“We are all influencers!”

Sunday, November 30, 2025--Poetry Day 30

Lone tree in Utah Lake

“We are all influencers!”

I am convinced we are all influencers
in some way because, like Benvolio,
we are in the “public haunt of men….
[where] all eyes gaze on us….”

What we do affects people—
knowingly and unknowingly.

Often, and much to our chagrin,
many people watch and imitate us.

Our positive self-influence propels us
and others to remember who
and whose we are, always striving
to live elevated lives, no matter
what we are doing or where
we find ourselves in life’s journey.

The key hinges on becoming
what we want to become
and then live and act accordingly.

It’s the little things that we do
or say that make the difference.

It’s about caring and kindness
and compassion and being diligent
in being astute, aware, and anticipatory.

As we trundle through life’s challenges,
embrace the power of your influence
in your own life and the lives
your families, friends, co-workers,
or anyone within our sphere of influence
and never underestimate your influence.

The Redwoods

"Early dusting of snow"

Saturday, November 29, 2025--Poetry Day 29

First snow, Mt. Timpanogas

"Early dusting of snow"

It happened sometime
during the night,
maybe early morning.

The temperatures dropped
during a rain storm
just enough to turn
droplets to snowflakes,
blanketing the high points
and the crevices of the mountains.

The smattering of snow
during the night was seen
by no one until the early light
of morning erupted
through the low hanging clouds.

And I looked
and was mesmerized
by the contrast of green
on the ground before me
and the white cover
on the yonder mountain tops.

Another one of God’s creations
flattering us vividly
with beginning of winter
and lovely white snow.

“Funerals: A confluence of past, present, and future”

Friday, November 28, 2025--Poetry Day 28

Three women in the a.m., Dominican Republic

“Funerals: A confluence of past, present, and future”

Funerals are those events we attend to pay
respects to the family, knowing
they are inevitable in all our lives.
Most that I go to are upbeat and peaceful,
full of passion, laugher, tears, happy vibes,
revelations, a few surprises in stories,
and a sense of humanity and healing.

Children give remarks about the goodness
of their parents, stories of birds, fishing,
them coming to every game and event,
funny sayings that they shared,
and other memories that usually draw
laughter, sometimes surprises, and tears
from both the speaker and the audience.

Talented children and grandchildren sing
lovely and poignant hymns or songs,
some they wrote for this occasion,
on guitars, pianos, cello, violins, and flutes.

Outside in the foyer, delightful old photos,
paintings, drawings, cool memorabilia
and a PowerPoint presentation loops
through the life of the deceased.
We all stop and watch, mesmerized
with the changes over time, knowing
these same changes are happening
in our own lives, more quickly than we want.

As we sit in the pews, our eyes focused
on the front where the casket waits
patiently to be transported somewhere
close by to an open grave surrounded by turf,
we wonder to ourselves what our funerals
will be like, what our families, friends,
and speakers will say about us,
what hymns or songs will be played or sung
or what stuff our children will drag out and showcase.

Perhaps, we shouldn’t worry
so much about that as we should worry
about how we are living today,
right now, and change anything
that might startle the mourners at our funerals.

Towering Redwoods

“Funerals: A confluence of past, present, and future”

Friday, November 28, 2025--Poetry Day 28

Early morning, Dominican Republic

“Funerals: A confluence of past, present, and future”

Funerals are those events we attend to pay
respects to the family, knowing
they are inevitable in all our lives.
Most that I go to are upbeat and peaceful,
full of passion, laugher, tears, happy vibes,
revelations, a few surprises in stories,
and a sense of humanity and healing.

Children give remarks about the goodness
of their parents, stories of birds, fishing,
them coming to every game and event,
funny sayings that they shared,
and other memories that usually draw
laughter, sometimes surprises, and tears
from both the speaker and the audience.

Talented children and grandchildren sing
lovely and poignant hymns or songs,
some they wrote for this occasion,
on guitars, pianos, cello, violins, and flutes.

Outside in the foyer, delightful old photos,
paintings, drawings, cool memorabilia
and a PowerPoint presentation loops
through the life of the deceased.
We all stop and watch, mesmerized
with the changes over time, knowing
these same changes are happening
in our own lives, more quickly than we want.

As we sit in the pews, our eyes focused
on the front where the casket waits
patiently to be transported somewhere
close by to an open grave surrounded by turf,
we wonder to ourselves what our funerals
will be like, what our families, friends,
and speakers will say about us,
what hymns or songs will be played or sung
or what stuff our children will drag out and showcase.

Perhaps, we shouldn’t worry
so much about that as we should worry
about how we are living today,
right now, and change anything
that might startle the mourners at our funerals.

Towering Redwoods

“A Multiplicity of Blessings”

Thursday, November 27, 2025—Poetry Day 27

Provo Lake at sunset!

“A Multiplicity of Blessings”

Some say that blessings
don’t come their way.
It’s how you look at blessings,
how you define them,

and what they do to your life.
They are not usually big items
like Mercedes, large homes,
bags full of clothes and stuff

although they could be.
It’s the small things—
peaceful bike rides along the river,
soothing sunsets and sunrises,

gentle cool breezes in the evenings
after a hot day, fresh apple crisp
with vanilla ice cream, a new day with you in it,
grandchildren’s texts and love emojis,

phone calls from friends and families,
a good night’s rest after a challenging day,
being able to exercise in an air-conditioned room,
feeling healthy despite getting older,

understanding things about life
you never thought possible,
being with your spouse on a daily basis,
being surrounded by beautiful flowers,

watching clouds saunter by,
having a simple prayer answered
in a way you didn’t expect,
knowing who and whose you are—

They all add up, like layers of
sourdough pancakes drenched
in fresh maple syrup, ready for you
to enjoy every moment of the day or night.

Big Sky, Montana

Sunrise at Bear Lake

“The Rhythm of the Day”

Wednesday, November 26, 2025--Poetry Day 26

The Colosseum, Rome, Italy

“The Rhythm of the Day”

The rhythm of the day depends
on the time of day you wake up.
For me, the rhythm of the day
starts early, probably because
that’s what time we had to rise
as kids and milk the cow,
feed the pigs, chickens, and horses,
and then get ready for school
all before the bus came.
My mom didn’t start driving
until I was about 14,
so it was get to the bus
or walk seven miles to school
one way, which was a bit challenging.

Now, the rhythm of the day starts out
early still, for stretching, reading,
studying, and then exercising
all before 9:00 a.m. or 10:00.
Instead of breakfast being
at the crack of dawn, now
it is later around 10:00
and lunch around 3:30 or so
and then a bit of healthy snacking
along the way until bed.

In between, it's about writing,
reminiscing, working in the yard,
taking out the trash, raking leaves,
catching up on the journal,
serving, teaching, and doing
things I want to do at my own pace.

The rhythm of the day continues
its joyful cadence as it has always done
although the melodic notes
may be different pitches
during each moment of the day.

“Daily Stewing”

Tuesday, November 25, 2025--Poetry Day 25

Delicate Arch, a place for stewing and contemplation

“Daily Stewing”

It seems that lately I am stewing daily
over things that shouldn’t be in the soup.
Watching the news frosts me,

turns my heart cold at mankind,
frustrates me to no end.
Seldom are there any positives

that rise to the surface of news.
If so, they are buried back on C1
and even further back

or not mentioned it at all.
And then the people on roads
seem to disregard every rule,

cross the big white lines
to get in out of the HOV lane
without batting an eye,

play on their phones at stop lights
and often need to be reminded
by a few horn honks to move forward,

or people who just roll through
the crosswalk when the kids are in it.
And then the leaves that just float

to the ground, pile up
on the lawn and sidewalks.
I can sweep them off one day,

and they are back again the next day
like people who still come
to the party without invitations.

Stewing about all these things
brings about the froth on life’s edges,
and I think perhaps I should avoid

thinking about any of it, maybe
mind my own business and eating
a few more pieces of red licorice.