POEM - IN MY ( ) POCKET

IN MY (

My little pocket

Carries in itself

A pocket of its own

A secret its keeping

Somewhere other

A slice and a crack

Letting molecules escape

Down into the lining

Dragged through the in-between space

In my suit jacket

(forget what you have

It will disappear

Or transform

The love note turns to a wadded pebble

Gum to pink un-washable stains

Your pen explodes

Your money evaporates

Your wallet and keys leave unannounced)

There is a war my friend

I carry this war with me (I carry it in my coat)

[REPORT FROM THE FRONT]

“no” prisoners

Survived the skirmish

(“no” was taken)

(trust issues mounting)

[]

where

is

my

pocket

watch

?

Will it be saf(v)e(d)[]

(correction is defection)

[END]

The jacket was retired from service

Placed in dry dock

Allowed to rot and decay

Pockets were preserved

In primordial ooze of history

Mucking up the works again and again and

We'll you just don't get the quality

)))You could “trust the quality”©,

When these things were Union Made®!

Now the Commies™ have their Sticky Fingers® in everything

Those Red Loving® so-and-sos!(((

As

dawn

rises

Frail

and

glorious

Sundry

and

sublime                                   

) POCKET

POEM - Cookies are Good, Music is Better

The back seat of the Pinto

Held me and my sister

Awash in the rare morning sun

Shining down on a stunning Oregon landscape

Well, not exactly stunning

As this particular bridge

Skirting the Columbia River

Showing more of industrial development

Than natural preservation

As the long flowing arc of the freeway

Gave us a spotlighted view

Of several warehouse districts

We made our way to the Oroweat store

To get second hand bread

And,

      fingers crossed,

peanut butter cookies

My favorite with the little divot in the middle

Still hanging on to the last wisps

Of that wonderful bread store smell

With the desired cookie in hand

The sky still showing signs of staying sunny

We were all in a good mood

Heading back across the industrial bridge

Mom flipped on the AM radio

Pushed in the long black selector rod

The dial jumped to the music station

Wonderful 70’s pop flowed from the speaker

I remember that moment

It was when I woke up to music

It started to mean something important

As The Wings sang about silly love songs

I understood that this song was special

That I need to hear more

That cookies may be wonderful

But this song was better

I can’t remember if I finished eating

But I remember the song

And how the sun looked different

As it shone on the new road ahead

Lighting the path to a journey of sound

Opened my ears

And tuned my senses

POEM - The Troll at the Party

I found out I’m the mean one

And I’m not changing

It’s my penance

For a life lived

Closer to the edge

Than my mother would have liked

This is how I found out

We are out at the youth activity

It is a lovely clear night

And everything is great

The barbecue was some of the best I’ve had

The company is good

Along with the conversation

Then it happens

As dusk begins to fall

Little groups of miscreants

Try to sneak across the tiny bridge

Stroll around the far side of the pond

Away from those pesky chaperones

I totally understand

And I remember well trying the same thing

And more importantly

I remember why I tried it

Which is why I have to chase them down

Use my big mean voice

Alert them to their indiscretion

That will not be allowed to proceed

Because they are not discreet

Nor invisible

Nor did they count on this guy being around

So while the other adults are occupied

Chatting up their cronies

Relaxing in their distraction

I’m huffing off after the free radicals

Propelled by my overdone sense of obligation

The one that has been growing lately

And making me get up and do stuff

I was happy being the happy guy

Relaxing and chilling

Cracking jokes and leaving that work

The work of responsibility

To some other schmuck

But now I’m that schmuck

And my wife says next year

They’ll probably just have me sit under the bridge

Scare those who dare to cross

With my troll voice full of ruff and gruff

Oozing my undying reticence

For those hated Billy goats

Who got the better of me, once

My senses now sharpened

Through the raw determination

To let not another sneak

Ever get my goat again

POEM - First Lessons on Raising a Girl

All I know about little girls

I am learning from my daughter

And a young girl is the harshest teacher

            For an inexperienced father

A moment ago as we played on the floor

            And I was the prince

            Come to save the beautiful princess

            With the long flowing hair

            And the radiant smile

We were best friends

But play time was over

And I was too rushed and harsh

So, my daughter begins her lesson

            With heart-breaking cries and scorn

And the innocent, foolish father

Has learned another lesson

At the hand of an unforgiving teacher

            The kindled wrath of a four-year-old.

But the foolish father is not a complete fool

And he has learned his other lessons

So he raises the daughter

            In his strong but gentle arms

For hugs and amends

And the moment is saved

            The father taught

A mistake not to be made again

As I stare in amazement

            At the little girl

Who teaches me my sternest lessons.

POEM - Mind River

I and They

Become the Truth

Together, for we know

There is

            ONE

One chance,

To understand,

We all share,

                        Over the gravestone

                        Let the moonlight flow.

            Sacred pools where

            Deep thoughts linger

To be snatched into the

                        overflow

of useless dribble.

Chances are, though the days come quickly,

            there are

            No new solutions, No old thoughts

                        It has all been

                                    Forgotten.

            Grab for the thought

                                    that you like best.

            There is no rest,

                        for the time is nigh

When dust is present, and words

                        have no more meaning.

            Then the final imagination

                                    will churn out

The last thought, and then

            it too shall fall to soft silence.

POEM - Mosquito

Creative differences aside, I really

Couldn't support the efforts

Of the invasive flitting creature, whom

It seems is determined I have

A bounty of blood to spare. He can’t

Be real. No I really must insist. Stop

The setting sun makes the crumpled lump

Sit in looming relief much bigger

It was silly how quick the end came

So sensitive these blood-suckers are

The slightest swat and total annihilation 

POEM - Strong Women Only: Juggling a Plus

You are a strong woman

Like crossing the plains

Circling the wagons

Uphill both ways in the snow

Fighting off the savages

Mama bear defending her cubs

Teeth bared, claws sharp and extended

Enough to scare a man dead

Just by a look from your wild eyes

You are this kind of strong

Which makes me feel good

That there are still things you need me for

There are still calls that only I can handle

I guess that it can be hard to change a battery

When you are all claws and teeth

And hard to fix the plumbing

When you are worried about the defenses

And painting a wall can distract

When savages and their stratagem threaten

For all of those situations

I’m glad to be asked

To take care of the tedium

With you watching my back

Making sure I am not injured

What with the awkward positions I get in

Repairing this and that

In diverse nooks and crannies

One hand holding a caliper in place

The other jacking up the car a little more

Or my finger plugging the leaky faucet

While I am sprayed and splashed

Waiting for the pressure to subside

We have a good thing going

This symbiotic little dance we do

And in closing I must mention

I am always amazed

How you can make a glass of water appear

Just when I was thinking it might be nice

And I know supper is on

And the kids are complaining

But you still make my head spin

Watching the jumble of brightly colored balls

Kept up in the air by you

POEM - Burgers on a Monday with You

Inside the restaurant

We both ordered cheese burgers

Found a table to wait

As the sky stayed gray outside

It’s a Monday and 1 o’clock

So only casual diners

Share this quite reflective day

Eating comfort food

At a leisurely pace

Each burger was all the way

Minus the mushrooms

I added grilled jalapeños

My new favorite topping

We had time to eat some peanuts

Sip some soda

Talk about the morning

She thinks it will all work out

I’m inclined to agree

After the first few bites

Of perfectly done burgers

And wonderful fresh fries

My phone buzzes out the notice

The email we were waiting for

The one we wait for every Monday

Had finally arrived

I read aloud the note

From our daughter who is away

She sounds great

Really liked all the letters she got

Sounds happy and upbeat

The meal was delightful

Pitch perfect on every culinary note

The news was good too

The morning was good as well

The rain was gentle

The company divine

The jalapenos spicy and flavorful

POEM - My Happy Place

My happy place is beside you laying in your lap as the TV flickers on

We watch and settle our bones down into the soft bed

The back of my neck is supported just right on your leg

As you stroke my hear and silently communicate little thoughts

This is sweet nothings whispered on the tips of fingers

Kids asleep

House silent

A/C blowing

Night advancing

And all the troubles of the day fall off my shoulders

The tension that kept me alert of all the dangers and duties around

So that I never relax or let my guard down or let the chores go undone

Fix the handles on the door and organize my tools and replace the bulbs

When I should have been taking a short nap this afternoon

Only the solace of these moments alone with you can release all of that

Make me lazy and melancholy in all the right ways

So that sleep can work its restorative charms for another night

Sheet smoothed

Pillows fluffed

Blankets arranged

You and I

Alone

Peace and calm

Hugs and kisses

And sufficient enough

Was the day

To let it go

To wind and water

Dreams and mermaids

Settling and solace

POEM - St. Basil’s Cathedral

At St. Basil’s Cathedral

The weather blows cold and clear

And the morning dawns

Not as silent as the day before

But there is stillness here

St. Basil’s Cathedral is shining

Colors bright in the first sun

As streaming colors gather

Obscuring the ground

As viewed from by the ancient raven

Perched atop the twisting tower

From St. Basil’s Cathedral

The landscape falls away

And the stained glass eyes

Can see the crush of Anarchists

Crossing the bridge

Wrapped in wool and protest

It is a beautiful sight

From a distance

And among the crowds

They are happy

This is a peaceful protest

In the shadows of St. Basil’s Cathedral

The young rebel returns

She has left the marches

From the bridge she saw the holy structure

And in the warm light of dawn

Something caught her eye

And today she entered the doors

Touched the stone feet of apostles

Sat in the benches

Watched the flicker of candles

Symbol of earlier victories

Far away from St. Basil’s Cathedral

The former anarchist joins her friends

She found something bright just now

No longer looking to the flag

That is waved ahead of the ranks

And the trees have never looked so nice

Nor the air smelled quite so important

POEM - The Pea in the Problem

The computer screen sits

Blank and waiting

My head is leaning all the way back

Eyes staring at the ceiling

Uninspired

Then it happens

Over in the corner

A cast-off dirty old blanket

Becomes the new obsession 

Of the yappy little puppy

At least he's quite

But this blanket is really bothering him

This normally happy go lucky beasty

Who drinks from the dirty bowl of water

That lies on the floor of the kitchen

And digs through the garbage for snacks

Licks his own butt

Sniffs his own excrement

And right now chooses to become particular

I understand where he's coming from

Sometimes things that are always the same

For some reason

In that moment

Aren't right

The pillow won't un-lump

The mattress won't either

Everything has grown peas

And this king can't get comfortable

In the end the puppy gets distracted

Doesn't even lay on the blanket

I learn another lesson

Sometimes it's good to leave a problem

Let it simmer and roast

Come back later

Maybe things will lay right

When I try it all again

POEM - Coin-fed

We are the coin-fed generation

Classically trained

In the Pavlovian style

To desire discs of metal

Weighty little coins

Keys to worlds of wonder

A few for the vending machine

A line of them for the games

Candy bars and Coke

And hours of time disappeared

The funny irony of it

That is repeated still today

Is the parents were worried

They thought out minds would melt

That we’d forget how to interact with people

Zoning out on video games

Dropping our quarters in slots

One after another after another

Funny how it didn't happen

Funny how pedestrian that era seems

Looking back through internet colored eyes

Because it was better

Back there playing Galaga

Than it is with their decedents of now

Because you had to get up

Leave the house

Bike down to the strip mall

Talk to the guy making change

Wait in line for your favorite game

And then leave at some point

Because you ran out of quarters

Or it was closing time

And then you got home just in time

To read a few pages in your favorite book

Maybe call your girlfriend

Or shoot hoops in the park

Watch a little David Letterman

And then actually sleep at night

No arguments over saved games

Never a cheat to spoil the fun

Everyone starts from the beginning

Even ground

Level playing field

Gentlemen, present your quarters!

POEM - The Mountains are Sweet and Creamy Today

These are green mountains

Flecked with angular black stones

Piled in high rounded peaks

Chilly and smooth

They sit motionless

As mountains often do

But there are other forces at work

As slowly

            Ever so slowly

The slopes begin to sag

Green rivulets form

And run headlong to hidden alcoves

Only to fill up the empty spaces

Until the green mountains devolve

Into a black flecked

            Mint green

                        Mudslide

I should have eaten this long ago

When the creamy goodness

Still gave resistance

When I stuck my spoon in just so

Now the spoon is unnecessary

As I heft the white porcelain bowl

And drip the mint chocolate chip slurry

Dejectedly down my distracted gullet

Once upon a time

I was a diligent ice cream eater

Able to construct the perfect bowl

Then dismantle it

Quickly and precisely

Before the melt became pervasive

Even when I intentionally softened

As is required in some situations

Like sprinkling Ovaltine on vanilla

You have to mix it in

So that each spoonful

Is the perfect blend

Of crunchy chocolate powder

And creamy frozen confection

But it is still a hearty spoonful

Not this drippy mess before me

So I sip on

Not entirely upset

It is in the end still a delicious treat

But lessons were learned

About timing and priorities

And I know that I must demand

During all future distributions

That the world must stop

Just for a few sweet moments

So that ice cream can be enjoyed

And bliss can be found

POEM - Crazy Lady Has Cows on Her Mind

The voice was sweet

As it came across

With a fiery confidence

            Just calling in

            Want to make sure

            If I get arrested

            You’ll come post bail

I assured her I would

Crazy lady

All the cows were at the gate

Just waiting there

And the handfuls of grass

Were gobbled up eagerly

So were the two buckets full

Scraped up from the newly leveled field

She was stirring the pot

            Like she is known to do

Because the cows were starving

Looking all emaciated and sad

I checked in a little later

To see if she had been arrested

And what other mischief

She might have been up to

            I called the guy at the sheriff’s office

            Got voice mail again

            Could barely understand his accent

            I left a message

            I guess we’ll see what happens!

I hope she can sleep through the night

She only made it to 2 AM a couple nights back

And wanted to talk

And worry and plan

I was no help though

I wanted to sleep, and sleep some more

Roll over and pretend this wasn’t happening

She said she was on her way

Heading to her next option

Right to the sheriff station

The one around the corner

Sit there until they listened

Or dragged her away screaming

She must be serious

She said dinner was already made

And her car, somehow, was full of hay

Crazy lady

Out and about

Doing those things

That crazy ladies do