I remember them
the old people
the people always telling about
the ”good old days”
back when milk was a quarter
gas less than a buck
and on and on
those old folks are gone
and now it’s me
complaining
How could gas cost $5
who pays $10 for an ice cream cone
how much for a cup of coffee!?
really?
yes
the old people are still here
and I is one
tio stib
Tags: poetry, aging, life journey, humor of sorts
the winter wind in our small seaside town
is from the eastit’s cold
icy from passing over miles of frozen ground
pushing down river a blanket of freezing fog
that shivers bones
for my morning walk
I add a layer of clothing
pull on mittens
snug my cap
but this is just a moment’s comfort
respite for a soul that is
waiting
waiting
waiting for the wind to change
for the west wind to blow again
the wind that brings the puffy clouds
the Spring rain
waiting to shed these woolen socks
dig naked toes into warm earth
to once again
feel the pulse of being
tio stib
Tags: life journey, winter, hope, poetry
for years there was a balance
the hellos and goodbyes
mostly matched each other
yes, there were losses
there was heartache
but also new life
new people
hope
this has been a different kind of winter though
far too many goodbyes have left me wondering
will Spring bring enough helloes
tio stib
I once lived in a small town
in a small house with a front porch
a sheltered space protecting the entry door
a spot where I would hang out
sitting on a chair, sometimes the steps
drink a beer or lemonade
and simply enjoy the world passing by
a horn would honk, a friendly wave
kids would call out as they passed on their bicycles
neighbors walking dogs, hurrying home from work
“Hello!”
“Good evening!”
“Nice to feel summer again.”
“Yes, aren’t the roses beautiful?”
“How’s your garden?”
“Beans and peas are up.”
“Going fishing Saturday?”
“Yup.”
these words and waves were the gold threads
that wove a sense of connectedness , a feeling of belonging
through my life, a fabric seen and felt but not recognized in the moment
I’ve since moved, to bigger places, more complicated worlds
houses that now greet the street with cavernous carports
yawning doorways for cars beside small openings seldom used by people
and these places lack porches, no commitment to connect to the outside world
no attempt to simply sit and watch, to hear, to feel the pulse of community
I do miss the lost American porch
I miss the Americans who used to wave and talk as they passed by
tio stib
2018, 2020
You might also enjoy: Finding Home, Let’s Voyage Into the New American House
Ego is upset today
I wouldn’t let him out to play
sometimes he thinks he is the king
and disagrees with everything
he worships his own point of view
scoffs at ideas that are new
at his worst
he’s quite the boor
and then I shove him
out the door
now locked away
inside my mind
I hope
he will become
more kind
tio stib
leaning out the open door
time roars by
it’s gone
no more
behind me in the train’s cocoon
dreams fly off to distant moons
faces glued to heartless screens
joyless stares and silent screams
and so we travel every day
secure and safe or so we say
the child no longer comes to play
the status quo will have its way
I wonder what my life might be
had I the courage to jump free
will I stay an untold story
remain in hopeless purgatory
pretending that I care no more
soul crying for its need to soar
jumping off
into space
the unknown flying in my face
It’s not clear where I will land
no matter
I am free again
tio stib
2016, 2017, 2025
as morning tickled consciousness
I felt the bliss of nothingness
no cares
no pains
no trains to mis
one eye peeked out
and check the day
the sun screamed back
c’mon
let’s play
a choir of birds
sang from the trees
my only thought was
silence please
the voice of guilt
rang through my head
it’s time, your laziness
get out of bed
this voice was buried in a flash
by memories of my recent past
the years of running for the door
pushing self
do more
do more
then in a fit of selfish glee
I pulled the covers over me
I choose to hide inside my dreams
to feel once more
the peaceful bliss
of pure and simple
nothingness
tio stib
at first you think
that’s strange
she must be distracted
the repeated question
the forgotten moment
it’s just not her
but things keep happening
shoes on wrong feet
pants on backwards
toilet paper wadded up in drawers
she can’t count to ten
she wants to walk over to mom’s house
but mom lives in a another country
the oddities keep coming
until
now
after days
weeks
months
of little deaths
she sits
vacant
wordless
gone
tio stib
There are doors
that want to be free
from their hinges to
fly with perfect clouds.
There are windows
that want to be
released from their
frames to run with
the deer through
back country meadows.
There are walls
that want to prowl
with the mountains
through the early
morning dusk.
There are floors
that want to digest
their furniture into
flowers and trees.
There are roofs
that want to travel
gracefully with
the stars through
circles of darkness.
Richard Brautigan, 1968
Ever since this poem by Richard Brautigan, an American counter culture poet of the turbulent 1960’s, floated through my mind, these words have been the image of my ideal American house, and I’ve even had a few homes that nearly matched this poem’s magic..
tio stib, 2016
breathing in
scents
of fallen
rose petal
secrets
Unwrapping
tied up
boxes
of lost
memories
Waiting
while tear drops
melt
the masks in the mirror
Knowing
as these layers
of delusions and illusions
melt away
my truth
is being
revealed
Tio Stib,
1995, 2018, 2025
