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