POEM - One-Eyed Jack has a Poufy Head

I got a little carried away

Shopping online one spring

See it was a money thing

Buying two dozen chicks

Was less than buying five

So I got creative

Filled in the order with various breeds

Both impressive and whimsical

There were eight Cuckoo Moran

Black with white polka dots

And dark chocolate brown eggs

Then a half dozen Amauricana

A South American jungle breed

Known as Easter egg chickens

They lay various colors of eggs

Green and blue and pink, etc

Then the classic Buff Orpingtons

A nice big yellow chicken

A heavy breed with light brown eggs

A good layer in all seasons

Then I needed a few more

I order some Mottled Houdan

Because they have a ridiculous crest

Looks like they have a big poufy head

Four months later they came

I called to warn the post office

They weren’t even fazed

Said they get goats all the time

The chicks were a nice change

The box was smaller than my last shoe box

I thought I was shorted

But they were all in there

With room to spare

Eventually we had thirty six

Through various means

And over half were roosters

So we had two pens

The boys club

And the ladies’ coop

Both got attacked and decimated

One awful day

I ended up with one Buff hen

Four Amauracana hens

And one Mottled Houdan rooster

I was happy I had those left

The Houdan was a little injured

Its eye was swollen and awful

But it grew over eventually

Too bad he was a jerk

The healthier he got

The more he tried to pick fights

Soon we were hoisting food over the fence

And I had a broom to fight him off

Whenever I went in the pen

All of that ended two weeks back

The bigger jerk dog got in

Ran him out into the yard

Broke his neck and left him dead

Ezra found his soupy carcass 3 days ago

Rotting in the deep grass

Nothing but ant infested bones

And the remnants of his pouf

            To let us know One-Eyed Jack was dead

POEM - Just Another Ars Poetica . . .

Sometimes this isn’t as easy as it looks

I try to find something each day

An interesting event

A glimpse or peek into a life

A tidbit, a morsel

Of a bigger story

That I can build on

And then exploit it

Advance the idea

If I am lucky

To an elegant end

Today was one of those days

When things were normal

I had already written something

About the cool store

The trip into the city

So it is 8:30 at night

I’m stuck in my corner

Trying to write something

Create that poem

The one that people like

Talk about over and over

Just writing this gets the juices going

I thought of something good now

But at present I am committed

To this poem

This sad ars poetica

And I am nearly done

The poem about the Buddhists

Will be much better

And when I write about the rooster

The one who was killed

That we called One-Eye Jack

I will craft an epic piece

Or maybe I will tell the other story

About the big salad bowl

Even though Linda said I shouldn’t

She puts up with a lot

Having me expose such secrets

This, she explains, is why no one visits

Yes . . . probably. . . you are right

            I think I will write a poem about that

POEM - The T-shirt Incident

We got the call to come get Vern

There was little explanation given

Just that we needed to come get her

There was an issue

A problem to address

It was a moment

As a parent

When it is hard to be a parent

Hard to side with the adults

Her offense was really mine

She had worn one of my t-shirts

And for some reason

That I guess

            If I had to

                        Could see why

They really didn’t appreciate it

See, I had bought it at Thrash

The punk store in San Bernardino

It was just down the street

From an original Pussy Cat theater

Both were now long gone

The theater because of taste

The other because punk had faded

The shirt was for the band M.O.D.

You know? Method of Destruction

A great thrash band

But that’s not why I bought it

The picture was why I bought it

It was also why we were headed to the school

Really it wasn’t that bad

It was hilarious to me

It had this guy surfing

And then there was this shark

And the shark had a leg

That he had bitten off of the guy

In his mouth

            With blood and tendons showing

                        So, you know, totally gnarly and stuff!

What could possible offend?

Someone got offended

Said something nit-picky

Like it wasn’t appropriate

Or conducive

Or in good taste

Some blah-blah-blah

Charlie Brown teacher

Waa-waa nonsense

I acted like I cared

Gave the right answers

Promised it wouldn’t happen again

Gave Vern a high five at the car

On the way to get ice cream

POEM - Goose Pond

Lunch time is walking time

Three times a week

There is a pleasant path at work

It circumnavigates a man-made pond

I like to stroll a few times around  

Makes me feel like I've done something

Escaped the business of four walls

For a small communal with nature

Lately I've noticed new residents

Some gray geese have made a home

Spawned a few offspring

Now it seems decided

They will summer here

They make me nervous

As I stride by

As nonchalant as possible

Avoiding eye contact

They raise their heads

Take a break from foraging

To consider my intentions

With those dark murderous eyes

I am not inclined to get involved

In an original version

Of Duck-Duck-Goose

I am afraid the rules they play by

Are more primal

Less about frivolity

More about basic survival

So I am careful how I walk

I make no motion

That might be construed

            By nervous winged parents

I even maintain deathly silence

            Eyes straight ahead

                        Arms folded over my chest

A perfect model of passivity

I seek a peaceful passage here

Never even posturing complaints

Concerning their atrocious manners

As they desecrate the path

With green-black mounds

Of territory defining landmines

It would do no good

To pursue reparations

From these long-necked aquatic denizens

They are adept at revenge

And I am loathe to be their target

POEM - Firefly Comes to Visit

Half asleep I heard you talking

Saying something about fireflies

You could see them

Just outside the window

Every so often

I rolled over to look

I didn’t see fireflies

I saw the lit up neighbor’s yard

Glimpsed a corner of the full moon

Saw a reflection of the closet light

Everything except lighting bugs

So I rolled back over

Let you have this one

Something for yourself

I knew you were having trouble

Couldn’t make yourself sleep

Now you had lights to count

One dancing fairy

Sitting on my window

Two dancing fairies

Spinning past outside

Maybe you will get lucky

Your dreams will dwell on this

The flashing biochemical tails

Flickering on and off

            In a determined pattern

Will trigger a deep sleep

And in the recesses of slumber

The bright bugs will communicate

They want you to know

They appreciate you

And the nice children you raised

You helped their friend

Just the other night

The spider would have gotten him for sure

But you helped first

So they borrowed your dreams

For a few moments

To say thank you

POEM - SK8 Jerk

This story has been bugging me

Skating through my mind

A story about farm Grandma and Grandpa

The ones from St. George

I gave them that name

Their place seemed like a farm

It was really just a big garden

But they had fat, dark purple concord grapes

That grew on the back fence

And trees with fruit on them

A pantry or two full of canned foods

Amidst red dirt hills

Covered in scraggly blond grass

With the smell of burning hay

Permanently present in the air

On this visit I was a skater kid

I wanted to be the BMX kid

They had a dirt course up the hill

It would have gotten me out of the house

But I had my old skateboard

Riding on the rough asphalt

Not a curb or drainage ditch in sight

And it wasn’t fun anymore

I was a teenager

Perfecting the art of boredom

Then I broke my board

Pulling a massive 360 Boneless one

Snapped the thing right in half

I went to complain to my parents

Grandpa saw it and got all helpful

I hadn’t spent a lot of time with him

He didn’t talk much

More mumbled and yelled

He said he could make a skateboard

I immediately said it was not necessary

But he insisted

Maybe he was bored too

Maybe he was trying to get to know me

Either way I was dubious of the outcome

I was pretty sure his wood pile

Was not going to have 9 ply epoxy laminated maple

With two fiberglass infused cores

I was right, and I felt bad

He was so determined to help

What he had was plywood

So we cut out a shape

Drilled holes to mount the trucks

Painted it white

Let it dry as long as I could

With dread I tightened down the wheels

To the still tacky board

With an eagerly watching audience

I set off and felt the ridiculous flex

The imprecise alignment

The complete lack of concave

And the absence of grip tape

Then I waited for everyone to leave

Road out across the street

Did another boneless one

Made sure I landed in the middle of the board

And bifurcated the sad excuse

I showed my dad with a knowing look

He wasn’t as supportive as I’d hoped

So I hid the wreckage in the car

In the process crowning my progression

From nice little kid

To jerk face teenager

POEM - R is for Running; C is for Coronary

I didn’t run today

And I can tell the difference

When I say run

Don’t get the wrong idea

Don’t picture a version of me

Bone skinny

Huffing along

With the gait of a gazelle

Gliding along

Lightly touching the earth

Letting the miles fall behind me

I say run in quotations

It means I am leaving the house

Early in the morning

Before work

By myself

With running shoes on

I do jog in a running position

For about the first 50 yards

Adding a foot or two each day

Visualizing further distances

In the distracted moments

Then I walk briskly

Without stopping

Down the dirt road

Followed by a caravan of dogs

If you saw me you’d wonder

Maybe even feel bad

I think sometimes I am watched

As I pass a neighbor

Them with toast in hand

Checking the weather out the window

Catch site of me

Plodding along

Red faced

Breathing hard

And their gaze lingers

It is their good Samaritan moment

Because if I suddenly grasp my left arm

Fall to the ground

Convulsing and writhing in pain

They can start of their day as a hero

Run to my side

Dial 911

Give expert, clear directions

But I’m not doing as bad as I look

I don’t push it that hard

My face may be red

But I wear a serene look 

This is my time I think

Or it is a time I try to

Watching the grass grow

As the first birds of morning

Land in their assigned spots

On the crisscross of power lines

POEM - Why the Sky Left

That is a desert

The desolation we left behind

Nothing special

Nothing alive

Here it is green

It is all alive

Water visits and stays

Summer leaves

For a reasonable duration

No envy for the dry tundra

Not even the flat land

With straight lines for roads

That melt into the liquid horizon

            A distant horizon

                        I forgot those existed

Here where the trees grow so close

They hug each other tight

And obliterate the distances

All is right here and now

The mind starts to forget

Why pioneers looked West

Why the promised land

Set up residence

On the Pacific coast

The Southern lands remain

Seeped and rotting

Soaked in their history

Where the sky long ago forsake

The dripping dense landscape

The sky left to frolic

In arid vastness

Enrobed in scarlet and orange

A gift from their friend

The long setting sun

It is vanity that adorned the promise

That drew it to linger here

POEM - Born of Water

It is in water I feel

Feel and nourish something inside

Something called at times primordial

But I am assigning a different classification

In my determination

Based on intrinsic evidence

I say it comes from my heritage

My blood flows in waves

Drawn from West Coast dwellers

They swam in ocean waters

Breathed of the salt soaked air

Buried themselves willingly in the surf

Drank deeply from salinized aquifers

Other parts of me flow and meander

Follow a serpentine path

Cutting through the landscape

Floating on like spinning leaves

Upon fresh water rivers and streams

These were people of the interior

Who would float or fly

Upon land locked lakes

In boats or upon skis

I have read the scientific facts

The human body

Like the earth

Is about 70 percent water

In my family it is more

Just enough that we need water

We ended up in the desert once

It never fit right

We had to obtained life support

Artificial and chlorinated

But it was water and it was enough

At least my mom said it was enough

It helped her survive the dryness

When I finally moved to the South

I was warned it was humid

That I would never survive

After being in the desert

I don’t know how I survived

As long as I did

Without the humidity

Where there were no natural lakes

Where rivers flowed only semi-annually

And the winds arrived so thirsty

After crossing the Rocky Mountains

That they steal all moisture

Rip it from the desert

And all who dwell therein

Only to drop it in California

So we went to the river today

To stand in the water

Wild water the teems with life

That’s the stuff that matters

Makes its way back into me

Fills in the dry spots in my cells

Ends the drought

            That the desert made in me

POEM - Emporium of Wonder

I shouldn't be this excited

It is a mundane thing

Just a new grocery store

But oh what a store it is

With row after row

Of wondrous bulk

I can barely contain myself

I mean look at this deal

Avocados by the case

Four dozen lovely alligator fruit

For a measly twenty bucks

I feel the need to joyously drown

In a vat of frivolous guacamole

The ecstasy does not cease in produce

Just turn the corner

Walk through the glass doors

To behold a walk-in cooler

The size of a football field

Stacked with chilled delectables

As far as the eye can see

All in mass quantities

Calling to my frugal side

Eggs are great

But ten dozen eggs

For that pittance

It would be wrong

To not take part

In such a fantastic deal!

As I drag myself away

From basking in frigid food paradise

I fumble for my phone

I must disperse the tale

Share my awe and wonderment

I frantically dial my wife

            All I get is voicemail

In a panic I blurt out

            Don’t go to the grocery store!

                        I've found perishable nirvana

            They have sliced provolone!

                        Sliced provolone in bulk I tell you!

            Wait! Wait! You must see to believe! Wait!

She must see to believe

Deals and bargains

Weighed out in percentages

Of the mass of a metric ton

We are going to have to bring the big car

Leave the kids at home

            Fold down all the seats

Ride with boxes in our laps

Might have to beef up the suspension

POEM - Boys Day Out

Max had been working that week

Helping a friend’s son move

The money he made

Wanted to leave his hands

As quick as possible

We made plans for Saturday

Heading to the city for music

We added a few chores

And brought Ezra along

It became a father and sons trip

We had a list for groceries

Food for Father’s Day weekend

There was the Eagle Scout report

Max had dragged his feet for a year

Received an ultimatum for his efforts

Mom had insisted it be done

Even took away his instruments

But we were still working on it

We reached the record store early

Had an hour to kill

And all of Columbia to explore

So we ran over to the university

Explored the tree shaded grounds

Round the old ivied brick structures

Let Ezra blow off rambunctious energy

As we passed steaming manhole covers

Exotic arboreal arrangements

And the ancient observatory

Then it was time to leave

Head back to Manifest for CDs

Passing the graveyard next to the freeway

Max blurts out he sees a weeping angel

And if you see a weeping angel

You have to stop and look

It must be verified

The Doctor will need to be informed

We went back to make sure

But it was a false alarm

The angel was just reading

Not being menacing at all

Didn't even move once

It was still worth the detour

As we drove around the narrow road

Enjoying the panorama of monuments

We found more than we expected

Ran across a family name

Sitting there like it was waiting for us

A little genealogical serendipity

From our studious angel 

POEM - With Friends Like You

The pamphlet sitting in the rack

In the grocery store vestibule

Next to the brochure

For Cat Fancy magazine

Was new and irresistible

STOP BED WETTING NOW!

Broadcast the thick black type

Across the bright yellow paper

I snatched up the prize

Leafed through and found

To my great pleasure

A mail-in interest card

Which of course I would be filling out

Not with my name

But with that of a good friend

Whomever came to mind first

It’s what I do for my friends

To let them know they are special

Just ask Robby about it

If you can distract him

From making out with your mom!

He loves you mother

In all the wrong ways

This point is a confession

I learned it from my mother

I don’t spend a lot of energy

Trying to exact revenge

If I don’t like you

I ignore you

Of course if I like you

I might just pester you

So that your fondest wish

Would be that I didn’t like you

Quite so much

Don’t be dismayed

By your complimentary copy

Of Incontinence Today

When it arrives in 6 to 8 weeks

It’s just a little love note

            Along with the free Depends sample

To show I’m thinking of you

And that I care deeply

About your bladder control