POEM - Feta Nachos

You know feta isn’t really a melting cheese

I sprinkle my comment on the silence

Hoping to add a little texture

Out of fear

Of the blandness of silence

Across the room the carousel spins

In its contained room

Intermittently filled with intensity

From the waves of radiation

Escaping into the space

Restructuring the food

On a sub-atomic level

That’s how I picture it

For today it will do

Tomorrow

Tomorrow it will be ray guns

Fired from hidden windows

That only become operational

When the glass platter spins

An endless treadmill

Upon which my plate of food

Runs the obstacle course

Sometimes falling

To the crisscross of enemy fire

Other times hiding in sheltered coves

Only to emerge unblemished

It is in these times

Of uneven heating

Of feta laced nachos

I must resort to radical theories

Sure that any other conclusion

Would just cheapen the experience

In the end the cheese melted

Dairy often can’t stand the heat

But there were interesting results

Some surviving cubes intact

Others less fortunate and vindictive

Took down victims with them

As underlying layers of once rigid chips

Emerge devoid of structural integrity

Some aspect of the goat milk base

Tragically degenerating them

I slurped them up any way

And in the slurping found

Pleasure flavored with serendipity

POEM - On Display

I found my best foot

And started putting it on display

Forward, exemplary

On a regular basis

Retiring your old self

That’s a difficult task

With so much baggage

Stored up in little corners

Or strewn across memories

And intertwined in relationships

Filling up the past

Trying to block the future

From getting into the driver’s seat

Pulled the parking break

Chocked the wheels

Cutting break lines

Deflating all the tires

Eventually you can slough it off

Toss it in the corner like a dirty sock

And then put on a new pair

One special made

For stepping out

With your new best foot

Cocked and ready to take the first step

By punting the sad sack excuse

Of your old life

Off the edge of the Grand Canyon

My new best foot

Always takes me forward

To steeper roads

Longer hills

And breathtaking vistas

POEM - Hook and Water

The stream of liquid crystal

Flowed coolly over shimmering pebbles

As rusty brown creatures emerged

From submerged overhangs

In days to come

After sparklers burned to char

All the fun of fireworks

Faded slowly

From bright flash

            To burned retinal residue

                        To darkened closed eyes

I returned to the stream

Like a fish to water

But this fish had claws

Or hooks rather

The repurposed spent sparklers

Held the right combination

Of plastic cheese and bologna

To draw out the crawfish

Each simply held tight to the hook

Then were drawn from the water

And dropped into the waiting bucket

Unceremoniously imprisoned

In the back yard they sat

In full sun

In the tall bucket

By the time dad was home

As I hurriedly showed him the bucket

I learned the effects of full sun

On aquatic freshwater crustaceans

The crystal water shimmered

My return a peaceful one

Alongside the bank

Only a watcher now

Crawfish emerge

Walking in a funeral march

For their fallen brothers

Who took the easy route

POEM - Mrs. Creel of the Third Grade

Mrs. Creel made third grade matter

It was the year the world appeared

Filled in around me

I began to see distant horizons

The curvature of the earth

All flatness banished

She had been to places

Places no one went to

Not in those Cold War days

And she had stories

Stories that transfixed

All the little impressionable souls

Like the Pied Piper

Telling the stories of the Arabian Nights

With trepidation I entered her class

She was known as the strict teacher

And the piercing look

That glowered over her librarian glasses

Let you believe it was true

But it wasn’t strict

It was anxiously engaged

It was learning more and more

It was so much to do and so little time

And we willingly participated

We were rewarded in knowledge

The slide show from Russia

When she was there

With a group of friends

On the 50^th Anniversary of Communism

With fireworks exploding in air

Over the wonder of St. Basil’s Cathedral

While at the hotel their room was searched

When they weren’t distracted

And all they took was a Bible

But it was more than that

She gave me my start as a poet

When she picked my poem

To be placed in everyone’s book

The books we were making

Really making

The right way

Hand sewn binding

Large yellow covers

Glued down with copious amounts of rubber cement

My drawing of Frodo and Sam at Mount Doom

Selected as well and printed on those covers

I still have that book

Filled with every project and assignment

From an entire year

I still wonder how she did it

Not just keeping track of it all

But the fact we wanted to do any of it

Helped all of us care enough to make it good

I think a little of Mrs. Creel remains

Right down in my formative core

To the outside observer

I’m probably the strict parent

Have a serious look now and then

But it isn’t strict even still

It is all the fun stuff to share

And I have so much to show you

And, I care enough to spend the time

And Isn’t this cool?

And Ooo! Look at that!

And 1001 nights of stories still left to tell

POEM - Curious Remedies

Banish me

To the leper colony of your heart

Where I may live out my days of disfiguration

On sandy beaches

Beneath the wispy palm trees’ chatter

As they direct the soothing breezes

That speak encouragement

Good health and recovery

As I sip reflectively

The Coconut Milk

Of Human Kindness

And if you find me

As sometimes you might

In bad humor

Direct my path to healing waters

Where leeches practice their medicinal art

An adjustment of fluids

Is all I really need

To restore my balance

As I am rid of plethora

And blood, bile and phlegm align

The lightness in my head

Will remind me

Of the euphoric rush

In the dizzying fall into love

Preserve me

As the Ancient Dynastic Emperors

With a steaming cup of finest tea

Made from quicksilver and jade

And I will never love another

But will float on dragon’s breath

Where the concoction leads

My mercurial nature manifest

I change, I change

Until I change to vaporous toxic fumes

Disperse and dissipate

To be lost in you

Taken in by your breathing

As you sit alone

Toes fiddling with sand

Mottled sun playing over your body

Oblivious to my sacrifices

Reticent as an Alchemist

Mysterious as medicine

POEM - Rolling Rebellion

To feel the concrete

Roll beneath me

In easy strides

With all eight wheels

Traveling in dreamy simplicity

I must have been the picture of bliss

As I scooted through the thronging masses

Of down trodden teenage types

Shuffling across the campus

Of the ancient high school

I took it as my responsibility that day

To scatter gleeful sunshine

Here and there along my path

Treating whoever there was

To and eyeful of my neon clad fanny

Dancing by on low cut roller skates

And just the mere sight of me

Cheered even the dreariest of inmates

At Tucson High Magnet School

Manifested in smiles and laughs

Applause and incredulous stares

I had carefully planned this assault

Feeling it my civil duty

In the face of increasing restrictions

To fight against the regime

Strike out against an environment

Where every fun activity

Seemed destined to be banned

So I dragged out my skates

A step backwards

When the whole world

Had turned to embrace skateboards

The lowly roller skate was forgotten

And, therefore, unrestricted

I checked, twice

So when the cranky old accounting teacher

Did a double take on the third floor

And mumbled I’m not sure that’s allowed

I was able to reassure her

With obnoxious confidence

That this was not outlawed

There was no rule against it

And then me and my wheeled shoes

Sauntered off sassily

Enjoying the smooth ride

Down the linoleum clad halls

In the end it was the stairs

All three flights in both buildings

That tested my resolve

But I worked it out

Made friends with the handrails

Used the toe stoppers

And careful patience

Because I wasn’t going to let them beat me

The point had to be made

The struggle must always roll on

POEM - Grocery Shopping? This is War!!

The plaza was so hip

That it took the fake names

From the proposal drawing

And turned them into real restaurants

As real as a load of bourgeois narcissists can get

I told you there'd be a price

For freedom

But the price was clearly marked in the upscale produce section

Though the rate of return was questionable

Does organic sawdust really need to exist?

But there were plenty of takers willing to rush the stands

There is no juice in your juicing

I was remarked at

Or you wouldn't be so, you know

With the obviously obtuse references

And your head wouldn't be that particular shade of round

It is obvious from the dusting of your chi

That there are other issues

That skirting the chakras

Just won't come close to eradicating

But I protest

Uprightly

On behalf of all free radicals

BOUNCY        BOUNCY        BING               BANG                         BOOM

YOU CAN’T STOP THIS TRAIN A'ROLLING MISTER!

Cause we got the swagger

That you just can’t swag

When you’re in on our scene

See, the thing is, you lost it

When square went cool

And pasty went mainstream

And blasé' fought it out

Back behind the restaurant

With indifference

And won

I guess

Or whatever

So fun bag it to the rodeo Cowboy Dan

This caravan has the salt in it

All pink and Himalayan-y

What the flax!

You got some spirulina ideas!

If you chia I'm gonna patchouli your taro root!

TAPIOCA!!!

But my war cry goes unnoticed

As I count to seven once again

POEM - Snack Time with Danish Philosophers

Is the master

The one with chopsticks

Who can eat his sushi

With his opposite hand

In a windstorm

While each tasty morsel

Remains in tact

No loss incurred

Steady and trustworthy

Or do they quote

With effortless eloquence

The works of Kierkegaard

Completely appropriately

Situations and participants

Considered accurately

Looking backward on life

With an intimate understanding

Only gained

By first having lived it forward

Perhaps we are each masters

Though our accomplishment may

Seem wholly unremarkable

Today I ate an entire bag of Cheetos

With spindly chopsticks

Held deftly in my left  hand

Each cheesy snack finding purchase

In my welcoming maw

Even the scrabble of tiny boulders

Clinging to the bottom of the bag

Not one morsel tragically lost

To the relentless law of gravity

My white shirt untainted

An orange dusting

Conspicuously absent

From my pristine fingertips

POEM - Glitter Everything

All I see is shiny

Everywhere

All over me

On the table

Covering blocks of wood

Flecks and sparkles

Glint and glitter

On everything

It’s been three hours

And a nice woodshop project

Has turned to shimmer

And I am making discoveries

Like vinyl lettering

Doesn’t stick so well

When there is a layer of glitter

On already rough wood

But I’m innovating

And industrial spray glue

An Exacto knife

Some patience

And liberal amounts of sealant

And the letters stay put

And I don’t mind helping

Really I don’t

I get to sit outside

On a gorgeous day

With good music in the background

But deadlines drive me crazy

And I said things out of frustration

With heavy sighs

Blatant exasperation

And I really was a jerk

But you were kinder than I deserved

When I sat down

Making grumpy faces

Which all melted away

When you scratched my back gently

Smiled and held my hand

A glittering personality

POEM - How Bear Got His Tie

I keep the teddy bear

Because I haven’t figured it out

I’m not sure how to deal with it

There’s a lot stuff in the stuffing

Little bunches of feelings

Not all of them pleasant

He’s always been there

Just hanging out

In my room

When I was growing up

Propped up in the corner

Watching over my bed

Keeping the monsters in check

Usually

But there was one night

When Bear was in the wrong place

And so was my father

When he ripped my bear in half

I knew he wasn’t himself

It was a lonely evening

Losing my two best friends

In one violent mistake

The sun still rose

When the night was over

And reparations had been made

Bear was sewn back together

And received a new green tie of ribbon

I could barely see either

Through the easily flowing tears

Both of my friends had come back

I even forgave the old growling bear

He deserved a second chance

And like Scrooge

He was better than his word

Left his violence in that night now past

Kept his anger in check

Tied up like the Windsor knot

He used on Bear’s fancy new green tie

POEM - Paint the Door. Paint the Door (Mr. Miyagi, Watch Me Paint!)

The worn door

Faded and oxidized

Is too tired

The lady with the kooky glasses

The ones she decorated

All by herself

Is so happy

Happy we are there

To paint her door

On this September morning

She tells us it is Christmas

It is the thing she wished for

This is Christmas early

This is Christmas

Oh thank you so much

Bless you, bless you

And we go the extra mile

Take the time

Pull all the brass numbers off

Wash the door down

Tape it off extra well

And I share my painting techniques

With my coworker

Who has never painted anything

Didn’t you watch “Karate Kid”?

            Yes, but I watched the karate

Paint the fence, man, paint the fence

I show him the way

Go all Mr. Miyagi on him

He‘s impressed

Leaves today a better painter

We all leave in smiles

With more than we brought

Bucketsful of thanks

The kooky lady catches my arm

Her look is pure joy

It’s Christmas today!

I think she might be right

POEM - Working the Room

The charts fluctuate

A prophetic reflection

Of my future feelings

And I think I am writing

For the sake of the art

To express something

A deep and yearning thought

But I am writing for the line

Trying to make it move

Take the upward climb

This is what happens

When a writer works

With spreadsheets and numbers

I have gotten familiar

With the data dump

The intricate influences

A nudge in one area

Sends a ripple into the mix

And I am transfixed

Pouring over the numbers

I see a trend

Then toy with the theory

If I include this name

Place the action in this city

Allude to a certain event

Will the readers come

To the landscape I have built?

Then I write the perfect poem

The one that follows the formula

Mentions the right names

Set against the correct event

With equal parts nostalgia

And genealogical cool

The next day I check the numbers

And it flops

Flat on its face

Like a hippo with hummingbird wings

Tossed off the north rim

Of the Grand Canyon

As the harvest moon rises slowly

To follow its slow sultry arc

Lazily crossing down a deepening night sky

POEM - A Corner of Night

I named a portion of the night

That remains in the corner

A cipher

Where no light remains

It is a darkened theater

A stage for plays

Adorned richly

Dust and detritus

Attend each performance

Experimental in form

Vulgar and unrefined

A faltering playwright

Must pen these atrocities

They stay in their corner

Works of anonymity

The underlying dialogue

That informs

Constructs and supports

All that is allowed

To see the light

My corner of the night

Dense and rich

Filled in every crack

With backstory

Muttered ramblings

Thoughts and feelings

Knowing glances

And broken hearts

Secured

Detached

Living off the grid

POEM - Salad Bar, Please

I like

Salad

I heard tale

Of a salad bar

50 feet long

I dreamt of it

My salad

Is not

A traditional

Creation

Toppings mingle

In inappropriate relations

The pineapple

Rests against the egg

On top of the raisins

Dusted with sunflower seeds

Bathed in blue cheese

Crowned with croutons

Set with imitation bacon jewels

The lonely truck stop

With the greasy diner

Was not promising

But the salad bar

It was a beacon

Of gastronomical satisfaction

It even had cottage cheese

And butterscotch pudding

And thin flavorful ranch

To wash over thin red onions

A good salad

Is a good day

To happen upon

An All-You-Can-Eat

Well done and enough said

Honest to goodness

Straight up salad bar

Is to find happiness

Among an ever uncertain world