I fail 

At determining which me I will be?   

Recovery Week Twelve

I’d love to say 

It’s fun. A ball.

But the truth is recovery’s 

A frustrating long haul.  

You only know how  

Long it’s been. 

Not when this process 

Will finally end.   

You look for signs 

Rays of hope. 

Keep on finding

New ways to cope. 

It would be over now 

If it were up to you. 

But your only way out, 

Is to keep slogging through. 

So, you grasp the bar  

Thrust up with all your might. 

You’ are determined  

You will win this fight.  

You lock out the lift 

Better, but not enough. 

This process is a test. 

Do you have the right stuff?  

You know what you were, 

What you hope to be again. 

All you can do 

Is tough it out until the end.    

Recovery Week Thirteen   

Welcome to the world of recovery. 

Every gym day’s a chance to see, 

You’re physically not 

The man you used to be. 

 For three months  

Injury recovery 

Tried hard to get  

The better of me.  

The road back 

 Was painful, tedious, slow. 

I just kept grinding on. 

There was no other way to go. 

You fight to get back, 

To your personal best.  

To match your previous lifts, 

It’s a tough, challenging test.   

Today was a big step  

Toward breaking free  

From this endless  

Fog of recovery.  

I beat my prior best  

Deadlift today. 

Didn’t baby step over it. 

I blew it away.      

Today’s final deadlift just 

Flew up from the floor.  

It was ten pounds over 

My best ever before. 

 One less black mark.  

Less focus on what I used to be. 

My deadlift is recovered. 

One less dark cloud over me.  

I’m still working on 

My bench press and squat. 

What I used to lift there I still cannot. 

But beating my old deadlift, 

Gives me hope. 

That this process has an end. 

That I’m on the downhill slope.  

That someday soon  I’ll be able to say

 I’ve made it through recovery All the way.  

Until then  

I’m not quite totally free. 

Each day is another milestone 

To getting back to being me.       

 Recovery Week Fourteen - Finish Line

First quarter this year 

Injury took me out of the gym. 

My chances for recovery 

Grew increasingly dim.  

Cleared medically eight weeks later, 

I made my return. 

Knowing regaining what I’d lost,  

Was something I’d have to re-earn.  

Recovery Is a dark cloud  

It’s not easy, not your friend. 

It’s an endless painful climb  

 an unpredictable end.  

For fourteen weeks 

I fought each day to get back.

To regain my strength. 

Get my life again on track. 

I never knew  

How long It would take. 

I simply fought each day for 

What little progress I could make.  

I kept envisioning  

The finish line. 

Not knowing, if it would ever come, 

 If I could make that success mine. 

Could I ever again match my prior high

Bench, deadlift and squat? 

Testing myself was the only way to know 

 If I could or could not.          

Our team ended a 

Training cycle this week. 

It was the best way to test 

If my chances were good or bleak.

The good news is 

I did just fine 

I blew right past  

My target finish line.   

I set new personal records  

In bench, squat, and deadlift. 

After fourteen weeks of recovery hell. 

It was a tremendous gift.   

This was one of the hardest 

Things in my life to do. I

It wasn’t just a strength test,

It was a character test too.  

Can you do hard things? 

How do you know? 

When was the last time you tested yourself 

To be sure that it’s so?  

Hard things don’t break us. 

Hard things are what make us.

They push our limits out far 

They expand who we are.  

So next time you are challenged, 

Persevere, don’t give in. 

A better stronger you 

Is worth fighting to win.            

Recovery – Aftermath 

Passing by a window

 Finally, reflected I see 

 Someone who looks like 

The me I used to be. 

 I’m back down to 

My target training weight 

I’m again loading my lifts  

With plate after plate.   

My totals are now past 

 Where they were last December 

Instead of a daily goal, 

Recovery is simply something I remember.  

It was a long hard road 

To get back to this place. 

Falling back is something 

I never again want to face.  

I look forward now 

To reaching new heights  

Setting new goals 

Winning new fights.  

The ultimate expression 

 Of what it means to be free 

Is self-defining who you are, 

Being the me you want to be.

Heavy Bag Workout

 “Siri, start timer. 

Start my next round.” 

The bell rings, you explode 

Thrilled, unleashed at the sound.  

Jab, jab, hook. 

Jab, jab, hook.

Each round is story

You write like a book.   

Circle, attack. 

Circle attack. 

Until the round is over 

There’s no going back.   

Left jab, double jab, 

Left hook, left cross. 

You punch with all you have

 Show the bag who is boss.  

Torquing your body, 

Punching with all your weight. 

The bag is a dance partner 

You love to hate.   

You punish the bag 

With your best combo. 

You’re mortal combat partners.

Dancing a rage-filled mambo.   

It’s rhythm, cadence, 

Repetition, tempo. 

You and the bag become one 

Perfectly linked, simpatico.    

Your shoulders scream with pain 

You whole body starts to tire. 

But you keep fighting on 

With determination, inner fire.   

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. 

Fighting the Next Round  

In the spring of 2020, one of my friends asked if I had defriended her, because, for months, she hadn’t seen any poems from me posted on FACEBOOK.  She hadn’t seen any, because during the first half of 2020, I didn’t have time to write any. 

Starting in January 2020, our life became a ride through a Class 5 white water rapids.    Diane and I were not only coping with COVID, we also moved to a new home in one of the new Villages communities that had just opened south of Sumter County Road 44. I aggravated an old injury during the move and had to go through physical rehabilitation. It didn’t work.   

I’ve had three back surgeries and several serious back related episodes along the way.  Overs the years, doctors strongly questioned my decision to lift heavy weights. This time they were adamant that I really should give it up.  Reluctantly, I decided this time to listen.   Now my challenge was to find an alternative way to try to stay strong and healthy.   

The gyms were all closed because of COVID. But, I was able to finally find and buy a set of Powerblock adjustable dumb bells and a folding bench.  I began working out at home in what became my new go forward workout routine – fifteen to eighteen miles per week of walking and three days per week of moderate upper body weightlifting.  This is a far cry from the Powerlifting routines of my yesteryears. I cherish those experiences, but they are now my past not my future.   

As hard as handling all of these major changes at once was, change is what life is really about.  Every cell in your body renews over a three-year cycle. Even if you don’t want to change, life is changing and evolving all around you. Your place, your options, your best path forward is always shifting whether you like it or not.   So, willing or unwilling, our fate is to continually redefine who we are in this ever-changing environment.  

The bell is ringing, the referee is signaling to you. Time to cinch tight your boxing gloves, get back into the ring, and thank God that you are still able to fight another round. The poem below is my attempt to put this experience into words.    

Fighting the Next Round  

It seems as if our growing up 

Is never really done.  

There’s always new tests to face

 New races to run.   

In January I thought: 

“At last, my life has quieted down.” 

Things were settled, easy. 

Peace and harmony all around.    

I was sure I had  

Finally found my groove.  

Then, suddenly Diane and I decided.

 “Hey, let’s move.”  

Four arduous months later, 

We’d transplanted ourselves, our stuff. 

The new home was worth it,  

But moving is rough.   

Some say hoisting heavy stuff  

At my age is dumb. 

Could be they’re right 

My arm and hand went numb.  

 Called the Doctor, asked: 

 “Hey, what the heck?” 

 “Not good,” he said.

 “You’ve pinched a nerve in your neck.” 

 COVID had kept me from powerlifting 

And my gym.

Now,  “You can’t powerlift anymore.”

 Was the stern message from him.   

“You can lift, but

No more ultra-heavy weight.” 

It was a dagger to my heart.

But, I accepted my fate.   

Your old house gone,  

Sport you loved gone too. 

Time to reach inside, 

Reinvent yourself anew.    

So now I’m meeting my new neighbors  

And keeping my old friends too. 

 I’ve retooled my workouts, 

Defined new strength goals to pursue.  

In January, I thought  

I had everything under control. 

Life was predictable, easy.

A leisurely stroll.  

In June, I can hardly  

Recognize my life.  

About the only thing that hasn’t changed 

Is Diane, my partner, girlfriend, wife.   

So, no matter what our age 

We can’t be sure what fate will bring. 

We can only cinch tight our gloves,  

And climb back into life’s boxing ring.  

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.

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. 

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. 

Diane and I live in The Villages, Florida. Over 136,000 people, primarily seniors, live here. It is one of the most unique communities in the world.  People here are active, vital, and see their senior years as a time of growth and possibility not despair and decline.  The children of Villagers sometimes have a different expectation of what old age is supposed to be like than we do.  This mismatch can have some hilarious consequences.  It is very common to hear stories about how our children don't approve of the life we live and wish we would just "act our age!"