POEM - Not Really

Sometimes I am amazed

By the weird stuff people believe in

(Like I have any room to talk!)

But I do like to research

And I like the critical process

So I wish sometimes an investment was made

A few extra seconds

To check that opinion

That dearly held belief

That quirky aversion

Before you spout off

Say that sentence

The one that gets to my hand

Makes it slap me in the forehead

Then I shake my head

And raise my arms to the sky

In awed wonderment and disbelief

No, I’m sorry, you are wrong

A peace sign is not a broken cross

Or a sign of the devil

Or a modified swastika

Or any of the other hundred stupid ideas

I can see you are just dying to say

It’s just not

And Santa Claus is not a big evil pagan demon

Nor is it clever that his name almost spells Satan

He’s just a guy and a good idea

A symbol of being nice, giving to your fellow man

A part of our cultural heritage

All that jazz, don’t get so worked up

And yes, I’m cynical, and all rant-y and such

Cause I’m crusty and old and ignorance sucks

And peace is good

And so is giving

And a house divided against itself

Won’t stand for very long

POEM - Death of the Import Clerk

I've toyed around with the notion of a heart attack

A simple seizure of the life muscle

To guarantee those three or four vacation days next week

A little bed rest and some vindication

Keep work guessing about my stability and reliability

Force the imposing of a backup plan

Just in case you-know-who has another episode

Maybe they’d care then

Maybe they’d be sorry

Maybe this is a juvenile short sighted rant

Like my job and the corporate policy

Enforced by barely literate troglodytes

Who will be forced to scrub the stench of my spent carcass

From the ergonomic HermanMiller where I expire

Then of course I have never done this before

Maybe I’ll take it too far

I’ll be a vegetable or a corpse

I am prone to excess and flair

And drama and overdoing it and not thinking ahead

and pushing the buttons, and, well

Things could get out of control real quick

After all it’s just another lost Saturday

Another chance to prove I’m the only one

Who takes care of business

Rights what’s wrong

Is striving for success

Writing another poem about the great state of suck

and the supporting structure thereof

I’m an enabler and for that I apologize

Every hour of overtime

Every additional weekend day

I apologize to that kid back there and back then

The one who wouldn't grow up

Who still can’t tuck in his shirt

Prefers Dr. Seuss to Dr. Phil (by about a million bazillion times)

POEM - Historical Continuity

One can talk all they want to

About the constants of history

Thump the podium in mighty oration

Put the fear of God in all of us

And still they miss the mark

It is not the fight for freedom

The indomitable spirit of man

Going with the flow

Living a purpose driven life

Or metaphysical meditation

That is the one thread

That one piece that does not change

The common link in every story

It is, in fact, the cockroach

No, really, it is, and I thought you should know

Thought it might save you some worry

You see, there is no deeper meaning

I am not presenting some concept

A smoking Kafkaesque gun

That must be shot off

Later in the story

Straight into your subconscious

To let you know that the roach lives

In each of us, it is us, and we are it

That’s not it at all, it is just a statement of fact

Everywhere and every-when there are cockroaches

In Arizona they were hard-cooked, dried out

Skittering little rock beasts, impossible to smash

In the South the pests are soaked in humidity

And smashing obliterates them to a smear of buggy goo

My grandparents said that in Mexico they covered the ceilings

Just outside their hotel door, blanched white, reflecting the light

Ever since the dinosaurs and through a nuclear war

They lurk and multiply and continue on and on

I’ve lived with them throughout my own life

In greater and lesser degrees

But I’ve always lived with them

Them, and a can of Raid

POEM - Dear Mom, I’m Sorry (Sort of . . . )

I have one more thing to say

About an obnoxious journal entry

From when I was eight . . .

My younger siblings never had a chance

To have a normal mother

I am sure that after I came through

And said the things I was prone to say

(Just because I thought it was funny)

She really, probably, gave up

I know I am about to

The only difference between us

Is that I was the first in line

While my precocious spawn

Came along last in the set

            When I am already tired

                        And old and fat

And, oh yeah, did I mention tired?

So, when I sit and watch Ezra

Jump from one bed to another

And do flying kicks at the couch

Followed by an aerial 360 spin to a pile driver

To running 50 laps in a 5 foot circle

All accompanied by an endlessly hollered

Cacophonous original composition

With lyrics that include

As many off color concepts

As he can get in

Before we yell at him

At which point we are graced

With a parting shout of “Butt-face!”

All I can do is shake my head and think

Well, I guess I deserve this

For ruining the nice lady

That my mother probably was

Back before she made the mistake

Of welcoming me into the world

POEM - Ugly Cry

It was only a nice drive through the country

With the light in just the right spot  

To set all the trees in stark relief

We shared a thought that this was right

That we belonged here

And it got me

Right here

At my very core . . .

Unfortunately, it got you too

Right in the face

Listen, dear, you are beautiful

Let’s get that straightened out

Right from the start,

So there is no confusion

But, well, you see, there is this thing that happens

Where you are in complete conflict

Trying to be strong

Stop the tears from coming

Keep a stiff upper lip

Maintain your composure

Resulting in a boggling conflagration

Where every last part of your lovely facade

Tries to beat up all the other parts

Locked in mortal combat

Battling for supremacy

Until the whole skirmish becomes drenched

In a gushing deluge

Of saline and snot

So, I’m sorry I read that passage

Where something died

Or someone was kind

That one that was just so true

Not to mention beautiful and life changing

But mostly

I’m sorry

For what it did

to your face!

POEM - Journal Entry 1979

The box of leftover papers

Given to my sister to go through

To write the family history

Contained all the typical stuff

A couple hundred crayon drawings

Various certificates of participation

Some for actual accomplishments

Everything from the school years

Of five kids doing the growing up thing

Then Cassie found a gem of literature

Hidden from all eyes for 34 years

Written on my future wife’s 7^th birthday

Truly enthralling and prophetic in its eloquence

It encapsulates the story of my life

With tales of faith and friendship

As I relate learning about repentance

Which took place in Primary

As I sat next to my best friend Jason

Goals and future plans find their way in

With promises unfulfilled

To write in my journal every Sunday

Ah, the folly of youth . . .

But the most haunting words

            Those that held my future plans

Are best said in my own 8 year old voice

“Dear mom

            I’ll never see you again

                        I’ll never come back

                                    Bye.”

Do I have regrets for the trail not taken?

As I look back with clear sight

Knowing that I did see my mom again

Like every day

I didn't leave

Maybe it was that Jason couldn't drive

Maybe I got hungry

Maybe the front door was locked

Or I just got distracted

Or, well, bye.

POEM - Hare Brain Scheme

Three turtles walked into a bar

That same old story

Looking for love and an angle

A shell to cry on

But turtles are heartless things

It's a ruse, a scam

A cover, just like those shells

Completely unneeded

Get a few drinks in one

They'll spill all the secrets

These great heretics of nature

They work for the hares

Always have, even back there

Giving Aesop something to say

A point to make

In the end it was all fixed

Hares made all the bets against themselves

Got a percentage on the tortoise endorsement

Made bank on the trademarks

The movie deals

A book with four sequels

I've got my eye on you

A shell of a deal

POEM - Humble Burrito

Let us consider

The humble burrito

Delicious denizen from Mexico

You are filled with delight

A food so diverse and exquisite

Modifiers are required

To merely communicate the joy

Contained within

To simply call it burrito

Is to deny all possibility

Surely this unassuming entity

Reflects the nature of humanity

Can you really understand a person

If you merely call them a human?

As within the soft folds of tortilla

A glorious mystery awaits

So too inside our frail skin

Is enfolded the mystery of each of us

The merest sight of you stuffs me

With glorious feelings (fillings?)

I burn with new understanding

As if bathed in a hot sauce of truth!

Oh Great Burrito!

Will we ever learn the lessons you contain?!

POEM - A Dangerous Job

It may be a dangerous job

But oh the prestige it brings

To be suspended on cables

Hundreds of feet in the air

I feel the breezes of freedom

Course through my pompadour

A mighty wind like eagles wings

Flutters across my face

And I look up, soaked in patriotic glow

I am the one that knows

That knows the nose

And which way the wind blows

From which way the current flows

And where the flow goes

And each day I drop

From the noble forehead

Of Washington or Jefferson

Roosevelt or Lincoln

Past their never blinking eyes

I slide down the jutting dorsum

Then slip over the bulbous ala

Swing under a cavernous nostril

And deftly grasping the stern columella

I come to rest on an impressive philtrum

I take in this rare view but a moment

Before I ceremoniously swab and cleanse

The stony nasal cavity above my head 

POEM - Conflict and Confection

I went out to a business dinner

Trying to size up  the new competition

the new young kid trying to impress everyone

just like the last one, but with brown hair

same fire in his eyes

same swagger in his step

the fierceness of intellect

and the savvy of the new Tech-eaters

slayers of the old behemoths

I'm trying to be on the right side of the rift

end up straddling the ever growing gorge

I can see where things are headed

but I love the past, the simpler times

I can see both sides and I'm stuck

trapped by indecision about my next move

distracted by shiny things

unable to really focus like that

and then the whole conundrum crumbles

blows apart like a marshmallow

growing beyond big

from the microwaves of radiation

only to completely deflate

this deconstructed confection

has been the right decision as always

POEM - Inherit the Wind: Part Deux

A mule is

a foolish bird

So bullheaded

and stubborn

cousin to a donkey

who the gods named Stella.

It brays vengeance

for a bad rap;

hay and curses

hot on its breath.

The unwilling

monk of nature

left impotent in

forced celibacy.

Mule! O, mule!

Take flight!

Know you not

the noble horse

heir of Pegasus?

Surely you must

remember the wind

in your flowing locks

the swoop and dive

float on peaked backs

of rising cumulonimbus.

POEM - Venus Lint Trap

Frosty dawn tickles

Last footsteps left

Of scattering bed bugs;

My guiltless friends

So busy, so silly

I watch as you gather

A last string, a last thought

Evidence of industry

In considered navel.

The hairy trap

Useless since nativity

Open, mysterious, enigmatic

The great equalizer.

From goddess to peasant, united

Explore the pucker

Only to wonder, confused

When did I wear blue?

Harvesting arthropod of morning

Store detritus treasures

In oft neglected orifice.

I give all, storage and shelter

Blood and skin, gratis

For retribution nil.

POEM - Joe Torres

we spent hours together

on the North side

of the old Main building

tossing a plastic disc

endlessly back and forth

unless we chanced an escape

just every once in a while

when the guards took a break

we'd slide of the grounds

beeline it to Campus Discounts

for two big bags of popcorn

at 15 cents a piece

and me with an Abba Zabba

and a Root Beer with crunchy ice

Joe with his Orangina

spending the first few minutes

slowly shaking it up and down

like a ritual meditation

the Zen master, serene and patient

it was good to know Joe

then I moved, and he moved on

i saw him on some kid show

hamming it up

didn't know the stoic had it in him

and I was going to end on a sad note
a rumor went around a few years ago 
that Joe was dead, what a bummer

instead Fletcher sent me a message
let me know about Joe
still keeping guard in Tucson
our very own dude who still abides

POEM - rising

dusky morning sun

relies lazily upon

a few patchwork chickens

ceaselessly harassed

by the monochromatic rooster

near the crumbling green shed

covered in a mossy cloak

beside a chaotic carpet

of scattered calico leaves

POEM - We

you followed me

across everything

despite warnings

better judgment

I followed you

through everything

amidst heartache

serious injuries

if that was all there was it would be something

not a lot, but something to talk about at times

if that was all there was, I wouldn't write this

I wouldn't really care or need to

instead it is a Jackson Pollock painting

everything is thrown up on the canvas

all of it is there, all at once, and it changes

depending upon which way you hang it

despite warnings, better judgment

amidst heartache, serious injuries

across and through everything

we walked together

POEM - Resourceful

My eldest criticizes my resourceful nature

An ability born of impoverished formative years

Able to make much from nothing

Find beauty in all forms in all around

I will find myself reading this

In rough draft, to her, on purpose

As I withdraw the paper, eyes will roll

A question will form

One, THE one, I expected. Engineered

I like this game where a small insignificant action

Generates the biggest response

I ignore the incredulous guttural churnings

Begin to read only to be interrupted

Here it comes

            "Is that toilet seat paper again?"

            "Maybe . . . "

Yes, of course it is

Of course I will continue to do this

A moments peace at the office

Reposed in the cool tile lined sanctuary

With only my thoughts,

            and my thoughts are

                        as thoughts will be

Good ones now and then

And I must capture them

Resourcefully so

            These fleeting vapors

            From the porcelain muse

Before all is consumed and withdrawn

Vacated, departed and cleansed

POEM - A Good Day To . . .

It was my favorite line

In that movie we sort of watched

"Some days it is a good day to die.

Some days it is a good day to eat breakfast."

Some days are like that

You wake up in between

Can't decide if that pain is death

Or heartache, or depression

Or just a toy left in the bed

And you have to decide

Make the choice to give up the ghost

Or roll to the kitchen and make waffles

I think it is easier to die

Or at least be on the way to dying

It is a big effort to keep focused on living

Instead of turning around to the past

Becoming just one more pillar of salt

But the future has it all, man

I mean it has everything you could want

Hot breads in the morning

Dripping with salty butter

Smothered in sweetest maple syrup

Dusted with clouds of powdered sugar

Death will have to wait

Until waffles are extinct

POEM - Elijah's Place

This year we went to the park for dad's birthday

He would have liked it

Sunny and cool, it was a beautiful day

We all ran and played Frisbee and laughed

In the pauses a slight breeze

Suggested thoughts and feelings

Distances and time and separation

Swirled through the conversation

Explained the nature of elements

Things that kept dad from the park

Explained all the reasons that kept him

From talking and playing with us

All of us waiting

An empty place at the table

But he did what he has done

For over a decade now

And the place remains vacant

And Elijah isn't coming to the feast

POEM - Just Family

Some people I'm related to are smart

And some are just family

And it's hard when you have to be kind

Treat everyone like they are important

My family will eventually see this

Read the whole thing, and wonder

Is he talking about me?

The problem is, I know my family

Each and every one will do the same thing

Without fail they will assign names

Associate faces with the first two lines

And they themselves are the smart ones

And the rest of us are just family

POEM - Saturday from a Thursday Point of View

I tried to write about Saturday on a Thursday

Not a past Saturday; the next one coming up

Somehow it hasn't worked

I haven't got the swing of it yet

Especially not on Thursday

                Who gets Thursdays anyway?

But I wanted to be ready for Saturday

I will have a lot to do

I need a jumpstart after this failure

Maybe instead I could take a shower

Take it tonight to cover until Sunday

That would save a few minutes

                Live the weekend in my overalls

                Chew minty gum and wear a hat

Little things to disguise things in me

Things that are socially unapproved

Let out the secrets I keep

List out what offends

Make it a matter of public record

                I don't mind dirt and grime

                Don't own hand sanitizer

                Drank the water in Mexico

                Ate the pizza that sat out overnight

               

There it is, for whatever it means

Now I can live my life, enjoy my Saturday

Languish and roast and not act so Thursday

POEM - Tight Shirt Blues

I hate tight shirts, oh yes I do

They squeeze my jelly, belly goo

I get all grumpy and full of malice

Bound up and tied and getting a callous

Chaffing my handles that are made of love

Fitting tighter than an Isotoner glove

Glued to my biceps doesn’t feel tough

It more resembles a blood pressure cuff

Sitting at my desk I yearn to break free

Unbutton each hole  and fling it in a tree

But why stop at my shirt when pants suck too

All khaki and stiff and I’m sure filled with poo

Ok, that’s just an excuse, but can you cast blame

As slowly I lose the corporate casual game

I want to wallow and roll and lazily flop

Grow out my beard and the mop up on top

Wear oversized t-shirts with clever sayings

Flip-flops and shorts that are holey and fraying

And you do to, I know that you do

If you say that you don’t, it’s simply not true

Fire light in your eyes, wind in your hair

As we burn my torturous office chair

And my shirt and my khakis and my fancy dress shoes

A guaranteed remedy for curing these blues