POEM - We are Hunters of Beasts. We are Trackers of Toys.

The goal wasn’t to get every one

The goal was to get every single one

In one frivolous night

All of the Beanie Babies

That McDonald’s had included

In their latest kids meal

To do so was spontaneity

Made possible by location

Living as we did

Within striking distance

Of no less than six restaurants

All mere minutes away

A lesser man might have caved

Under the onslaught

Of cheeseburgers and fries

Drowned in Hi-C Orange

In the night we sought

We obtained and were victorious

Nabbing the prize

With laughter and merriment

Disappearing into the night

Off to another conquest

POEM - Let me eat Cake

Later I arrived

Delayed

Over and over

By a mishap here

An inconvenience there

Until I was no longer

Late for dinner

I was early

For breakfast

So often this week

The same things

Unexpected delays

Unfortunate weather

Inopportune phone calls

Caused tardiness

I laid my head back

Lazily glancing

At the dimly lit ceiling

As her hand

On queue

Stroked my hair

It was needed

To calm me down

Each stroke soothing

Smoothing out the lumps

From a difficult day

As I rolled over

Embraced and nuzzled

You said to me

The sweetest words

            I want cake

I want that too

The cake that was missed

Absent from recent gatherings

The food that marks milestones

A delicious treat

Just you and me

And two forks

To keep me

From being late again

POEM - What’s My Age Again?

I have a problem

Believing I have aged

Still the same me

Knocking around

In my brain

I don’t care

That years have passed

I’ve always felt

I have an old soul

But my behavior

That is the problem

It is always

Tuck that in

Comb the hair

Brush teeth

Wear pants

Be serious

Wash your filthy face

And I think I believe in single digits

Age is only a number

But a solitary number

So I add together any pairs

So instead of 43

I am now 7

And I won’t be much older

Until I hit 99

And that makes 18

Not single digits yet

So I compress once more

And now I am 9

And that is what happens

Always a little kid

Playing at this adult thing

Purely acting the role

Of the older version of me

POEM - Southern Snow

We wait for snow

In a place where it is foreign

Scared of the arrival

But it is not cold

Or wet or ice

We fear

In the changing weather

It is the change in us

We are slow to adapt

And the consideration

Of such unusual events

Makes us have occasion to ponder

That's when things happen

With a squeal and a crack

Or nothing happens

And the outside is abandoned

Shunned for such improprieties

Such silliness

Bless your heart

Snowing?!

In the South, no less

Of all places

My, my, my

POEM - Son of a Beach

I don't believe

In evolution

But do I believe

I came from the sea

That somehow

A conduit opened

From my aquatic kingdom

And released me

In the shadow of mountains

Far from sand and surf

Because it is the place

In all the world

Standing on the precipice

Between water and land

That nothing bothers me

An article I read

Claims it can be proven

That beaches are a happier place

Where negative ions allow

For some form of this or that

To cause feelings of good

To be present more easily

I can dig that

Dude, I can totally, like feel that

It's like there's a better vibe, man

And you just know

Every little thing

Is mellow

And it'll all just work out

So stay cool

Hang loose

Shaka bra

No worries

POEM - Biological

After a quarter wasted

Sitting in study hall

I opted out

Got the Biology gig

As student aid

With the cool Bio teacher

All I was expecting

Was clean the trays

Copy the tests

Organize the cabinets

And sweep up the lab

What I got was much more

Morbidly cool and grotesque

I was led to a room

Hidden behind a nondescript door

Right by the elevators

In the ancient old Main building

What wonders this closet held

Such curiosities

As I was met with shelves

Loaded to overflowing

With jars of specimens

Glass encased death

Afloat in liquid preserve

I was told to thin the ranks

Dispose of the oldest stock

But I wasn't told how

And with a little too much glee

I loaded the cart

With a freakish assortment

To take to the lab for examination

The bouquet of formaldehyde

Hung in the air

As I dissected and examined

Sharks and pigs and tape worms

In a constant stream of gore

I’d like to think I learned something

That it wasn't a waste

I know that later in life

I am not squeamish in the least

Can handle most any horror

That happens to occur

POEM - Happy Birthday! Wanna Fight?

Thank you

You didn’t

Have to

Forgive

My rude

Behavior

Talented

Before I even left the bed I had ruined your day

With

One complaint

You didn’t

Want to discuss

Because

As you reminded me

Subtly

It was

In fact

Your birthday

And all you wanted

Was a little breakfast

With me

I felt like an utter and complete heel

Forgot the argument

Got dressed

Apologized

Begged forgiveness

While grabbing money and keys

And putting on

My most remorseful face

You acquiesced

Thank you

Sorry for the fight

Breakfast was great

And once again

Happy birthday

POEM - Critical Mass

If I had thinner skin

She would have destroyed me

Ms. Professor-O-Poetry

Because my way of writing

Was not her way of writing

I thought it was personal

And sought solace

In the supportive words

Of the other woman

In the poetry department

The one who liked the way I wrote

Got what I was saying

Called my work a breakthrough

Those kind words gave me a breather

Let me sit back

Really look

At the smoking wreckage

Of my precious outpouring

The exquisite literary effort

Of carefully crafted analogies

Clever turns of phrase

And a solid overarching story line

She had decapitated it

Said the first third was unnecessary

Left me with little more

Than an outline

So few words

So many ideas dismissed

But I had that moment

In kinder rooms

And I realized my lie

Where my story faltered

I had tried to control

Craft and create

In order to impress

Be seen as better

Than her easy favorites

And I had fashioned

Elegant lies

In stanza and verse

I stepped back and considered

The little that was left

Realized the mercy in the slaughter

My control vaporized  

That’s when the poem took over

Said what it needed to say

Took on its own life

Told its own story

And when it was reborn

I was allowed to read it

The  room

Of critics

Left silent

POEM - And in Another Life . . . Flamenco Dancer

Without even one lesson

I learned

That my hips move

In sultry and rhythmic patterns

That let my arms sway one way

While my feet shuffled another

And I lure you in

With the dance

That inspires fiery desire

In every soul with a heartbeat

The fluidity of my dance

Sends women’s hearts a flutter

And engenders the envy

Of every other male

Within the sphere

Of the influence

Of my dance

An undefinable area

Stretching alluringly

In all direction

Emitting forth enticements

From the place

Where I spin and twirl

It has always been this way

Even when I was taught

At a young age

The shy-preteen-foot-slide-two-step

I couldn’t stop the hip sway

An uncontrollable gyroscopic force

Keeping me riveted to the dance floor

Only escaping orbit

For the briefest of moments

When I would grab another partner

Then we’d plummet wildly

Into the center of the floor

To partake

Of the entrancing beats

To rave

And samba

And embrace

To quaff the vitality

Of the musical fluid

Let flow through our veins

In fantastic palpitations

Body

and

mind               

and

music

and

room

A happy, heady blur

POEM - Folk Married Punk and a Child Was Born

I owe more than a little bit

Of my rebellious commitment

To Billy Bragg

And whoever introduced me

To the Barking Bard

And I bought it

Every last clanging note

From the roots of urban folk

The outcast offspring

Of a raucous union

When folk idealism

Met with an electric guitar

It was just the right mix

For the kid who grew up

On Peter, Paul and Mary

And then dove in

With both feet

When my ears latched onto

The first angst filled chords

Of a punk rock song

So direct and unrelenting

That to call it only a song

Was to deny the power therein

Each tune

A declaration of war 

Against authority

And the establishment

And society

And life in general

And whatever else you got

And where punk was angry and loud

Screaming and incoherent

Upset and destructive

Bill Bragg was more than that

All of it was there

But turned down and focused

Like the ADD of punk

Grew up and learned to concentrate

Got an education

But never forgot why

Why they were angry

What they were mad at

Stopped screaming

And started doing

Dug in against oppression

In a world turned upside down

POEM - Dis Band

This is my declaration

In full voice

Right in front

Of the entire world

With unmistakable clarity

I am not

And never will be

A band parent

Which is a real conflict

Because these kids

The ones I am responsible for

Just happen

By some odd chance

To be

            No matter how I protest

Extremely good at music

. . . Boogers!

Especially in this small town

Where extracurricular

Is a fancy word

That means “religion”

Which means I can’t be offended

When I am confronted

With another letter

Telling me

Yet again

The upcoming performance

Will need a white shirt

With black stripes

And it just so happens

We’ve already ordered

All the shirts

At a special price

That comes out to

Exactly

Four times

What you would pay

If you had any sense

The uniform is

            Mandatory

            Compulsory

            Obligatory

            Essential

            Required

            And . . .

            Enforced

So, please,

for perfections sake

Have your money in by Friday

I don’t belong here

I want my kids back

From the clutches

Of the Marching Branch Davidians

            dba The Booster Club

So I can foster further rebellion

Of the kind we relish

The fun kind

That makes everyone smile

The kind that keeps me

From spending half my life

Waiting in school parking lots

For a glimpse of my captive children

POEM - (At the Very Least) That Binder Holds Letters

The three ring binder

Filled with correspondence  

That I haven't read

In over two decades

Sat there silently

Year after year

Moldering away

Haunting my peripheral

Ensuring I was always aware

Of exactly where it sat

I finally opened the cover

Just to read over

What I already knew was there

To skim over the expected contents

Surely herein lies a dry mixture

Of some deep doctrine

Interspersed with

Heavy philosophy

And sage admonitions

From a father to his son

The type of erudite epistles

Against which my own

Similar attempts

To my own children

Must surely pale

As I try to be that dad

That offers perceptive advise

Imparts ageless wisdom

And engenders understanding

Of the type which my memory

Swears I received liberally

But it wasn't entirely that way

I found instead

A lot of letters I might have written

Talking about the mundane

In a silly and comforting way

Joking around

Shooting the breeze

Being the dad

That all my friends thought was cool

Because he was that dad

This trove of intrinsic evidence

Helps me understand

That this guy I am

Was raised by that dude

The one in those letters

That was sometimes goofy

Who would send me articles

On cow flatulence

And in the next page

Remind me he cared for me

And tell me to be good

And it was never too serious

But it was never irreverent

It was just the words

Of a good dad

And I come by it honestly

This weird dad that I am

POEM - Good News. Second Hand

We had to hear

About the good news

Your good news

From someone else

Second hand

And it’s not like you didn’t have the chance

The three or four times

In that very week

When we received and email

All you could say

In each moment we chatted

Was that you were nervous

You said

It was because you had to move

And you had gotten comfortable

And you don’t like change

But what you meant to say

What you should have said

If you were trying

At all

To communicate

With your poor old mom and dad

Is that this move meant something

More of something than just a move

It came with conditions

New responsibilities

Additional worries

And some proof

That you

Despite what you say

Are doing well

Much better

Fantastic in fact

So just be happy

And tell us the good news

Before we have to hear it

Brought up casually

In the course of conversation

Leaving us staring

Like deer in headlights

Dumbfounded and unsure

POEM - Sleep, Meet your Nemesis

The little jumble

Of ratty fur and tangles

Sits on our porch

Silent as a sphinx

All the live long day

Hanging with her new babies

It is a good arrangement

Low impact

Low maintenance

But there are a few hours

Between midnight and dawn

When she blows it

Throws the contract

Right out the window

And barks her fool head off

At every minuscule evidence

Of the existence of anything

At these times

I loathe you mop-dog

And my anger swells within

And I long for an open window

And endless supply

Of worn out old boots

With which to silence you

Nemesis of my good night’s rest