Better Than Best

I didn’t stay young

but I never got old

My cards often weak

when watching you fold

I sailed into weather

the saltiest balked

And bit off big pieces

while walking my talk

 

I painted with brushes

DaVinci had blessed

And wandered and wondered

 much better than best

I took from my heart

and gave to my soul

The circle expanding

— three halves to my whole

 

(The New Room: April, 2024)

Poem By My Son Trystan

No more

Mothballs and cedar assault my nose

The dust mites and stale air dry my throat

A wardrobe that is just that

The lion roars no more

Neutered and robbed of his fire

The last time the words were read

In the darkness of this cell I fear the witch no more

Drunk at her cauldron

Slurred words conjure no magic

Snow driven mountains of pure white

Have dissolved into a gray haze

Footprints like bread crumbs dissolved

My desperate escape blocked

Solid wood between me and salvation

My world made infinitely smaller

When the gateway to Narnia can no longer be imagined

— the magic dies

 

(Trystan Colin Behm- April, 2024)