POEM - Pizza and Serendipity

We had been up since 2 AM
From the passenger seat I filmed the sun
Zoomed in and distorted
Bouncing along the horizon
Deepening orange ball
Floating through ombré purple sky
Nightfall eminent but not the journey
The reason for stopping was supplies
Something only the mega-mart could provide
The sign being the reason for exiting the freeway
In the dusky grime
Of the seedy side of Oklahoma City
A quick stop then back on the road to find dinner
Dinner found us
Gleaming new sign lighting the way
To an old and beloved favorite
The Peter Piper Pizza beckoned
And we heeded the Piper’s call
There was never a question we would
Quickly we retrieved supplies
Beneath thick swirling clouds
Of ominous migratory flocks
Perched like skid row thugs
A fowl collection
Of murders, tidings, and quarrels
Depending on taxonomy
Amid the disquieting stares we departed
Soon warmed by comforting familiarity
Order placed
Table procured
Enveloped in peaceful nostalgia
We ordered two pizzas
They messed up one
Gave it to us and corrected the order
What is more perfect than finding an old friend?
When that old friend gives you extra free pizza
We could have just stopped there
Never driven further
Been at peace with the decisions that lead us there
But duty and time beat the beckoning drum
And with full bellies
And still two full pizzas
We left overly satisfied and encouraged
Searching for Amarillo
Riding off into the fallen night

POEM - Chicago to LA and Donuts All the Way

The mother road begins
At the corner of Michigan and Adams
The front steps of the Art institute
A breeze coming off the lake
Carrying sounds of commotion
As traffic and pedestrians
And a massive city of busy
All clamour about
It just starts
No fanfare
And heads west yearning
A deep exhausting yearning
A building hunger within
A longing for deep enrichment
An empty hole
A hole only filled
By doughy deep fried greasy sweet delight
For here in the grand temple of architecture
The pilgrimage is fueled by donuts
In myriad variety
Each more memorable than the last
An aroma surely laden with pure ambrosia
Leaves the city awash
In a comforting blanket of caloric perfection
Just the perfect circle of joy
To carry a weary traveller on
Leaving the security
Of the ominous metropolis
And another bite
Can offer solace
In the desolation of the great plains
Or screw your courage to the sticking spot
Through twisting desert mountains
And even calm the nerves
When engulfed
By the endless expanse of LA
It is donuts that will see you through
One delicious dozen at a time

POEM - Snake Boats on Turtle World

If I had been a little more awake
I might have seen the obvious direction
Known where the river of conversation
Was eventually leading me
Gently flowing with an easy calm
Lulling me into a false sense of security
I knew enough to know something was up
I knew enough to know I didn’t care what was up
I was up for it all
But I had become familiar with the approach
A slow reveal when the outcome is uncertain
When the audience might not be completely familiar
And I knew sometimes you row the boat
And sometimes the boat rows you
And sometimes you end up half naked
Barefoot
In a river in India
Rowing a snake boat
With a hundred other half naked barefoot men
Heading to the temple
In anticipation of a feast
In support of the celebration
And in those moments my smile can’t be stopped
My joy knows no ends
My gratitude for the generosity
Of complete strangers
Is endless as the backwater river
I jump into waist deep
Before climbing the steps
Ascending to holy ground
Waiting to be beckoned forth
Join the throng
Chant along in a beautiful rhythm
Adorn my forehead with sandalwood
A sign of respect for the turtle
Who carries us all as one on his back

POEM - 31 Flavors

I have my weaknesses
Laid bare at the door
Of any ice cream parlor
Exposing my passionate desire
To revel in varied sweet depths
Of milky chilled delights
A smorgasbord of verigated pleasures
Calling like a concert of Sirens
Sweetly singing
Delectable Arias
And I envision a surrender
As I succumb
To it's intoxicating bouquet
Wandering aimless
Amidst a Pantheon of flavors
Indecisive
Light headed
A quiver with anticipation
Each decision more attractive
Every option good
How, my dear, is it done?
Faced with such temptations
You are resolute
Unfettered
A devout disciple
Unbreakable
The binding tether
Lashing me to the mast
A trusty anchor
For my windblown potentials
But you are not vanilla
Nor plain chocolate or strawberry
Not even Neapolitan
Like some collective of normality
No, you are deeper waters
Holding the secrets of the sea
And this Ulysses remains
And only hears the beckoning songs
As background tunes
While I step to counter and order
The usual
I know what you like
You are cheesecake ice cream
With a scoop of roasted almonds
And a liberal sprinkling
Of English toffee crumbles
In a large waffle cone
And this is right
Every time
Dashing the Siren's songs
With each magnificent lick
Of a perfectly balanced confection

POEM - How to Carry a Mountain

Maybe the softer approach
Will be the thing this time
That moves the mountain
The rocky pile of stones
You seem intent on carrying
And I want to lend a hand
I have strength to lift your loads
But a show of strength
Throws off your balance
Makes you lose your grip
Threaten to have the load come down
In a thunderous avalanche
So I will be the whisper
Of the cooling breeze
Caressing your anguished face
A slight refreshing chill
One good thing
Enough
Just enough
To take another step forward

POEM - Make Mine Melon

You exercised due diligence
After the disappointment
Because it looked pretty
The nicely dual tone green
Across the unblemished skin
But inside a red herring
Meaning misleading
Meaning the lovely blushing flesh
Was slimy like a fish
And smelly like a fish
And more like a fish
Than a watermelon
And the disappointment was palpable
Both of us
Wanting the cool juicy red delight
And getting compost fodder
So you researched
And there were lessons
Myriad cliche
Like pretty skin is just that
It says nothing of the inside
And wounds are a mark
Of well rounded experience
And daring for succulence
Catches more flies
Than timid careful waiting
So we looked for the spot
Large and yellow
Where it rested in the soil
Got all the nutrients
And the rough scarring
Where the bees or wasps land
And pierce the skin
Sniffing out the best melon
Marking it for later
And then a tap with the thumb
To hear the deep bass thrum
A complete picture
Of an interesting experience
A little rough around the edges
Some wounds and scars
But a deep soul
And a sweet demeanor
A revelation
Chilled and delicious
As it emerged from the ice box
A mighty good melon
With a story to tell

POEM - Our Love Has The Merritt

For months I have pined
Captivated
Despite the deadly chasm
Thwarting us ever meeting
I yearn deeply to close the gap
Bridge the divide
Design a uniting arch
There is architecture in my heart
But I am bound
To this plaza of convenience
That does no service for me
Only leaves me empty
Deflated and out of fuel
As each day we part
I to the North
You southbound
But I know not how far
And I fear I never will
And it is a scenic parkway
Riding home on Route 15
But the scenery seems washed out
Bland and colorless
Without you around

Oh my service plaza lady
So fetching in your blue polo
The one that matches mine
Going through the same motions
Somehow so elegant and comely
Hoisting laden trash bags
Or spraying down the walk
In quiet desperation I wait
Hoping you have noticed me
A victim of geography
The Merritt is an unforgiving divide
A few short feet between
Yet a world apart
Will I chance a dash when traffic lulls
Abandon my post
Risk reprimand
Brave becoming a freeway casualty
No guarantee of success
I think it would be worth it
Just to hear your voice
To tell you how I feel
Overcome my station
Change the direction
Of the road I'm stuck upon

POEM - Falling Into Thoughts

The attraction was the waterfall
That's where the arrows pointed
The reason for me to make the journey
The signage staggered along the path
A welcome bit of learning
This path was also used for education
A good variety of local flora
Labeled in detail
With interesting bias for flavor
Some frustrated or future ad exec
Offering tantalizing teasers
Fun facts and tidbits
Almost conspiratorial
"Did you hear about the mock strawberry?
     It has an ugly brown fruit.
         Thus the "mock" appellation, don't ya know . . . "
"Or this annoying little gem
   It has nasty thorns
      It will tear up your jeans
           And your skin!!
               We should all collectively avoid and shun it . . ."
Amused and informed so I persisted
Found the birch tree with propaganda in place
Make birch beer from the sap
Use to be the flavoring source of wintergreen
Now replaced by something artificial
Couldn't figure if that was good or bad
Tried to smell it in the small branches
Like it suggested
Guess this wasn't one of the good ones
The extended brown plank walkway
Across the marshy interlude
Caused me to pause
Capture the moment in pictures
Sure there was some metaphor
In the encroaching greenery
And the peaceful lighting
Of the contrasting straight way
Where once was impassible marshy uncertainty
Images captured and journey resumed
I heard the gurgling falls drawing closer
The helpful informational interludes had ceased
As if this was beyond snarky explanations
There was something too serene
Too generous about the water
Endlessly cascading
Calming noises and cool water
It settled my heavy breathing
The previous incline forgotten
I extended both hands
Placed them flat against the rocks
Water flowed
And something not insignificant
Pleased my deeper soul
I let the moment happen
Let the healing occur
Walked back lighter
Detoured away from the nature trail signs
Staying in the moment
Thoughts falling
Emotions in pools
Mottled sun dancing in gentle breeze
Warming the docile black snake
Must be deep in thought
Not a flicker of recognition
As I step past
Following my own path

POEM - Camp Cacophony

Lights out but nothing changes
Little conversations hum
The pleasant rhythm
Of conversations
In other rooms
Punctuated intermittently
By exploding declarations
Of disbelief
Or cheering support
Perhaps a belly busting guffaw
And what moments are left
When perhaps silence may
In some way return
The forest fills the space
Creaking frog thrums
Rustling leaf trembles
Chirping nervous cricket song
A hoot and a holler
Smother the silence of nature
Dispell any myth
Of the serenity that exists
Outside the realms
Of what is called civilization
But then the games resume
Capture the Flag
Or some other ritual
An initiation
Participated in for ages
And the noise of free range boys
Is a marvel unrivaled
And the ceaseless endurance
Making a ruckus
Deep into the sanctuary of night
Puts perpetual motion to shame
Causes reason to give up the ghost

POEM - Lead Dog Truths

Last night rain
Left morning clean and clear
A slight chill enough
To soften yesterday's heat
Almost forget the swelter
Hopeful promise for relief
Just enough encouragement
To get me on a morning hike

The old bridge suggested history
An odd stone battlement
Piled on a peaked Gothic arch
Straddling a boulder laden stream
Like a misplaced cathedral window
Living water flowing through
The rest of the forest silent
Deep in reverent observations

I spent my moment of silence
But soon was drawn on
By the path beyond
Promise of something more
Maybe other misplaced monuments
Were waiting to be found
What I found was a mountain
Going ever up
And I the first intruder
At least on this new day
The lead dog
Whose scenery will always change
First along the path
Blazing the way
Until . . . thwat!

What they don't tell in the saying
About being the lead dog
The down side
The drawback
Though your scenery does change
You also get the pleasure
Of eating all the spider webs
Hung with dew
Strewn across the path
By ambitious arachnid
Hoping for small insects
Bombarded this morning
By hulking behemoth
Their long night of work
Obliterated across my face
Engulfing my arms by degrees
Until I am unsure
If it is the incline
Or the webbing
Inhibiting my ascent
Purloining my homecoming
Teaching me an important truth
Second place is ok too

POEM - Three Legged Dog

An array of porcelain appendages
Scattered on the bathroom floor
Below the window ledge
Where once they were perched
Formerly attached
To the miniature beagle figurine
Caused more thoughts than usual
More than its diminutive size
Would seem to warrant
The little glass dog was not perfect
Somewhere it had lost a leg
A damaged imperfect proxy
Representing your real friend
The one who grew old
Until he was just too miserable
And you had to make that terrible choice
That many have made
Just as miserable
Just as awful
Now at rest
Below the dogwood tree
I thought of this
And then I thought
I guess you can it seems
Knock over a three legged dog
But I will collect the pieces
Glue them together
Place him back on the ledge
Lecture the cats
Tell then to leave him be

POEM - Skate, Graduate, Skate

JoJo Bean the roller derby fiend
Spinning round and round the roller rink
Rolling away all her worries
In only a few hours
In only a few minutes
In only a second
All of it was over
A stroll across the stage
One last task to complete
And it was a done deal
No more classes
No more school
No more teachers and their rules
Only the summer ahead
Set off by a party
A collection of acquaintances
A menagerie of associates
Some Kuiper belt-esque bodies
Orbiting loosely
Around her gravitational pull
She is the current center
Of a temporary universe
Kept in motion
By the power of commemoration
The collective commencement
That brings semi-strangers
To a lonely skating rink
In a quiet sleepy town
Joyously willing
To pay tribute
To the queen of the moment
Skate on young scholar
These are the salad days
Don't worry for tomorrow
Consider not the rarity
Just skate on sweet child
To the rhythm devine
Chasing the glowing glitter
Of the illuminated disco ball

POEM - Life in the Land of Trucks

I live in a land of trucks
Of twisting roads 
Of country lanes
Of furrowed brows
And slow languid aimless conversations
Where the weather is the weather
Whether or not there is any
Weather is discussed and discussed
As well as the condition
Of Aunt Mable's cow
Of how the chickens are laying
And how the local football team
Fared on this day
Or on that day
Or on this one day
20 years ago
In good old glory days gone past
When a truck was needed
For farming and dirt roads
And working the land
With the grit in your soul
And the callused hands
Gripping a big worn wheel
Before the asphalt came
Made the trucks soft
And the men softer
But now it is a land of trucks
Filled with bodies
Wearing cowboy clothes
Like their parents did
When they were just called clothes
And each of these things
Were just what they were
To do what they had to do
Not waiting for Saturday night
Not living in anyone's past

POEM - Dinner for Weirdos

Forget the decorum
When we meet at table
To break bread and commune
Walls will melt
Under warming familiarity
Until we are all friends
Even if for just a moment
For just a meal
But we have met
And found common ground
Until stories and experience
Lead to smiles and laughter
And the only problem for the trio of weirdos
Is to not push it too far
Because these dudes are quirky
Kooky outliers from expected norms
Enjoying their own peculiarities
Without alienating the other side of the table
But they are experienced in this dance
Each bouncing off the other
A tornado of anecdotes
Keep the conversation humming
And that is the game
To combat the banality
Intrinsically inherent in a business dinner
Because the lead kook has lived
An enviable existence
And is magnanimous in his exposition
Humbly inviting all for the ride
Because he loves the journey
Makes you love it too
And his minions egg him on
Push for the next allegory
Cheer the master story teller
Provide color commentary
Until the tour de force
Wears out the other guests
Overwhelms in a satisfactory way
Leaving an indelible impression
Of weirdos and kooks and loonies
And a dinner not soon forgot

POEM - The Car May Not Make the Man, But it Does Influence His Driving Habits

Somewhere between
Seeing the rail crossing
And gauging the mechanical health
Of this motor vehicle I ride in
My right foot moves left
Or stays in place and presses down
Depending on the amount of air
I desire beneath my wheels
Depending on the car I am in
Depending on the passengers I have
Depending on the cargo I carry
Depending on the size of the explanation
I will need to come up with
To account for the potential damage
Or the decibel of the screams
I am willing to endure
Or the chiropractic investment
I am willing to make
A million variables
In between instances

And I already know ahead of time
For some of my normal whips
What my conscience will allow
In the mini-van it is simple
Regardless of everything
I solemnly swear
I will get no air
No matter what
No matter where
But in the Volvo
With the heavy-duty suspension
And me as the only occupant
I may push the limits
See what it can handle
Drift on the dirt road
Hit the bump a little hard

But in the company Jeep
With the big off-road tires
And the incredible ground clearance
Stiff suspension
Great handling
Practically begging to fly
To jump and run and take the bumps
At a high rate of speed
Aggressive and daring
I suddenly assume a daredevil role
That I wasn't fully prepared for
With such ferocity and intensity
A hibernating beast awakened
Simply by getting in the seat
Sitting at the wheel
Driving down the road
A few miles and I am alive
Influenced by the machine
Awakened by the feel of the road
Exhilarated
Machine overwrites reason
Sensability surrendered
To the power measured in horses

POEM - Interstate-ment

In the middle of a metaphor

On my way to an analogy

Delayed by a conundrum

I ponder

Eyeing glowing red points

Signifying intentions

Disturbances

Warnings and frustrations

I heed

But only peripherally

Embroiled in asphalt diversion

Consider the freeway

Neither does it reap nor sow

Yet is anything so full

Of anticipated potential?

Adorned in advertisement

And detritus

An arterial conveyance

Flowing with automated atoms

Not fully aware are they

Of the larger scheme

The dynamic network

The much bigger picture

A grand moving ballet

Finding temporary stoppage

When fellow cogs 

Interested only in minutiae

Lose a broader vision

Don't understand the dance

Thus the metaphor

Something about life and little things

Where to look

What to notice

Which road to travel

And why any of it matters​

And the twisting interconnected menagerie

Like the journey of our lives

Keeps flowing on and on

POEM - Falling With Style

Walk one early morning
On purpose
Against a slight chilled breeze
Pushing through the tree lined path
Hemming the edge of the ancient canal
The playful winds
Fluttering the slow moving water
Making nervous rippling regiments
Swirling across the murky surface
Like flocks of migrating finches
In ever evolving patterns
Another breeze rushing past
Shivering the dense trees
Releasing leaves here and there
A shinning distraction
Capturing my imagination
Dulling the intermittent piercing cold
The long spear-head leaves
Spin in quick lilting rotation
Floating silently in a gentle ballet
Flashing each side
Light to dark quickly entrancing

The next rush releases another resident
Of an altogether different nature
From some almighty oak
A massive leaf
Broad and substantial
Tumbles through the thin air
Like a fat man taking a tumble
As if gravity just got too tired
Supporting his impressive and generous girth
I watch the ungraceful descent
Fully expecting the ground to tremble
With the forceful impact
As this succulent giant
Drops clumsily and quickly
Forsaking the graceful dance
Of it's more aerodynamic neighbors
In favor of a chaotic journey
I've met these types before
More concerned with the obligatory destination
Then the joyful journey
Ironic I should think this
As a grudgingly return to my trek
But I have paused
Noticed the flowers
Seen the fall of a leaf
And noticed
Spun the thoughts in my mind
Letting them mix and twirl
And land softly to take root
Memory of the sweet lesson
Quelling the bitter task

POEM - The First Taste is Free

On the edge of LA
Summer trip of 88
Packed tight into less cars than we came in
Road trip to downtown
An welcomed excursion
A different type of E ticket ride
A little more unsafe
A lot more unknown
The characters around each corner
Were not paid to act that way
And the guy with his coat lined with watches
Was not a corporate approved vendor
On the way in Matt and Uncle Kim and I chatted
Matt and I wanting to be cooler
Talk more grown-up
Be no more the kid cousins
Uncle Kim pointed out the carpool lane
High walls we were sinking between
"Always reminds me of Star Wars
     Riding down this concrete valley . . ."
Kim always had a way
Of making the fun even funner
We parked a city block away
Got to walk through the glass and concrete canyons
On the way to a remnant
Of the old California days
Plastered garishly to the high-rise facade
The unmistakable entrance to Clifton's
A wonder expertly decorated
In the Early Attention Deficit Disorder style
After lunch and back out on the street
Retracing the path
Though not too quickly
Past huddled newsstands
With low roofs
Packed with kindling
It is a wonder there were not more fires
As every language  imaginable
Floated past in black ink on newsprint
It was then the addiction started
A thirst for this busy city life
That I was allowed to soak and revel in
A taste I've never lost
A hunger never quelled

POEM - Raining Cats & Dogs & Babies

The weather held out
Just long enough
To be completely inconvenient
Not that either of us was surprised
Given the formula
One short evening
Four different appointments
Six different destinations
And A plus B plus C
Somehow means we needed a deluge
Just to make sure someone missed out

There was really only one answer
It was to the hospital
Visiting the new arrival
Drenched to the core
For the entire journey
Made it take 3 times longer
Made it a little more stressful
Made it all the sweeter
When brother met little sister
For the first time
Finally focused in
And yesterday's trio
Huddled into their foursome
As if it had always been that way

By the time we left the storm had too
The weather had done its job
Storms bring babies
Nurses always told us
It brought a good one this time
As clear skies welcomed the sunset
And dim amber rays
Blanketed refreshed avenues
And of course there was a rainbow
As if the sky was trying
To let those new mommas know
Sorry for the noise
Just doing my job
Had to clean up this grungy place
To welcome those fresh new babies
Don't you know

POEM - We All Get Paid

No matter how happy I am
To see you each day
In the halls of this pillar of capitalism
Or how wide my Cheshire grin
With gleaming exposed white teeth
Accents my overall work demeanor
The hidden and protected truth
The one I don't let out
Is, honestly
I am paid to be here
Otherwise I would never come back

Years I spent visiting my grandparents
Exploring the exciting home office
Of my accountant grandfather
An office that was unexpectedly interesting
With stacks of National Geographic
Making little colorful towers
Of well explored pages
Intermingled with mysterious business machines
Resplendent with ink soaked ribbons
In darkest black and most vivid red
Which we were free to experiment with
This one making only numbers
The other letters as well
This one making noise and little else
All of it providing simple entertainment
For years and years
And permanently fixed on the wall
An early inspirational quote
Something about this guy
From who knows what planet
Never worked a day in his life
It was all fun

And I try to be that guy
And enjoy each day
Find joy in what I am doing
Have fun
But most days it is still work
So I have to rewrite the quote
Just a little:
     "I never worked a whole day in my life
      It was 60 percent fun most days
      With some beautiful days
      Where I was at work
      And it didn't feel like work
      And everything went right
      And then it was all fun
      On those rare special only-all-fun days."

It doesn't roll off the tongue
But it is my reality
One I am happy with
One that makes me get into the car each weekday
And drive here
And smile
And, yes, even have fun

POEM - Governor's Mansion Grounds - Columbia, South Carolina

Bucolic antiquity
Lazy on a Thursday
High noon
Wandering manicured flora
Nearly alone
In the public spaces
Where paths lead to other paths
Interrupted by welcoming fountain gurgles

On this half of the property I am free
To walk in circles
Pass the same spot frequently
Stop and observe closely
Sit and ponder beautiful landscapes

The other half does not welcome
Just over there
A deceptively low fence
Surrounds the residence proper
Wrought iron thick with eons of paint
Taunts the adventurous soul
I size up the barrier
Sure I could make it in one good leap
Run to the door
Burst in to the foyer
Head for the kitchen
Have a feast of tax-purchased roast beef
On federally funded marble rye
But the sturdy hi-tech cameras
Like space-aged centurions
Look at me with unblinking knowing eyes
And without a wink nor a nod
The message is still received
This part of the garden belongs to a selfish giant
And it is guarded jealously

And there is no roast beef to share
In this clean and quiet and imposing abode
I should be content and happy
I have been provided with sufficient lands
To roam and get a taste of the luxury within
I should just let it be
I am on lunch break
I shouldn't get arrested today
But tomorrow is another day
I might just come back
Work up the nerve
Start the weekend off
With a little touch
Of trespassing excitement

POEM - Taxing

Like some aging conquistador
Tilting with windmills
I dream the impossible dream
Fight a seemingly unwinnable fight
Face the impenetrable facade
Attempting always
To unmask the ominous foe
And like those windmills
The foe notices me
Not at all

These are the stories
Born of a Munchausen syndrome
I invent to aid my journey
Help me to find interest
In mundanity
Pushing numbers
Representative of my efforts
As accounted by the company
A distinct dollar amount
That quantifies my existence
Signals to an indifferent bureaucracy
That I must now be weighed and measured
In the most convoluted procedure
Known to God or man
As I feel I have journeyed
To be counted in the city of David
Burdened by the cares of humanity
I offer on the alter
My unadulterated soul
Cast on the scales of mercy
And perhaps this year will prove different
The numbers will fall my way
I will not be burdened​
By my mostly unrepresented taxation
The figures will add up
My deductions and withholdings
Will cover my obligations
So I set my jaw
Take up my lance
And ride into the fray
To fell another windmill
In pursuit of the Ides of April
Road weary
Blurry eyed
Nearly defeated
But remaining resolute

POEM - Wit

Always wanted to be the funny one
The clever one
With a quick wit
And a snappy retort
To come off smarter
Sharper and swifter

At ten I was a legend
To myself only
Riding home from an activity
Next to my dad
He said the teenager
The one we had been talking to
Was really funny
I let him know I was funny
Right?
And that's when I learned tough love
No, was the reply
Not like that kid
He had a quick wit
Great delivery
Superb timing
I was still a kid
I did funny things
Could remember jokes
This kid was creating his own material
Working the audience
Playing off the mood in the room
I was funny for what I was
But this kid was hilarious

Oh, I see
Got it
Thanks for the input
The unbiased critique
I see where my logic was flawed
Making notes over here
Maybe we can circle back round
Take a meeting on this corrective action
Revisit my evaluation
Let's say in a month or two?

And just like when that guy told me
They don't need lawyers in heaven
I side-stepped another career path
Saved years of heartache
And switch comedian
To the hobby tract
In my mental filing cabinet
Took the elephant joke book
Off the top of my textbook pile
And moved it to the recreational reading

But it still burns inside
The desire to be the funny man
Be quick with a joke
Add levity to heavy situations
And laugh at myself and the world
Cross the road with the chicken
Knock on the door for the banana
Stock the Campbell's
Cream of Elephant Soup
For ready consumption
Whenever the mood is right

POEM - So What, So What

If I find you on the corner
So what
Or caught out in the rain
So what
And you may be looking my way
So what
And you may be in pain
So what
I can walk beside you
That's true
Maybe take your hand
And more
Dance a little closer
That's what
A shelter from the storm

And then we just fly
Around the town on wings of light
Lost in the rhythm
Of the sweltering night
A little fall of rain
Won't bring us down
This town may be trying for all it worth
To break us down
So what

We don't need no reason to be free
Or reason to run away
Just that we found one  another
Just that we both dance the same way
A stream of vision
Connecting all we see
I seeing you
The only light in a crowd
And you then saw me
So what do we care
If we cause a scene
The trumpets play
The bass keeps the walking beat
And we can't stop moving
From our hands to our feet
A slow roll
On the rising vibrato of a hip sound-wave
Saturated to our soul
Hot until its cool
And off we roll
So what
Off we gonna roll
On a sad blue note
So what

POEM - Doing Hard Things

"I like that we are doing hard things
Things we thought we couldn't
We just say we will
And we do
And I like that"
You say as we take the long way
Two whole laps around
The outer perimeter of the parking lot
Before heading in the store
Even though we got the sweet parking spot
Right near the entrance

It feels good to say those things

It feels good to hear them

And I get the feeling

So much depends

On doing hard things

Even on a rainy day

Glazed with rainwater

Beside your best friend

Even when 

Ya don't wanna

POEM – Night Walk, Yellow Moon

A few minutes of just us
A stroll around the settling neighborhood
Night newly fallen
Houses peppered with square bright eyes
There are these nights
When harmony seems distant inside
That we, just us, get out
Exert a little effort
Hold hands and talk of sweet nothings
Synchronize our mental calendars
Finalize pending logistical issues
Then just breathe
Enjoy the unbelievably pleasant weather
No bugs, slightest whisper of air movement
And a bright yellow full moon
Shining away for all it is worth
It is possible on these nights
To walk away from troubles
Leave tedium and triviality
To dissipate on the asphalt
Circle around and come up behind
Sneak back in our home
While trouble looks the other way
Find peace has wandered back inside
Took up a seat in the den
Poured a glass of ice water
Made the bed ready
Covered in sheets of moonlight

POEM - Just a Tickle

A tickle
In the corner
Back there
Hovering above my trachea
Irritating my uvula
A drying, mocking scratch
The early warning system
Calling out the news
Something isn't right
My whole soul
Sitting in solemn assembly
Trying to behave
Maintain a modicum of propriety
While a fierce battle rages
Teeth clenched
Amid convoluted machinations
In advanced suppression efforts
Then the conflict sharpens
Constricted neck muscles
A welling of tears
Shortness of breath
Until quaking convulsions
Burst through the fortifications
In a hacking roar
Ripping along soft tissue
A moist rocketing battering ram
Destroying peace
Shaking foundations​
Broadcasting the news
Of a losing skirmish

POEM - Dinner in the Time of Tornadoes

When the storm hit
We laughed and ran
Diving into the car
Stack of hot pizzas
To guard against impending doom
A ringing bird
Disturbed our reverie
The panic on the phone line
Was unwarranted
A result of TV ratings
And over cautious school boards
But serendipitous circumstances
Found the entire family home
Hunkering down
Crammed into the laundry room
Playing along with the emergency
As if there was something to worry about
All senses on high alert
Laughing and gasping
As the power blinked twice
The only real tragedy
The internet going down
For all of five minutes

Exiting the storm shelter
Once the real danger passed
The drone of the weather channel
Cycled through the same slow litany
Inciting widespread unconsciousness
As the entire household
Let out a collective sigh
And passed out dead to the world
All excitement forgotten
But still taking its toll
Until the dead arose
Dinner finally got made
The basket of emergency snacks
Still perched on the dryer
Forgotten in the inevitable return
To all consuming mundanity

POEM - In the End, We Made It

The long stretch we walked together
When the younger souls
Had run off ahead
All we had was us
And a beautiful day
With more frequent stops
And longer pauses
As we drew closer to the end

When we crossed the wooden bridge
The sun on the wood grain
As we walked along
Seemed to flutter and roll
In an optical illusion
You looked up to avoid getting dizzy
I tried to be more helpful
Find good places to rest
Check the map
Give accurate estimations
Of just how much further it was

Most of the kids ran to you
Once we came into view
They were waiting
On this side of the bridge
To make sure we were OK
So we could all cross together
Enjoying the last few steps as one
We watched the turtles swim below
Some already sunning and relaxing
And as the cool breeze danced
Around us on the bridge
The muskrats swam and floated
Diving down out of sight
Then reappearing
Busy with their own chores
Indifferent to the weary observers
On the bridge high above

POEM - Deliverance Lite

It is always questionable
To canoe
Down rivers
In the South
With cultural subconscious
Creating disturbing imagery
Just around
Every cypress crowded bend

And despite thoughtful planning
To come in early spring
Before the snakes
Like lazy jungle vines
Take up residence
In the low slung branches
Lurching over the water
Only to somehow
Just as you pass
Drop into your boat
And despite the spiders
Being pervasive and plentiful
Especially when catching
Every last opportunity
To ram through their homes
On every possible shore line
Nonetheless they were small
Relatively harmless
Surprisingly prolific weavers
Of webs all across the boat
Still harmless if annoying
But I digress
And mistakes were made
And floating sideways
Into a submerged log
In the lone rapid section
Of an otherwise docile stream
Was
In hindsight
Ill advised
And the water rushed in
And the vessel began to sink
But we
Through great effort
Brought it to shore
Dumped the water
Got in
Pushed off from shore
Tipped again
Repeated the rescue
Were more cautious
And made it safely afloat
On the charmed third attempt
Chilled but happy
Laughing
At our own misfortune
Still glad there were no snakes
Happy for a good story to tell
A little more alive
On a black water trail
This wonderful spring day

POEM - Follow Me Boys

Second class was as far as he got
Careening off to other pursuits
Only to return back later
Unable to complete his own path
Takes his own four on theirs

Making up for a goal unachieved
Always there with the next step
Supports and nurtures each son
Tirelessly present he watches
Eagles take flight one by one
Reaching his dreamed of heights

POEM - I Brought You Flours

We arrived early on a Tuesday
To beat the lunch time rush
It already looked like the idea
Everyone else was having
But I got a parking spot
Right by the door
And there were still open tables
And when I added to my order
Two dozen flour tortillas
The cashier said ok
On busier days
I had been told no before
But the stars were lucky
On this midweek adventure
It wasn't a short wait
But the hot sauce was flowing
From the two big pumps
Next to the soda fountains
So I could get some flavor
While I waited in eager anticipation

I don't know how something so thin
Could hold so much
And be so delicious
The stuffing inside the burrito
Was indescribably memorable
But it was almost not necessary
That's how good the tortillas are
That's why a visitor
Returning to Phoenix
If even for just a few moments
Will make time to go to Carolina's
Make a point
To go out of their way
To visit
Like it was a long lost auntie
With way better cooking skills
Than the auntie you are stuck with
No. Really. That good.

And I was thinking of you
So I brought you
One dozen
Flour
Tortillas
As a token of my love
And my undying commitment
To always care for you
And support you
By making sure
You only have the best
And making sure you never suffer
Or have to endure
Anything less
Than the absolute best
Unadulterated and pure
Mexican food
And that I will hold you close
And keep you safe and warm
In the folds of my tortilla
Of unconditional love

POEM - Giant Apple Fritter

I couldn't wait to get out the door
Sure there had been a mistake
Who does this?
Makes giant apple fritters
The size of manhole covers​
And only charges three measly bucks!
For the sake of novelty
If nothing else
And probably not for taste
I bought one
Took up the whole box
Paid my money
Left before they realized the mistake

Once in my car
The lid I did open
Hefting the mighty pastry
I daintily nibbled
Upon the crispy sweet edge
At which point the clouds parted
Angels sang choruses of joy
And Nirvana was revealed
To persist potentially forever
Given the pure girth
Of this doughy masterpiece

Oh tasty behemoth
Laced with apple chunks
It was with trepidation
That first we did meet
But the awkward silence
It was short lived
And soon you spent a glorious moment
Lingering tastily on my lips
Only to find a forever home
Providing layers of padding
To my ever more supple hips

POEM - Vale of Tempe

I have been away
For a very long time
From a place
That feels like a home
One left behind
One place I long for
Either in imagined memory
Or actual longing
For familiar ways

But it is becoming mythology
The more years I am away
And the neighbors I knew
Are now the children
Of the children I knew
And others own the present
And I am left with
A box of memories
That only have bits and pieces
Still in the present

And when I look at the city
I see a Tempe of memory
Old buildings
Replace mondern edifice
And I see long ago
Overlaying now

Thankfully there are places
Where I once was
That are still the same
Anchors still in my heart
Walls I can sit within
That are the walls I used to know
Where the vale of the past
Is thinner
Closer
Where I can weave between
Flowing streams of time
Dip my feet in different waters
Feel my younger self
Alive in a moment
When moments
Were all I was aware of

POEM - La-la Na-na-na

In the space between meaning
Is where the people join in
With a hey-nonny-nonny
As the Bard once did say

A joy so essential
From nonsense words
Little more than simple sounds
The only difference
Someone put some letters together
And spelled out the sound
And now it is your favorite part
Of your favorite song
The part you sing so loud
The worm of a tune
That gets stuck in your ear
Can't shake it out
So you just sing along
And your friends join in
Singing na-na-na-na
Hey-hey-hey
Oooohhhhhh!!!!
Lalalalalala​

And another quote
Pops into my head
"A little nonsense
Now and then
Is relished by the wisest men"
I relish the nonsense words
That taste like ambrosia
So satisfying in my mouth
A never ending feast
That fills my soul
Um-um-um
Uh-huh!

POEM - Cuddly Kitten Day

Silent black disturbance
With a gerrymandering prowl
Bounds in joyous rapidity
Over under around and through
Then drops to his haunches
In furtive surveillance
Ears oscillating
Between pinned back sleekness
And twitching radar alertness
Launches into a graceful leap
Landing back in a crouch
On the edge of my bed
Our eyes meet in locked engagement
His body tightens
Storing reserves of potential motion
The tension mounts
In unblinking serious wide eyes
Then blurred charcoal lightning
Streaks across the textile landscape
On imminent collision course
Pulling up with miraculous agility
Into a fawning purring cuddle
At rest on my barely awake chest
Every breaking morning

POEM - Strong Sense of Direction

The old globe still had sea monsters
And steamship lanes in dotted lines
That gave the monsters a wide berth
And I would trace the lines
And picture myself at sea
Then spin to Africa
And tabulate all the names
That no longer existed
An early understanding
Of the meaning of volatility

We had flat maps too
I learned early to remember the creases
And how to fold them back just right
I was taught to find my place
On coordinates of letters and numbers
How to visualize the world
By analyzing squiggly lines
And their proximity to one another
To see clearly
From these small signs
The mountains and valleys
That lay ahead of me

And it is nice
That the son of a cartographer
Inherited a sense of direction
As if he drew in my mind
During my infancy
An internal map
The ability to visualize
The twists and turns
The ways around
The right way to get there
To avoid going the wrong way
Down a one way street
And avoiding getting stuck
In a variety of dead ends
A clear picture
Drawn with care
By skilled and learned hands

POEM - Hope They Never Dig Up the Backyard

In the wild hard-streets of suburban Arizona
When any stray animal
Sought hospice
And a comforting bed
Wherein it could gasp its last breaths
It was to our house they ran
Or fluttered or scurried
Hopped or slithered
Landing on our welcoming doorstep
Regardless of where we moved
In a morbid parade
Of myriad creatures
Heading toward the light
That apparently permanently shined
On whatever front door was ours

They didn't all die
Though that tortoise
He seemed to have a death wish
Crawling into a yard
Lousy with dogs
We saved him
And the rabbits
Well, most of them
And the chicken
Saved her and returned her
To her urban farm
But most of the other birds
Just flopped into our life
Got settled in a nice cage
Feigned a modicum of recovery
Then succumbed

That light still shines
Upon our door
I will spare you the gruesome details
Just do me a favor
Don't dig back there
Sometimes there are things
It is better you don't know

POEM - A Healthy Way

Just because I like it
Individually
Doesn't mean it works together
Collectively
I like the lime in the coconut
I like mint in my tea
I added them together
To make a drink for me
And maybe a little vinegar
And a drop of iodine
Then some green stuff
Yep, that's chlorophyll
To make it settle down right
A swish with the stirrer
And a quick sniff of the bouquet
Then bottoms up like a champion
To get my healthy on today

But wouldn't you know it
This stuff is nasty
Makes me gag a little
I hold my nose
It burns my throat
Curls my toes
A gurgle starts to form
Way down deep in my bowels
There is no way this will end well
I can already hear the howls

So I dump it down the sink
Start the process over
They say I need tomatoes
For my man health
In any way, shape, or form
And I mostly hate tomatoes
At least I hate them raw
But I like me some salsa
And tomato soup
And this bloody mary mix that's hot
So I pour a nice tall glass
And toss back a crimson shot
A little too fast
A little too furious
As the flames run down my neck
From Tabasco and horseradish
Each in healthy measure
But I choke it down
With tears in my eyes
My ounce of lycopene
Just might prevent the cancer

I keep mixing and stirring
Trying one thing and another
I get nervous with every attempt
And my stomach a little stronger
But I'm bound to make the effort
To get in a healthy way
Even if it kills me
Just a little every day

POEM - The Pineapple of Hospitality

I am the epitome of welcoming
A devotee of all that embodies
That which is inviting and comforting
All rough and stabby
On my protective exterior
But sweet and desirable
When you get to my core
A juicy fibrous surprise
Behind a painful skin

Maybe I am missing the imagery
As I observe the enduring symbol
The mascot of the hospitality industry
A pineapple holds that position
And emulation of the actual fruit
Is perhaps not why it was chosen

A revision I offer
On further consideration
I seek to be exotic and symmetrical
With dark honey colored skin
And a spikey green top
Must be the look
That seems most comforting
When considering where to vacation

But I think it is more mundane
And the tropical pineapple
Was just a flamboyant figurehead
Conjuring images of the far away
I guess that is what it really means

But a simple answer
Isn't always as fun
And the horry tropical native
Begs for other imaginings
For the more creative answer
Inspired by a mysterious symbol
Of remembered sweeter fruit
And treasured simple pleasures

POEM – Red Pants

 Rummaging through so-last-year
Hanging unceremoniously
Slashed and tagged
For immediate clearance
A colorful cramped array
That rewarded patience and persistence
When like a shining beacon
I found them
And when one finds red pants
In one’s size
One does not pass them up
So my new friend came home with me
Fancy designer label red slacks
Purchased for less than a song
And I, slightly light headed
From deal laden euphoria

When I finally debuted
The magnificent slacks
I had an audience
Appropriately
At a sponsor dinner
During a trade conference
A normally stuffy affair
Made whimsical
With one small addition
And it was noticed
“Like the red pants
Not everyone can wear those
But you are making it work!”
Yes!
Point for the weirdos
Thank you red pants
For doing your job
For making a statement
For getting an old dude
A compliment
From the young crowd
And for making my coworker
Roll his eyes
Way more than usual

POEM - Strange Bedfellows

Aqueous turquoise sea
Clings to wild wetlands
Saving its transparent beauty
As a saline abutment
Virtually void of human invasion
Just coexisting biospheres
Different in function
But mirrored in purpose
Both of them contributing
Vital processes
To the nature industrial complex
Each meeting their quotas
Year after year
Making allowable variances
In production goals
To compensate
For historically fickle
Weather pattern
And each does their thing
Tirelessly
Beautifully
The clear blue Gulf sea
The vibrant green Everglades
Vast and foreboding
In their respective spheres
But they are good neighbors
And chat each day
About the flavor of the wind
And the sound the sun makes
When it flies to close
On those balmy summer days
When lazy is as lazy does
And the swamp just wishes
It could scratch that spot
Where the gators meet
For a thrash and a wallow

POEM - South Beach

Colorful
The one word
Best suited
Without reservation
It was just everything
The people
The music
The noise
The crowds
The buildings
All of it
A full court assault

I asked my passenger
If he liked the architecture
I'm just along for the ride
Was the reply
What would you do
If I didn't drag you out here?
I like just taking a stroll
So this is ok then, I inquired
Yes, just fine

But there is something more
He might be missing
In heavy strong lines
And whimsical accents
A power colorfully preserved
Still drawing in people
Still a destination
Still keeping alive
And making cool
An Art Deco world
Blanched and burning
On the sassy Florida shore

POEM – Did I Cross That Bridge?

When I came to it

Did I ever get across

Somewhere

In the flood

Of raw emotional detritus

I made plans

To deal with issues

At the time

When they crossed my path

But did I cross over

Or wade through

The murk and mire

A bridge

Must be built

Requires effort

Ahead of arrival

So did I plan

And build the structure

That would keep me safe

Let me walk on over

Able to see the issue

But not have to swim

No fear of drowning

But I think I swim a lot

And I hope the bridge is built

But I wear a bathing suit

Under my clothes

And take my shoes off

When I see the problems

Coming up ahead

Because procrastinators

They gonna get wet

Soaked in the trial

Drowning in the issues

Looking at someone else's bridge

When the flood waters rise

And sweep them down stream

So I am collecting stones

Sending them ahead

Contracting with the trolls

To make me a pathway over

Instead of trudging through

And I may have riddles to answer

But in the end

I will walk freely

Keep my shoes on

Lose my calluses

Abandoned the swimsuit

And stay safe

Amidst the rising trials

Rushing by

Full of the flotsam and jetsam

I used to get dragged down by

POEM - A Hammock in a Busy World

Off the roundabout
Circled round about
By the skyscraper jungle
A wrought iron gate lays open
Set into a primeval limestone boulder wall
A fortification against encroachment
Monument to the land
A brief pause steeped in flora
This is what was discarded
In taming the swamps and marshes
A moment of reverence
But not of quiet
As the blanched white trail
Made from tiny sun bleached seashells
Crunches in a soothing way
Under each ponderous step
The flickering light through the canopy
Is at once exciting and soothing
And it is a small pause only
The train is just over the fortifications
Traffic honks and the lunch crowd caucophony
Flicker through the trees like the light
And the patchwork of scents
Float across my olfactory
Is that a rotting persimmon
Or is it a paw-paw
Mixed with something faintly eucalyptus
A medicinal fermentation
Not altogether unpleasant
But unexpected in its pungent symphony
And I am calmed
And I understand the name
Assigned this feature
The sign says it is a hammock
And the gentle sway of the breeze
The settling drowsy nature
And the meandering circuitous path
All agree
Gentle calm centering spot
I came expecting concrete and asphalt
I found a resting place
Clinging loosely
On limestone waves

POEM - Keep the Bureaucracy and Your Two Cents

The check I got in the mail
Hardly seemed worth my time
In process of paying some sort of tax
To some sort of government
I overpaid
By a smidgen
And while I appreciate the principles
Of honesty and fairness
It is going to cost me more
To deposit the check
Than it is worth

My parents had a worse story
They had moved out
Shut off utilities
And left town
They got a bill
For 2 cents
And they almost never paid it
Because they couldn't decide
How to best do so
Do you tape two pennies
To the front of the bill
Write a check
Or make out a money order
Perhaps go by the office
And pick up two pennies
Out of the gutter
And toss them at the front door
Maybe stop at the 7-Eleven
And take two pennies
From the leftover dish
And glue them to the cashier counter
When no one is looking
They almost missed paying it
Cause they almost couldn't stop
Shaking their heads in dismay
At the bureaucratic process
That could've used some change

POEM - Little Scars

Up close
The skin is topographical
With normal variations
From open plains
To varying densities
Of variegated grasslands
Atop glorious varieties
Of differing shades
On the surface layer

It is the unexpected
That holds a deeper story
The flaws in an unbroken plane
Divots or ridges
That blend in at first
Until they are finally seen
And then can't be unseen

Take this ridge I now own
Just above my wedding ring
From when I was just a little careless
Made just a small slip
With very sharp scissors
That bit unforgivingly
A tiny mouthful of flesh
Before work one Sunday evening
Many years ago
And the pain left long ago too
But there is still the ridge
A soft little smearing
Of the shaft of my finger
A cautionary feature
Left in plain site

And there are others
Scattered across my body
Some with stories complete
Others of mysterious origin
Each unique to me

Like the quarter size circle
Just below my left knee
My old four-square injury
From back in sixth grade
That I earned one recess
As I chased the game ball
Then lost my footing
On the gravel over the asphalt
The tiny pebbles lodging
Deep in the skin
So deep our nurse friend
Had to use a waterpick
To clean them out
As I grimaced in anguish
I have grown since then
And the scar has moved
From its perch on my kneecap
Further down my leg
Always fascinating me
The crater-like remnant
Of a momentary action
Persisting through the years

These are the merit badges
That we give ourselves
Tokens of pain endured
Challenges faced
Struggles overcome
A notice to all
That here marks the spot
Of another time
Where I didn't give up

POEM - Gastro-Touring

Have you been to Phoenix?
Beautiful place
There is this joint
Carolina's
You have to go there
Their tortillas are the best
And then if you want dessert
Man! Bahama Buck's is so great
Shaved ice and ice cream
Hits the spot

Hey, I'm going to Chicago
See the sights
Then you have hit Do-Rite
Best donuts ever
You won't believe how good
Oh, and you better make sure
To get a Chicago Dog
But only from this guy
With the steamed buns
And the best toppings
A total must

Going to Connecticut
It's pizza with clams
Over at Pepe Pizza on Wooster
Landing in Philly
Pretzels and cheese steaks
Texas is barbeque
New York is bagels
Muffaletta in New Orleans
Lobster in Boston
Chili in Ohio
Cheese is Wisconsin
Even got the half-smoke
At Ben's in DC

And I suppose there exists
Other things to see
But it is never my first thought
To adapt to a place
I need to taste it
Helps me see the world
Like the locals do
Walk a mile in their taste buds
Seems to get me there faster
Helps me relate
And if you ask me to tell you
About the places I go
It is the food you will meet first
That is where the spirit is
Where the real flavor lives
The inviting song
That is music to my palette

POEM - Mostly Moist

There were problems I didn't have
Once upon a time
That now are constant companions

I'm talking about moistness
The plurality of the unsavory
A notion of unpleasant nomenclature

Once a temporary inconvenience
In the arid desert climate
Of my former homeland
Where the breezes blew hot
And lapped up all liquid
And if you had no sweat
It sucked your skin dry
Until it left it cracked and burned
Wanting for a spot of dew
To vanquish the kiln like effect

But now all is changed

Moist
Moist moist moist
That is the constant condition
The modus operandi
Of the Deep South weather
A sweltering humid jacket
That hardly ever comes off

But we are creatures of water
And this is what our flesh craves
And despite the hated word
We desire to be moist
And the desert is the violent part
Of a codependent relationship
It beats you apart
Shriveling almost to dust
But gives you pretty things
Like sunsets and cactus blooms
And you just can't quit it

Even if it kills you
Even if your whole soul
Desires a sweet moist release

The cracked dry earth
Always calls your name
Once it has planted in you
The hardened stubborn seed
That germinates in your heart
Sending its roots deep
Seeking the river
That keeps you afloat
It digs its taproot
Syphons off just a little
To stay connected
Keep you just thirsty enough
To always want to return
To surrender the basic needs
To replinish our watery essence
And crave to burn
Like the Sonoran desert
Awash in the fiery sunset

POEM - Passage to India

Vivid green thoughts
Crowded into the passing scenery
A quiet moment as passenger
Staring at the bucolic scenery
Of the rural Carolinas
My companion breaks the reverie
To discuss what brought me here
A combination of work and fate
Comes my answer
He asks if it was a good move
Certainly it was
It has changed my life
And ruminations ensue
About why and how much
That statement came true
And again green thoughts take over

Green like the palm fronds
Shading the coconut clusters
As I walk down to the beach
And peer out at the Arabian Sea
I drop my toes in the ocean
And I feel they are telling me
They have just come from Africa
And send their regards
And I feel a little more in touch
With a wilder and more primitive world

In the streets the jungle still tries
Pushing in wherever it can
A sprout of a vine
Through a crack or break
In concrete or asphalt
And each vendor promoting
The strong construction
Of each hand crafted article
Made of mango wood
Very strong
And a tap tap on the street
Shows its power
As I stand in the shade
Of one of its siblings
It is weighed down
With deepest green oblong fruit
Begging to be plucked
Tauntingly far away
In the towering fruit tree

When I cross the bay
In the open air ferry
The other shore possess history
Carries the scent of a thousand years
Of merchants pursuing the spice trade
I can imagine Marco Polo
Giving up the land route
Settling into this paradise
And making his fortunes
In cardamom and pepper
Mace and nutmeg and star anise
To shake his hand
You would be awash
In his sweaty musk
Tinged with pungent exotic spices
That made you crave his companionship
I would be happy in that life
Like that Peacemaker's song
About the smuggler's trade
It is a lot of easy money
The hard way

Back in the car
I confirm again I am happy
This has been a good move
My circle of friends
Now circles the globe
And my love for the world
Has grown the same
And is evergreen
As the coconut palms
And mango trees
Shading the spice trade
Blown gently
On pepper scented breezes

POEM - The Winding Down for the Wind Up

Sunday night
I breathe
Deeply
Exhale
Completely
Pause a moment
Reflection
Order my mind
Align my spirit
Another week ends
Another begins
And it is time
To let it go
Release the past
And turn full forward
But just one more pause
One more breathe
And another moment stolen
Before I leave you
Home and hearth
And gather clutter
Clouds and conflict
Waiting to dissolve
In Sunday exhales
That cleanse
My world worn soul

POEM - Anachronisms

It was probably the fourth
But at least the third
Declaration of thought
On the same road
In the same park
And nearly verbatim
In each iteration
In a cadence
Mere seconds apart

I tried to be subtle
In my desire for quiet
Make a small suggestion
Hope for a contextual perception
To penetrate the subconscious
Of the perpetual preteen
Occupying the back seat
I asked
Calmly
If he knew
How a broken record sounds

In a smartaleck way
He fired back
In an obnoxious tone
Some weird robot sound
No, I answered
Not it
A broken record
Repeats the exact same thing
Over
And over
And over
Until it gets fixed

But that might have been a poor example
For someone just born
After vinyl was declared dead
Who never spent hours
Glued in one general vacinity
Intently listening
To the non-portable music machine
With delicately balanced needle
Warmly sending out the tunes
Unless it gets a hiccup
Starts to skip
Jumping back in time
Playing that same phrase
And even if it matches
These old sayings
May be losing their strength
On this younger crowd

But I still use them
Keeping it alive
I'd rather explain
Ad nauseum
Than lose the idea
And he can adapt
The little twirp
Cause he is a broken record sometimes
And it does explain it perfectly
And he can learn
My anachronistic ways

POEM - The Sickest

My youngest daughter
The scrawny little chicken
Is pathetic
She was feeling bad
Then got feeling worse
And worse still
Until the fountains of the earth
Burst forth like Noah's flood
And mucus laden moisture
Runeth over her cup
Spilling from every imaginable orriface
And tumbling down
In a ragging deluge
Fit to drown
My poor sickly bird

We took pity on her
Pumped her full of meds
To hit all the symptoms
Bring down the fever
Then dry up the flood
Settle the nausea
And then knock her out cold
And then reassure her
All will be well
And sick isn't forever
And she would not, in fact, die
It just feels like death warmed over
It just seems like you've never felt good
And I know
I've been there
When I couldn't remember
What it felt like
To not be sick
And all the world
Is on the other side
Of a wide murky chasm
But it is not the end
And it will be OK
Little bird
It will be OK

POEM - Hip-Hop Soul in a Business Suit

I've always been a poet
And when I finally heard it
What I wanted to be
Was a rapper
Like the old school masters
Rhyming and stealing
Popping and locking
Scratching
Spitting
Catching the breaks
So smooth
Carrying the rhymes
Like joyous little twists
In a language that moves
Makes you smile
And dance
Riding as it does
On fat beats
A funky bass line
And a loop
A hook
That reels you in

I was caught at first
By the gateway drug
For a kid from the burbs of Tucson
When the Beastie Boys made it alright
It was like permission granted
I was suddenly allowed
To shout along
Yelling "No! Sleep! Till Brooklyn!"
Feeling a part of something new
Awash in Street
Throwing down cardboard
Trying to breakdance
Looking foolish
But loving every minute

And it still happens
And I'm sure my fellow commuters
Find it off-putting
That the chubby old man
In the conservative Volvo
Is throwing gang signs
While his stereo is booming
A heavy thump thump
Drop the beat
Move your rump
Popping tags
Listening to "Thrift Shop"
Blissfully indifferent
To the crazy scene
I'm making
Rolling with my homies
Insane in my middle aged membrane

POEM - The Poetry of Sleep

It is humming
Somewhere around my ears
A song like the rhythmic moans
Of ragged Tuvan throat singers
Three dissonant voices
In cacophonous harmony
Carry my mind to wandering
Seemingly on alternate planes
In different paths
Leisurely chasing
Every passing thought
Ethereal deception
I think I can push
Force it out and away
But it is heavy
Unyielding
Like chopping water
Or catching the wind in your fist
Slipping and twisting
Laying in
And you fall
Deeply
To a rich velvety
Comatose
Void

POEN - Jet Lag

Slower
Slowly
Slowing
Eyelids
Puff up into pillows
And I am swimming
Through a Jell-O world
Groggily traipsing
Pushing through
Freely
Faintly
Falling
Like a plane
Slowing
Braking
Descending gently
From soft fluffy clouds
In an ever changing sky

POEM - Calder Abroad

The Bohemian couple
Sitting across from me
Waiting for the same red eye flight
Were having pleasant discussions
I noticed her shirt
Decorated by my favorite artist
During a lull I interupted
"So you like Calder?"
She said yes
Really more he did
He had been to the retrospective
It was in San Francisco last year
Had gotten her the shirt

I said that I had been to Chicago
And spent time with his stabile
I shared my photo
Then they discussed the Picasso
Also in Chicago
That was much maligned initially
But now a cherished treasure

They were returning
From time spent with friends
Out in the mountains
They spoke of easy days
An unhurried lifestyle
And the difficulty
Of adjusting back into
A set schedule again

I explained I was here for work
Which seemed a subject
They weren't ready to think about
So I shifted to sightseeing
And that earned a little more time
Until we drifted back
To the easy silence of strangers
Momentarily engaged
Then the moment passed
Into the humid jungle air
Like planes passing in the night

POEM - The Gritty Version

Growling engine
Huffs out diesel fumes
Mixing with ocean breezes
As we rock
Port to starboard
Out of the slip

The barely walking infant girl
In the princess dress
Decked out
With heavy black eyeliner
And a red beauty mark
Is too precious for words
And warms up
Half way across the bay
With fertive looks
Then joyous smiles
And a bright light
From her Cleopatra eyes

The leisurely walk
Found it way
Around the tourist traps
Beyond the onslaught
Of seashore vendors
Into the quaint ancient town
To the same high pressured sales
Just in brick and mortar
A little harder to escape

Though we did escape
To the colonial holdover
For a brief meal
Some needed hydration
To feel recharged
It became essential
As the day moved on
And the venue changed as well
To a grittier version
The one deeper in the city
Where the native driver
Told us to hide our wallets
And we walked among the locals
Down dark side streets
And into the sweets shop
For local flavor
Down deep in the city
On the weekend night
Dust gathering on my shoes
And the city settling
Into my expanding soul

POEM - That Which You Persist in Doing

The lady who is traveling
To the subcontinent
For the first time
Is tired
Always

I remember being there
The oppressing passage of minutes
Somehow flying against the clock
Garners the revenge of father time
At least the first time
Just a little gift
The old man making a point
Making sure you know
He isn't having it

But it gets easier
If you persist
And try again
A truce is available
The old timekeeper won't make it easy
But if you force his hand
He'll sign off on you
A secondary passport
The one that lets you get on local time
Almost immediately

So I keep doing it
And I don't look like death
Is sitting next to me
Not any more than I usually do
And I am allowed to get up
Function reasonably well
And I feel bad for the new ones
I still remember that feeling
And I counted those minutes
Tediously
But persist
And you count hours
Then days
Then weeks fly by
Like a jet plane
Carrying me home

POEM - Water Reflections

Sun rises calmly
Casting greyed light
Across the perfectly still surface
Of the backwater coastal pond
Smooth reflection
Of a menagerie of waterfowl
Even the few soaring denizens
Land cautiously
Cause only momentary ripples
That dissipate almost instantly
Wary of ruining the perfect surface
Peppered with figures
Caught between thoughts
Like a lake with Rorschach tests
Dotting the surface
Motionless

I put myself on the couch
Study each bifurcated ink blot
Playing each side
Of my therapy session
Wondering what I will see
And what would Freud or Jung say
When I look intently
Furrow my brow
Pause and the decide
I see birds
And their reflection
On very still water

But what I hear
Is the ocean rolling in
And it carries my heart
In every crashing wave

POEM - Fried Bananas at the Airport

Domestic terminal in Southern India
Always a little different
Like the mom and pop version
Of the friendly skies
And I am greeted by rows and rows
Of the good chairs
Softly padded
With arm rests
And the sense that
There are times
When a long time is spent
Waiting to be taken away

And surrounding this sea of relaxation
Are flourishings of commerce
Selling everything
From clothing to books
Purses to herbal remedies
A flurry of activity
At surprisingly reasonable rates

My traveling companion steps aside
To take care of some business
Meanwhile I shop
Imagine which dhoti
Will look the best
Admiring the crisp linen shirts
Making a mental shopping list

He returns with a question
"You ever had the fried bananas here?"
I reply in the negative
"C'mon. My treat."

And this is different
Than the corporate sterility
Of American airports
With escalated prices
For deflated quality
In contrast this is real cooking
This looks good
Feels right
We receive or treat
Grab a seat
And dig in
It is very good
It is just the right flavor
Like a mouthful of sweetened karma
Makes me prefer
The mom and pop approach
Can't wait to fly through again
Can't wait to eat fried bananas
Right in the middle of the airport
Hitting just the right spot

POEM - Mahindra Does His Best

It is in the way
Despite station
Or monotony
You see beauty
Find the joyous
Center your focus
On doing more
Even just a little
So there is found
A worthy effort
Admirable results

Mahindra loves his job
More than most people love anything
Each day he  rides to the top floor
Sure it is no coincidence
Spends every day making sure
He won't have to stop
On a less important floor

Mahindra cares deeply that you are happy
Notices your habits
How you left behind your room
Thinks to himself
This mister wants bathmats
In more than one place
This misses likes her clothes
Hung up just so
This sir seems most definitely
To need an extra firm pillow
So he doesn't have to pile anymore
Of those devastatingly soft ones
Spends the extra time
Goes the extra mile
Rings the bell to your room
When he notices your arrival
Just to see if you are happy
Make sure someone wishes you a good day
Gives you the biggest smile he can
And sends you on your way

Mahindra you may never know
How rich you are
How much these little things matter
How proud you make your parents
For doing your job
Better than is necessary
Sleep well tonight
Master of Housekeeping
Dream of the joys you impart
And may your muse grant you
Glorious visions in the night
Of new creatures to construct
From blanched white terry cloth