Poem - Pointed Crossing

The only reason I was driving slow
Instead of fish-tailing
Careening and swerving
Joyously enduring
My daughter's sternest looks
Was that it was the new car
The one we hadn't driven on dirt roads
The one that wasn't caked with mud
And that I had promised would never be so
But it had rained
On the dirt road
And ponderously I crept
Keeping the mud inside the wheel well
Not up over the hood
Smeared across the windshield
Caked to the undercarriage
Cautious and careful
Wary of every puddle and bog
As promised

I was rewarded
For an honored vow
As we intruded on the morning walk
Of the local stud of the deer clan
A handsome beast
About to cross the road
Our headlights told him not here
He quickly rerouted
Paused a moment
The briefest of nods
Then leaping to a sprint
Across the fog tinged field
To run and forage
Before the rest of the herd stirred
If he would have waited
We could have bumped fist
Completed the ritual
Begun by the tilt of a head
Continued in smashing knuckles
Alas a lingering look was all I got
Enough of a reward
For keeping the car clean
Slow as the sunrise we drove
Peaceful as a striding buck

POEM – Duel (Again and Again)

It may be true that I have never seen the whole film

Not straight through

But I’ve watched it dozens of times

When I was very young

I guess I should have been watching Looney Tunes

But back then cartoons ended by 10:30am

And sometimes friends had to leave in the afternoon

And I was stuck in front of the TV

Spinning the dial

First through the VHF

Then down to the UHF dial

Slowly clicking through the static

Hoping to catch a rogue cartoon

To fill up the doldrums

Until friends were allowed back out

It seemed I could always count on that movie

To be playing every Saturday afternoon

The one where the guy gets chased

All over the desert

By the semi-truck

And no one says anything

No explanation

Never figure out why

And I always somehow came in at the end

The nervous moments

Heading towards the cliff

The guy in the car gets away

The semi goes over the edge

In a spectacular cacophony

A sigh of relief

As a hat rolls by

Blown by the arid winds

Another tumbleweed in the collection

The credits roll

Still no answers

Always I sat there transfixed

Getting a little weirder

Wondering what I just watched

Wondering why I keep watching

Hoping to catch it again

Next Saturday

In the dull afternoon

The only thing on

When the cartoons and the friends

Leave me to duel with the TV dials

Searching for meaning

Aimless as a tumbleweed

POEM - Bark Worse Than Bite

 It wasn't our dogs
That kept me stirring
But the neighbors had been so nice
Never complained when it was
That terrible yip
In rapid succession
Far worse than the bass drum
Of the hound over the fence

But today is a holiday
With too much food
And just enough family
That being nice has expired
And grumpy
Is my bedfellow

And my prayers are not for my fellow man
But to the gods of silence
Wasted proffering
Selfish and un-thankful
And in this moment
I have not learned my lesson
My digits clenched into fists
Refuse to rise
To let blessings be counted

Except one
That it is not that spearheaded yip
And another
That I commiserated long enough
Through feeble written verse
That even the barker lost his bark

Maybe someone told him
There is a poet next door
Who
Regardless of rage
Will never yell back
In ways known to canines
But in verse only
That neither man nor beast
Has patience
To contemplate nor endure

POEM - Possum, I Wish You Could Stay

We all wanted you to stay

Marsupial of our dreams

So young and curious

But your work is not here

And we had to evict you

Please take no offense

No, really, I understand

I'm sure the large bowl of cat food

Sitting there unguarded

Was a delicacy

Compared to your insect heavy diet

But that is what you do

I know

I read up and you

And it would have ended in tears

You do not have a long life ahead

I can't wish you many years of happiness

It is a sad truth that science doesn't understand

You seem perfectly fine 

Roaming and foraging 

Deep in the woods

And then you play dead

One last time

And it sticks

So, again, I wish you could stay

You were a lovely guest

Quiet and furtive

Kind to the cats

Easily captured

Though kind of a pig

But the internet said no

It is better this way

I released you in a good part of the forest

Same place I sent your brother yesterday

Sorry for the bumpy car ride

Please don't hurry back

POEMS - Holidays in Summer

From May to June I would dread
Any holiday morning
For most of my youth
A holiday meant dad was home
And if that day wasn't Sunday
It meant dad was in the yard
And if dad was in the yard, well
That meant the rest of us would be soon
And didn't he know it was our day off too
That this junk was for Saturdays
This was a Wednesday for cripes sake!
Holidays on Wednesdays are bonus time
Sleeping in
Being lazy
Eating junk food
Going to the movies
Swimming and more swimming
And not just cooling off in the pool
After mowing the backyard
Head first
Fully clothed
Like my lunatic father would
Like he enjoyed it
As if this was fun for him
I guess he believed he did like it
He seemed always willing
To sacrifice our holidays
In pursuit of his bad habit
Tackling one horrific project after another
Bathing in summer sweat
Conducting the gas powered symphonies
Of roaring yard machines
Smiling for most of it
Crazy old man
Probably suffering from heat stroke
Someone should get him some ice water

POEM: Juarez is Again

I was only introduced
To Juarez
After the violent past
When only the wounds remained
Deep scars
Already beginning to heal

It was a controlled encounter
Set rules
Restricted movements
My first treading
On foreign soil

The next visit my heart opened
Juarez was again
The traumatic left behind
As it has been many times
This people do not
Let a little war ruin things
Let a little corruption make them cynical
Let destruction be permanent
They rise up
Put things back together
Clean up the overturned tables
Start the ovens
Hang a sign over the door
And serve up the salsa and chips

This time I watch the flag furl
Red, white and green
Blown by the wind
Big enough to cover a stadium
Or the brightly lit star
That shines from the hills of El Paso
As if in answer
Proclaiming the pride of a people
This time I walk through the streets
Break bread at her tables
Breathe the air recently forbidden
Walk the streets and shops
Laugh with my amigos
At the shirt that reads
  "Made in USA
      From Mexican Parts"
My heart now also full
Of Mexican parts

POEM - My Father is the Ghost My Mother Lives With

This isn't some metaphor

A loveless marriage

Ships passing in the night

Some abandoned halls of an empty four chamber heart

My father is in fact deceased

He expired and is no more Encased 

In this mortal coil

But it is a decade and a half later

And I only think of him when I need to

Or when my mother is talking

Or on the anniversaries

Of his birth or his death

But my mother still sort of needs him

To be around

Make sure things are in order

Be a presence to fill a lonely void

Somehow

And she expects him to be there

And when she talks about the little signs

The signals he still gives her

I don't think of it dismissively 

As the quaint fantasies of an addled mind

No mater how much I want to

Because I know she believes they are parted

But not separated 

And she believes forever is real

And he did to

And we all believe in ghosts

That like to visit on an occasion

Like to whisper to the grandchildren

To tell mom to do the dishes

Because he always told her that

He is the ghost that she lives with

That checks on her now and then

Whispers to her as well

Little things to calm her nerves

Lets her catch a glimpse of him

Out of the corner of her eye

With a big smile on his face

That raises his eyebrows 

And makes his eyes twinkle mischievously 

Kids Are People

Dishwater blonde kid

My son from my first marriage

           From my only marriage

My youngest son from an ongoing marriage

And he doesn't always get this

             To sit in the front seat

             For a long drive

Into the mountains we go

Uncharacteristicly

EzP is able to stay entertained

Without a single screen

Turned on

                  Off but close at hand

In case this journey fails

Despite all the assurances

That it would be a blast

Backup is at the ready

                          But it stays put

We are headed to pick up a friend

And a stranger

It doesn't bother him

All worry is on me

I own it

There are questions that come with ownership. . . 

Will EzP behave?

       And be able to understand 

             The accents and the mannerisms 

                     Of these folks so far from home?

He can

When bored

Cause a ruckus

Have behavioral issues

Bug the ever living cuss out of me

It worked out
He behaved
Talked and engaged
Answered questions
Carried a conversation
Effortlessly understood
                   Maybe far better than I
Our guests

It was soccer
And youth
And simplicity
And play
And a mountain stream
Of rushing dancing water
      Chilled noisy waterfalls
              Blissful clear pools
Hummus and string cheese and Red Vines and smiles
     And smiles
          And smiles
               And smiles







             

POEM - Form vs. Function

I liked it until I knew better

And grudge is a strong word

But even to my 3rd grade mind

It inspired strong emotions

When I got it

I loved it

When I premiered it

I understood

Sadly

Where the design went wrong

The plastic Peanuts lunchbox

That I had proudly lugged to school

With the thermos full of milk

    And a PB&J

            And celery sticks

                  And the little metal pudding cup

Just laid there

         Wide open

              For all the world to see

Like my lunch was Exhibit A

And I tried

I tried every which way

To make the thing sit up

Like everyone else's

             Wonderful lunch sanctuary

A bit of privacy

In the micromanaged world

That is elementary school

But it didn't work

And I continued on

Exposing my culinary secrets

Each and every meal time

Unguarded

On display

Exposed

My lunchbox

A similar lunchbox exposing the design flaw

POEM - Hugs

Neurologists tell me

All this worrying

Causes activation in the insula, 

          Anterior cingulate, 

                   And dorsolateral prefrontal cortex

And to settle down my worrying circuits

I need a real good hug

That is some good science

But isn't that the way

That it takes an international team

Of psychoanalysts and neurologists

Working for years

With control groups

Double blind studies

Full brain scans

Intensive metadata analysis

Just to confirm what we all know

What we've known since we were infants

When you feel bad

A hug, most often, makes it better

An embrace of a loved one

Drives out the pain

Anguish can be squeezed away

Vaporized

        Forgotten

The dorsolateral prefrontal cortex 

Finally stops being so complicated

At the same time our knees falter

Our legs shake and collapse

The world is left to drop

From our portion of Atlas's shoulders

As we crumple in a relieved heap

Bouyed up only

By a simple hug

POEM - Gray

In the monochromatic twilight
Of a frozen morning commute
I blurry eyed and struggling
Fight to retain consciousness
Dancing through the radio dial
Wandering and searching frantically
For something in my key
That I can sing along to
Loudly
Energetically

In the pre-dawn office building
I sore muscled and uninspired
Take circuitous paths
Through darkened quarters
Just to avoid arriving too soon
At my lonely quiet office
Where I slump down
Apathetic
Lazy

It is gray
The day ahead
Half-lidded
Stopped time
Tangential
Distracted

Only the faces that enter
Snap me back from the brink
Of abysmal boredom
Lackluster enthusiasm
A distraction from my distractions
A welcome lifeline
From fellow humanity
Discussing the merits
Of the latest remake
The quality and richness
Of the latest indie release
The tones of the vinyl
Recently rotated across warm turntables

A little grace
In gray worlds
Golden tones
Wake slumbering ears
Monochrome dissolves
In technicolor conversation
Warmly
Richly