653 A Flight of Doves 1-21-17 (go to 580 for key word search)

When I was twenty,
because there were millions of moments
out there ahead of me,
I paid no attention to a mere
fluttering of a flock of doves.

But, now, because I am,
as my 70 year old,
much loved wife giggles to say,
“in your 69th year”
not yet ancient, certainly,
but well within the realm of “old”,
and closer, but still some distance,
(I pray)
from that determined destiny of death,

when I sit on our back deck
on a too warm to be winter
January Sabbath eve,
watching the sun set,
leafless trees standing stark
against the cloud grayed sky,
the night-made chill shivering the chimes,


comes that flock of doves,
whirring their Three Stooges gurgle as they wing by.

And I offer razored attention.

I don’t know why they
just this moment fly,
nor where they nest for the night.
I sense only these fleeting few
startling seconds.
Then nothing but fiery sunset clouds
turned iron gray,
dark crept up from the valley
behind me,
stands of pines melted into black.

It is this dove flight moment
as days end comes upon me,
I cling to
and revere.

About Ken Greenman

Married and Happy. Retired and busy. Living in NC. 71 and counting. December 12, 2020 and it's 72! ... I would love some written comments, critiques, adulation or kind suggestions.... If you have the time and or inclination, please feel free! Not in fear but by faith. We will see. See you later! If you ever want to talk for real, email me and I will send you my cell number.... I am enjoying this!
This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s