POEM - Bill

Passed out through the fringe of San Francisco

Up the hill to mom's lost brother

Temporarily stationary

Absent nearly my whole life

He rests long enough to be found

A sentinel of the tree encrusted hills

Makes sure civilization never comes home

It feels strange that he was never missed

He was never an element

Never a mention to suggest he should matter

Just an idea that currently lived at odds

With our idea of normal

He had not known normal

Three hits of acid from a friend dropped

Pushed through the other side of his mind one night

My mom stayed through the nightmare aware

Something had changed for Bill

She had opened her mind

As his exploded

And filled back in with demons

So Bill was excused from attending

Gone as he was

Finding his way back

From hidden highways

Didn't help that Nam caught him for a season

Didn't help that drugs caught him longer

The street didn't help

The music didn't help

A cold city after a cold city didn't help

The excused absence let the help come

As so often is, this is what was

In a cabin on the fringe of Frisco

A good woman a new child both so we knew

Much longer wouldn't pass till Bill is present

Not much longer

Maybe one more child maybe

One more step back

And back he stepped in to the family

A visit to grandma at some holiday

Or some summer

Found Bill

And Kathy

And Amber

 And Bridgette and

Six months later the call arrived

Bill took one more step, out

Eldest son returned got right

And fell one last time

Mid-shave

As he readied at home for a real job

POEM - Gussy Up for the Guests

Let’s face it

Cleaning house sucks

Who wants to pick up

For no good reason?

That’s why we have parties

I love having people over

Socializing and associating

Chatting about this and that

It’s the only reason I can get behind

To do the good cleaning job

The one where you actually clean

Not just clear pathways through the debris

And it really isn't that hard

I shouldn't put it off

But I need a celebration

To put the giddy-up in my go

Make that extra effort

Move out the fridge and the oven

Face the horror of collected slime

Rouge milk caps and cereal bits

Missing toys and hair bands

Somehow forming an impenetrable goo

I mean really

It’s a wonder we aren't sick

I think to myself

As I scrape up the insect speckled ooze

Slop it into the mop bucket

I figure it’s an immunity thing

Built up from incremental exposure

To certifiably toxic materials

I sit back and wipe my brow

Bask in the collecting chemical odor

Steaming off the extra hot water

Signaling a return to cleanliness

But there is no time to rest

The guests are almost here

I can ponder later as I shower

The wonders of the immune system

The inspirational power of incentive

And the composition of the run off

Streaming down in black tinged rivulets

From various parts of my body

As I sing into the pulsating spray of water

POEM - A Better Retirement Plan

Now well into my life

I see that there may be a day

When I am past my employable age

I am deadweight

Expendable and ousted

And the subject comes up

What are we going to do in those years

If we both make it

And are not bedridden

Besides sit and stare at the tube

Casually pass the hours in leisure

Eat small discounted meals at the Waffle House

I become a regular at the barbershop

            Only to get a haircut every third visit

You with your knitting circle

With its hushed gossip and tittering confidences

And we complain all day

            About unpleasant weather

                        Or persistent aches and pains

I never thought of going quietly

Abhor the retirement communities

And their categorical retention

Of factory raised geriatric stock

No, we have other plans

When we leave the 9 to 5

It will be on the back of a Harley

With a camper in tow

On the trail of our favorite band

We are going on the road

Following Cake around the country

Selling sandwiches in the parking lot

To make the ticket price for the next show

In the off season I think we will hit Europe

Pay our stowage as greeters

Work the cruise ship circuit

Get paid to see the great ports of the world

Maybe get jobs as porters on the railways

Dressed up snappy

As the venerable old wait staff couple

With a kind smile and stories to tell

Anything to keep the bones moving

To make the juices flow

We learned from Neil Young

From the song heard in our youth

It is far better to burn out

Than it ever could be to rust

POEM - Procrastinating Plot Points

When I write my novel then you’ll see

All that crazy stuff I was going on about

How the moon hits the water just so

As the nefarious character appears

Dashes from shadow to shadow

Like a whisper and a thought

The burden of describing and recreating

In some way never heard

Causes me to meander my thoughts

Circumnavigate each situation

See if a different angle produces a different angle

Or is it just another side of the same scenario

For now the character is at a standstill

On the break of greatness or heart ache

Teetering and rocking as I procrastinate

And I know I should let the boulder fall

Perhaps kill off a character or two

Just to make it interesting

But I hope whoever is writing my story will be nicer

POEM - The Nice Guy Next Door

Police cars were pretending not to surround our house

Edging into the cul-de-sac in a nonchalant way

Dashing down the back alley

Hanging out on the side street

Looking like they thought they were invisible

They were as obvious as the broad daylight

Which shone down this bright afternoon

I heard of the initial encroachment second hand

As my wife described the disconcerting scene

She asked what I had done

Nothing, I swear, I've been here all day

Sitting at my desk

Exerting every effort to stay awake

Have they come up to the house yet?

Everything but that

I think I see one out of their car

The kids are going to be walking home soon

I’m going to go find out

I’ll let you know

The next few nervous minutes ticked by

With just enough tension to keep me mostly alert

The call back was more revealing

Apparently our nice, quiet neighbor

Had gone on a shooting spree

Shot his ex-wife dead at her work

Drove down the road and shot his in-laws

Was now at large, armed and dangerous

I asked if we were safe

The cop said we have a block house

Stay away from the windows

And we should be OK

Helpful . . .

Our neighbor was a nice guy

The first one to talk to us

When we moved in

Our kids played with his son

But there was a darkness

Something that should have been noticed

That night he showed up to talk

About his wife leaving

            Divorce isn't done in Chinese culture

            It just isn't right, she shouldn't have left

            It is bad for our son

            It just isn't done in Chinese culture

I could tell he had a little buzz going

Must be why he confided in me

As the kids played in the house

He shed some light on our dimly lit porch

In the next moment he shook his head

Regained his composure

And invited us over for his son’s birthday

A big celebration

Lots of food

Everyone invited

As if the other conversation never happened

Now we were surrounded

He had done the unthinkable

And I was that guy on the news

Telling everyone how I couldn't believe it

He was a nice guy

The first one to say hello

Our kids played together

He had us over for parties

           

When his family cleaned out his house

            A large tank of Koi was given to us

I later read that Koi represent perseverance in adversity

            But that is in Japan

In China it just isn't done that way

POEM - Close to the Surface

The tears that form are close to the surface

They sit there waiting to arrive

Flow over the dam

Break the levee

And run down my face

When I am in that kind of mood

The mood I am talking about is tender

Raw and exposed like nerves

From a sensitive tooth

Overcome by too much cold

Or a miniscule bit of leftover food

Leaving you in a decimated groaning heap

But it isn’t physical pain that gets me

I can handle a bump and a bruise

On the outside is fine

When the hits come internally

From my happy place or one of love

I’m all welled up and crashing against the floodgates

Float on willingly down a saline river flow

POEM - Hey Kid, You Got Big Hair

So kid, whatcha hanging around for

With your hair there

That has its own gravitational pull

It must be so

The way it pulls people in

Attracting attention

I know, I know

You don’t mean to

But I think that, well, you do

A little bit, just a little

You don’t wear a suit to school

On random miscellaneous Thursdays

Without knowing

Just a little bit

People will notice

They are gonna look kid

With that big head

It just draws them in

You weirdo

But we know you

It’s OK

I think we can trust you

That you will use this power for good

Please use it for good

Consider your poor father

I’m gonna have to be at the meetings

When the principle calls

To tell me she has had enough

You have gone too far

You have to be much more famous

Before you can pull stunts like that

Even the Beatles got arrested

When they did the rooftop concert

And you, my friend

Are not the Beatles

No matter how much potential you show

So show some respect

For the power of the hair

Your parents are nervous

The principle is keeping tabs

And your sister can’t stand

That you are taking away

All of the attention

She so carefully cultivated

POEM - Just Missed the Wall of Water

Preparing for the hike unaware of danger

Dad's friend from work had come by

He was a Remington painting embodied

An old cow hand who had scraped out a living

            From them thar hills

He was to be our guide into the mountains

Trying to explain some safety measures

But Berg's dad was chiming in too often

Sometimes you can be in a dry wash

And suddenly an eight foot wall of water will come

Wash you right sown the stream

They’ll uncover your corpse

Sometime after Monsoon season

We'll, isn't that pleasant ...

Ed confirmed the possibility

but a pained look crossed his face

He loved those mountains

He knew what was  more dangerous than floods

Was to speak harshly of them

And he was trying to help us have a good time

When the day finally came it was raining

And Berg's dad had to leave the station wagon behind

Because the dry wash was flowing deep

It was no problem for Ed's truck

It had at least a two foot lift on it

But for practical reasons, not show

He rolled into the river

With all of us piled in the back

Billy kept us entertained

With stories the whole way

We were rolling in laughter

Most of the slow drive up the canyon

The next day was the hike to the cliff dwellings

Four miles down the wash that felt like only one

When the path opened and the ruins appeared

We were transfixed by the pure coolness

A sign had been placed at the site

Explaining the dwellings were over 600 years old

Older than our country

From up high among the walls

We could see a clear blue pool of water below

Completely cleaned out of mud and dirt

By some ancient inhabitants

So meticulously constructed

That it still shone bright among the other dark streams

We survived in tact

We were not swept away in a flash flood

The drums of the Ghost Dance were not heard

Injures were minor and infrequent

And the only unpleasant creatures

We're one huge centipede

And a proliferation of barking spiders

Coming from the old man tents

Weeks later back home

All of us were running around the neighborhood

Playing tag or dodge ball

Billy got drenched somehow

Probably from the hose at Rugg's house

He came back seeking refuge

When my mom asked what happened

He said an eight foot wall of water

Had come out of nowhere

Just like Berg's dad had warned

POEM - Heading Down Isn’t Always Easier

Hiking into the Superstitions laden and young

Bright blue nylon pack just heavy enough

Early spring is the only acceptable time

In lower Arizona deserts for such treks

High summer is voluntary suicide

Deep winter heckled by flash floods

Flat ground was easy cadence, quick smiles

Up at first was gentle until it wasn’t

Complaints came quick from added effort

But it was the anticipated decline

That seemed the greener pasture

But contained the harder obligation

Gravity presses on the up, pushes on the down

Pushes hard until knees buckle

Thighs burn and feet slip and hands meet gravel

Until those once speeding end up bleeding

The slow ascent becomes a desirable respite

From headlong plunging like uneasy turtles

The summit presents tempting treacherous slopes

POEM - Schrodinger Surprise

Potential hides behind closed doors

On this outside is an ignorant peace

Believing as you choose about conditions

Able to bask in a hope the cat is alive

Knowing that death is more certain

The longer the door remains closed

I'm in the chair in the hallway

A good comfortable chair

Pleasant music hums from ceiling speakers

The temperature is cool and calming

The Iridium filled request smolders

Hidden by wood and coming from left field

I never saw it until it began

The list of questions so different

A more serious calling of sincere import

My face probably revealed the shock

I had been preparing for anonymity

Now forcibly propelled into the forefront

The cat alive but different from the one that entered

POEM - Directing Distraction

The syntax of the day left it open for interpretation

Some fashion of weather or whether that sat unsettled

But I couldn't decide for it

Hemmed into my own sack of problems

Painting rooms in soothing shades

For a host of regular demons

The color and the shape and the minutia

Distracting my attention away from minions

Little creative creatures owning my time

Settled into my mind and my fingers

I type away to type them away

Tapping ever harder on unresponsive keys

“That’s an allegory made famous by Frost”

My contemplation suddenly expiring in ice or fire

I exonerate the thought into a dish and burn it

Much to the delight of my visitors

They like the heat of failure

Bathe in the furnace of the defeated creation

A deluge of weather I finally choose to wash the rooms clean 

POEM - Steadman, South Carolina

Less than a town it was a community

A sign for the Baptist church confirmed the name

Of a place that maps left unregistered

We turned and pulled over to snap a photo

Driving on the road changed

Forsook the style of the region and created a new identity

A company town that looked like good company

Manicured palatial homesteads resting

On each side of the road indifferent sentinels

What came here meant to come here

Or it didn’t come here at all

Two logging companies and a church

The only denizens of commerce apparent

Though the roadside stand had a sign on the main road

But it was further on and main street remained quiet

Each pond clean edged and assigned a steward

A gaggle or two of geese lounging on the grass

Sunday sunset falling gently and peacefully as it should

We found Steadman and left it undisturbed until another visit

POEM - That Other Road

The first half of the new year I waited

Drawn out as a spider web

Heavy with morning dew

Waiting for the particular breeze

That would unhinge the intricate structure

Loosen the taught suspense

Brazenly defending stake and claim

Only to abandon  my stranglehold

On the last trip down the isle

Leaving one future at the alter

Coaxed away by an alluring drawl

Soft, lazy intoxicating charm

My other life waited for 2 ½ years

When I visited it jumped eagerly

A begging lap dog eager to please

Time had brought the mange

Bald patches of wounds licked raw

A stench of despondency pervasive

Forsaken pasts lay dry and cracking on my lips

POEM - The Hellion, the Print Shop and Me

I learned a lot from the Hellion

Sitting down there in the basement

Below the schmaltzy art gallery

In the heart of the Old Town

Working hard at looking like I was working

For the Scottsdale Chamber of Commerce

The Hellion was named Joe

And he ran the print shop

Joe looked like a Tom Selleck impersonator

With his 70’s black mustache

And the way he carried himself

He was the king of the barter

During my down times we’d talk

I’d do some layout for a business card

Or set type for some stationary

Or listen to him rant on and on

About being a self-made man 

Preaching work and practical knowledge

To a stream of guys heading for college

Always telling us a degree wasn’t a solution

All of us never dissuaded in the least

From wanting to go to school

And not be working in the warehouse

When we were as old as the Hellion

Still he did have a Harley

And he’d take me out to lunch

Whenever I did a job

Or just because he had a hankering

To head out and hit Phil’s

For the best cheesesteaks around

It was fun watching the print machine

With its thousands of gears

Cranking out the copies

At lightning speed

I learned how air was the lubricant for paper

How the ink was hydrophobic

Learned how the print plates are made

And of course the proper way to stack paper

The shop was full of fun machines

They would collate whole booklets

Fold flyers 15 different ways

Staple way deep in the fold two at a time

Chop a straight line in a big stack of paper

Or lick a thousand envelopes in nothing flat

For the kid who only liked Mr. Rogers

When he would show a film about doing stuff

This was the best parts all day long

Eventual Joe even taught me book layout

Helped me print a collection of my poems

Did it right there in the shop

From left over paper he had

Got to use all the machines

Turned out pretty good

Still have most of them

If you want a copy just ask

POEM - See? I Did Graduate! I Have Photographic Proof!

What wasn’t apparent

From the photograph of me

In my fine polyester blue robes

And fancy square blue hat

With the “89” tassel hanging down

Is what it took to get to that point

I’m not talking school work

Of course that happened

I’m talking the shopping trip

To get my perfect outfit

One obnoxious enough

That I would enjoy wearing it

We started at Miller’s Outpost

Where all the cool kids used to shop

I found some cool tan pants

And a funky patterned shirt

White with muted orange rows of design

I had decided to go with orange accents

To match my cool shoes

That I had picked up at Ross

They were sort of tribal slip-ons

With clear plastic soles

After that things were pretty complete

Though I did get a new Batman keychain

So my keys would feel fancy too

The morning of graduation I was up at 6

We were getting ready to move

So I had a couple things to do

To help get my stuff cleaned up

Sometime late afternoon I got dressed

Got my picture taken

Drove up to the school

And sat through an enjoyably short ceremony

I had to laugh when they called out Mark’s name

As the announcer accented “Barz” in quotations

He’d gotten them to print it and everything

I’d never wanted a nickname so bad

After that I chatted with my parents

Only for a moment or two

Before I ran off into the night

Headed for celebrations at the bowling alley

Some all-night gathering

After I’d had enough I left

Barz dropped me off at home

I jumped into my car

Drove around a little more

Enjoying the end of it all

Picked up breakfast stuff for the family

Pushed it until I’d made it a whole 24 hours awake

Fell asleep between forking a sausage link

And getting it to my mouth

POEM - The Blackout

I ran out to get ice cream
In a rain storm
Sounds superfluous
But we were sporting a Jones for frozen confections
And a sundae bar needed to happen

With seventeen bucks and Max
I headed to the Publix
We talked about trying to catch a concert soon

As the rain closed in
The sky sparkled
Like a fiber optic decoration
Set to the schizophrenic strobe setting
It was equal parts fascinating
And concerning

We collected the desired accoutrements
A gallon of vanilla ice cream
The squeeze bottle of hot fudge
The aerosol heavy whipped cream
And a bag of mini Heath bars
I was already salivating

As we drove home the weather worsened
Rain blowing in sheets across the road
By the time we got to our turn off
The other cars were slowing to a snails pace
Or stopped altogether

I was thankful for the SUV
As we headed down our dirt road
Which was now more of a river
We made it the last quarter mile sans incident
Only to realize the house was dark

When we got inside we were regaled
With detailed retellings
Of the insanely bright flash of light
Followed by a foundation shaking boom
That coincided with loss of power
And the silencing of all the house animals

I was glad we got the ice cream
We set out the candles
Served up the treats
And I marveled at the fun
Of being together
Unplugged
As if this was how we always did it