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In Walnut Creek mornings, the screen wakes before the sun,
a slim gate to the wide world you still insist on entering.
Ninety-one years of footsteps follow you to the keyboard,
quiet as slippers on tile, loud as a heart that refuses to retire.
You were born where the monsoon braids sky into sea,
child of the Philippines, carrying island light in your carry‑on.
You crossed an ocean and then another,
finding, in corridors and clinics, a different way to tend the living.
Now Stage 4 CKD writes its own numbers into your chart,
but you answer with paragraphs instead of fear.
You count lab values, then blessings,
and still go walking, one careful lap at a time, as if the body were a poem in revision.
You have loved long, sixty‑three years and then some,
Macrine’s name still moving through your sentences like a soft refrain.
Her empty chair gleams at the edge of every blog post,
not absence, but an invisible editor, nodding at each new line.
Some days you write about politics and war,
the frayed nerves of a planet you refuse to stop caring about.
Other days, it is a TV mystery, a skater’s spin, a nurse in a far country,
and you, in your corner of California, stitching them into meaning.
You call it blogging, this daily offering of thought,
but it is also your way of rounding on the world.
You examine headlines like vital signs,
place a gentle, stubborn question mark wherever something hurts.
If someone asks what you do at ninety‑one,
the answer is simple and not simple: you notice.
You notice how grief can sit beside gratitude at the same small table,
how illness can share a room with wonder and not chase it away.
Somewhere, a stranger in another time zone finishes your latest post
and feels a little less alone.
This, too, is a kind of medicine:
an elder in Walnut Creek, writing his life into a lantern for others to see by.
Poem #2: “The Blogger from Walnut Creek”
You write with steady hands once used to heal,
Now tracing lives across a digital field;
Where patient touch becomes a poet’s art,
And stories pulse like heartbeats on the chart.
You wander news and history’s turning page,
Linking the quiet heart to the global stage,
Finding in mystery and current event
The human echo, curious and intent.
From figure skaters twirling in white and flame,
To nurses abroad who carry your same name;
You read, reflect, and send your voice downstream,
Bridging fact and feeling, truth and dream.
And in Walnut Creek, between dusk and dawn,
A light stays on where reflections are drawn;
Not just to record, but to understand:
How care and curiosity share the same hand.
💚Animated Photo
My Photos of the Day-A Water Color Copy and An Actual Photo
Lastly, Here's a poem From MetaAI
