We all must learn our own lessons, and rarely do we heed the warnings of others. If we can learn from our own mishaps, though, wisdom shall be ours. We are, in fact, the sum total of our experiences.

This pantoum (a challenge from a friend) is something of a sequel to "My EmptiNesst". Here I am, living by myself, with myself, and for myself for the first time in my life. I'm sure it won't be for a long time, nor do I want it to be. But I am truly enjoying looking at the world through my very own independent eyes, and hearing with my own ears.

What a great way to appreciate the gift of each new day.

As nostalgic as it is, there's surely some personal recompense in seeing our children grown and living self-sufficiently. My personal mentor once told me that I should be proud that my daughters are doing just what I brought them up to do - that is - to be responsible and live independently.

Well, she's been my mentor for my entire life, and she hasn't misdirected me yet. To me, that means it's simply time to think of myself. I want to travel more.. If I haven't seen it, I want to. If I have seen it, I may just want to see it again. Life "beckons" me.

"Those who refuse to learn from history are condemned to repeat it". Those are truly wise words. Can we make a difference for the future? Perhaps - by being aware of the ramifications of the lessons we impart to our children. And praying that they, in turn, will do the same.

This poem was originally written for an ethics class in which the assignment was to write in any form a paper that describes your public philosophy and where it comes from.

The internal agony of a person faced with insomnia due to too many thoughts and unresolved issues.

This poem came to me after a fight with my father. I've learned after years of fights that it doesn't do any good to get angry; that only makes things worse. So I would get my frustrations out on paper and that helped my head stay clear and calm. I'd seen the cup of tea in an earthquake display at the science museum in my home state, and the analogy came to me when writing this. This poem is just about what anger feels like to me.

Starting over at 45 isn't easy, especially when it's not by one's own choice.

The Ups and Downs of Life just like the sea.

As you read this poem view all the different kinds of Love one person can generate from so many different groups of people he touched. The poem is written by a mother when her thirty-five year son died after enduring a three month semi-coma caused by injuries sustained in a work related accident. The quality of life prognosis was very discouraging.