Snag

Snag
Michael Gollin
November 2017

There is a complex snag down in the woods,
a dead tree, with seven limbs,
but I can only see it in winter with the leaves down.

Two winters ago,
I thought it was going to fall
before Max’s college graduation.
But it did not.

Last winter,
I thought it was going to fall
before Natasha’s grad school graduation.
But it did not.

I think it will last
until Julia’s college graduation next winter.
It will outlast me.

A Toast to Michael Gollin

Here is a song my friend Richard Morris wrote and sang for me at my sixtieth birthday party. L’chaim to him, and l’chaim…to life!

A Toast to Michael Gollin
Words by Richard Morris

Born in 1957-2017 (so far)

6-3-17 Sixty years old

(To the tune of “To Life” from Fiddler on the Roof)
A toast to Michael Gollin
To Michael A. Gollin, a toast
He is a Renaissance Man
Never an also-ran…
Drink l’chaim to Mike

To Mike the patent lawyer
For pharmies and biotech firms
A Georgetown Business professor yay
wrote the book on IPA…
Drink l’chaim to Mike

His pro bono work on Intel property led him to many foreign lands
And to found a public interest org to help so many others understand

To Mike, the dad and husband
His legacy lives on and on
Through Jill his beloved wife,
Natasha, Max and Julia…
Drink l’chaim to Mike

To Mike the bold explorer
Hauled his kin to foreign lands
The Galapagos Islands and
Kruger Safari Park…
Drink l’chaim to Mike

And down into the Everglades
And rafting the Canyon Grand
Down the Peruvian Amazon
And up Machu Pichu mountaintop…
Drink l’chaim to Mike

Then he changed into a blogger with poetry and stories for all of us to read
And poured them into Innovation, Life, and Love about Mortality

“Play the cards you’re dealt!” he wrote
And “I am a lucky man”
Remember,“You’re not alone.”
And “We’re not alone” and…
Drink l’chaim to Mike!

Sixty years old

Michael Gollin
July 3, 2017

Sixty years old
At fifty five, I slowed down.
I had been going fast and faster.
I lost running, walking unaided, walking at all, standing.
I lost typing, driving, using tools, gardening.
I lost eating solids, eating liquids.
I lost hugging and kissing.
I have my five senses and the sixth one, love.
I am grateful for the insurance and money
to afford round the clock care.
My eyes work, and I have a little motion in my neck and left arm.
All night I dream I am healthy.
I am enveloped in love.
It  is a tragedy to die in your fifties,
but it’s just bad luck to die in your sixties.
An improvement.

Power of light

Through impossible distance,
the star shines into my eyes.

The waxing moon, much closer,
mirrors sunshine across the night sky haze.

Airplanes’ blinking beacons trace travel
from treed horizon to treed horizon.

We seek to see the Perseids, shooting stars
of August, meteor showers, patiently.

My wife finally sees one but I have my head down
while the nurse suctions saliva from my mouth.

There were more meteors last night I hear.
But the darkness, even diluted with city lights,
is worth watching for the sake of the show.