POEM - At Least the Loser Goes Home

Honesty

Played like a chump

At the carnival

Four tries for a dollar

And beat by the fifth

This one was hooked

By the allure of an easy win

Customers soon find

A too soft ball

Inflated on lies

That bounces and clatters

Off heavy steel milk bottles,

Unmoved sentinels of deception.

Frosted in merry December

By the cake man of winter

The patrons shuffle

Chilled and solemn

Shuffle on and on

In shells of frigid wool

Feasting on grease cart pastries

Whose only virtue is warmth.

Every booth is the hard sell

Each named “Rigged” and “Crooked”

Though sometimes spelled in other letters

Surrounded by fetid hot carriages

The only source of nourishment.

If the old man who owns this life knew

Perhaps there wouldn’t be this decline

Brought on by bad lives

And low expectation

Each beat down

With each heavy mile

Until each sings the same song

“A Carnie till I die,

a Carnie till I die . . . “

An old pipe organ

Plays this old song

To many different tunes

But

No new words

Are ever written

Except at the end

“The Carnie died at dawn,

the circus has moved on . . .”

A mound of indifference left behind.

POEM - And the Cat is a Clarinet . . .

My eight-year-old son

In a conversational moment

Asks if I’ve ever heard of

“Peter and the Wolf”?

Yes I have

It is one of my favorites

Then he tests further

And asks probingly

If I know what the instruments mean

I start to recite a few

And he

In a rush to impress

Lists off each character

Their corresponding instruments

With masterful precision

Until he falters at the grandfather

It is an odd instrument

I suggest the bassoon

Which he says sounds right

In his most scholarly tone

Today as I ate lunch

Sneaking out to my car

Trying to avoid my office

For just a few minutes

I saw a Calico out for a stroll

Sauntering as cats do

Then snapping round its head

Checking for predators

Or the rustle of potential prey

And suddenly a clarinet begins

To play the pretty little tune

From Prokofiev’s playful symphony

The cat is copacetic

Walks in perfect syncopation

Is kind enough to hang around

Waiting until the last bar

Before it lunges into the undergrowth

To complete its scene

POEM - O Sweater, My Sweater!

Dragging out the old sweater

The black cable knit

Mock turtle neck

Well worn

Beloved

Sweater

There is a separation

Right at the seam

Where the collar connects

Strings are loosening

A chasm is forming

And I wonder what I’ve done

To make it come apart

Have I been unkind

Leaving it high on the shelf

Up in my closet

To wait for cooler weather

My affection never lessened

Though I had not occasion

To employ your talents

Dear sweater

It was merely weather related

Oft times

In the swelter of triple digits

As I stumbled into the closet

To grab a shirt or my shoes

I would catch a glimpse

Of you in your resting place

And wish I could justify

With all my heart

Any reason at all

To wear you

To be rid of days like saunas

And nights that never chilled

POEM - Bearded Bliss

Do you think it weird

How much I like my beard?

How fond I am

Of admiring

My follicle filled face

Filled from ear to ear

With tickly bits

And poky parts

All a mingle

They make a handsome sum

Great and glorious to behold

And yet I let the face fringe languish

Only infrequently

Shamed into shaving

By social convention

Each time I lift the razor

To clear cut the growth

I pause for a moment

Then a moment more

Debate and justify

Propose research findings

To rationalize my procrastination

Practice my arguments

Emphasize each important point

Then with a sigh

A defeated sigh

Smear my face with frothy foam

And dispatch the stubble

To the basin below

Tears in my eyes

And heaviness in my heart

Farewell my furry friend

With fondness I reminisce

Recall our quite times

When the soothing scritch-scritch-scratch

Of my nails against you

Would inspire the deepest thoughts

Help me ponder more richly

Soothe the savage beast

Give me the look of knowledge

While enrobed in your shaggy embrace

POEM - Peek-a-Boo, I Smell You

The drive home was nice

The dark deepening

Made the conversation wane

While steady road noises thrummed

The expectation was

That we would ride home

Silent and reflective

Winding down our minds

Hoping for some deep winter sleep

That’s what would have happened

If not for the smell

The relentless, musky stench

Of the rascally skunk

Hidden in the murky woods

The guerilla soldier of nature

Armed with a powerful chemical weapon

And I’m not sure why

Maybe it was the wet summer

Or just polecat migratory patterns

But lately the smells

Have increased frequency

With intrusions occurring

On an annoyingly regular basis

And I always seem to breathe deep

In through the nostrils

Just as the full force hits

Tonight when it happens

I am in a reflective mood

I bravely take a contemplative whiff

Then boldly declare

I am starting to like the smell

Especially in comparison

To the chicken farm we just passed

My wife rolls her eyes

Tells me I’m ridiculous

But it makes me nostalgic

As I recall  from youth

The scratch-n-sniff stickers

That were all the rage

And then there were the stinky ones

And the skunk one was bad

But never as bad

As the pizza one

She concedes the point

But not the conversation

As I enjoy the last vestiges

Of our reeking neighborhood friend

And contemplate smelly stickers

And the oddities of olfaction

POEM - Creative Cartography

Let’s draw a treasure map

And maybe it will come true

We will start right here

From the front door

The path leads away

Meandering around the bend

It disappears until we follow

Along the way there are forests

Mysterious and dark

Spotted with caves

And questionable taverns

Cutthroats and highwaymen

Nefarious charlatans

And scheming opportunists

Somewhere there is a river

With a little lonely bridge

Built in an ancient age

You say to draw in a monster

There are always monsters

Living beneath the bridge

Next is a steep canyon

Resplendent with treacherous crags

Then a large lonely ocean

Interrupted by a vast archipelago

Foreboding isles in every direction

But it is here we must go

To an inconspicuous sandy shore

Guarded by jutting sharp stones

Now the ideas are flowing

Vivid and fluid

I can barely keep up

Then the napkin tears

And we are out of space

And this map will have to do

As I fold it up carefully

Put it in my pocket

I know where the treasure lies

And you smile at our little game

The next map will be better

You promise and then run off

That’s alright

This map has already found

Everything it was supposed to

POEM - Field Trip

What could be better

Than a field trip

Even now

As I take on new roles

Of parent and chaperone

I'm just as excited

To meet at the bus

Pick the right seat

And leave the school

For a date with adventure

Tonight is the Symphony

So sophisticated

With middle school-ers

So insane

And I will try to be the cool kid

Sit in the back of the bus

Jump out of my seat on the bumps

Act distracted and disinterested

Too cool for school

But I'm the same as these kids

Hoping for a friend to sit close

Self-conscious

Of my breath

And my hair

Wondering

If I'm saying the right thing

Or striking the right pose

I think I'm doing ok

As I sit and stare at my phone

Typing away oblivious

Like half the bus

Checking on my daughter

As discretely as I can

She catches me

I smile

She smiles back

She’s still not too cool

To let me sit by her

Was excited that I could come along

Will even stand next me

Without being asked to

POEM - Traffic Trauma

Two days in a row

I tried to be clever

I was already running late

Figured a couple more minutes

Rush hour over

Smooth sailing

All the way home

It’s always worked before

I don’t know what happened

Maybe it is the change

To daylight standard time

Or the month of November

Or just the universe

Screwing with me

But my best laid plans

Went awry

Today was particularly fantastic

Five miles

On freeway!

Forty-five minutes!!

I almost pulled over

Jumped out of the car

Threw my hands in the air

And screamed, “I give!!”

Somewhere

Along the way

A memo

Went out

To all of the South

Probably a joke

From some Northern loyalist

Bent on sadistic revenge

Wherein it was written

That all events

On the side of the freeway

Regardless of

            Size,

            Location

Direction

Severity

Relevance

Safety

Existence

Constitutes

            No, in fact, demands

That all cars slow

To the lowest gear

Ride their brakes

And generally disregard

All attempts at ever getting anywhere

Maybe they all just know

By the way I carry myself

I have driven more sophisticated roads

Have survived the freeways of LA

Where unless the car

Is physically blocking the road

It is unwise to drop below 80

Ahh . . . the peaceful life

Eight lane highways

Aggressive drivers

And the comfort that everyone

In every single car

Wants to get somewhere

Just as bad as you do

And the speed limit

Is a suggestion starting point

Instead of an eventual possibility

And the smog laden air

Serves to deter

Any ill advised notions

Of leisurely drives

Through a city

Fully engaged

In the passionate throws

Of an eternal rush hour

POEM - Playing their Own Game

You’d think

Being from this family

They’d have a little more

Of that killer instinct

We’re not shy

We don’t shrink back

From any and all competition

And we tried

Really tried

To encourage them

Show them what it means

To play team sports

So we signed them up

Vern went to soccer

And spent every game

Picking flowers

Running in the opposite direction

Chasing butterflies

Completely happy

Max we tried on basketball

He loved it

Loved cheering for every score

No matter who made it

He’d always run up

Tell them good job

Pat them on the back

Often to the other team

And all we could do

Was smile

At our nice kids

We were worried they wouldn’t get it

They showed us

In their own way

They already knew it

Even better than us

POEM - Hot Seat

A button

On the console

In the shape of a seat

With squiggly lines

On which the seat floats

Intrigues me

It is colder this morning

As the winter solstice

In full frigid swing

Pushes the issue

Starts the winds blowing

Down from the North

Across many frozen miles

My car dashboard confirms

In many subtle ways

Seemingly trying to prove

Just how smart a car it is

Sure, it gives me a temperature

But next to the numbers

It kindly lights up a glowing snowflake

Then flashes a warning

On the LED readout

            FROST POSSIBLE

            DRIVE CAREFULLY

I depress the seat button

The one with the squiggly lines

Skeptical of the need

For such an embellishment

As seat warmers

But as my posterior heats

I am pleasantly surprised

By how I didn’t know

How much I really needed

To have my seat warmed

And wonder at how

I ever had happiness

Before I had toasty buns!

POEM - Write Me Down or Lose Me Forever

I had a thought

A nice one

Tucked away

And just as I reached for it

Poof!

It left

So, I found another one

Jotted down some key characteristics

Mulled over its existence

Ran it through the mental mill

And something wonderful came out the other side

Which I also didn’t write done

Ka-plow!

Out of here

Then I was sure I had really taken every precaution

Had a thought

Wrote it down

Thought it over

Wrote down more

Worked out the kinks

Wrote it down then

Tucked it away

In a special book

That I always keep with me

And forgot about it

Until I needed it

So I opened my book

And looked at my notes

That were a detailed description

Of how to check transmission oil

On a 2002 Volvo V70

Hmmm . . . not poetry material

No wonder I forgot about it

Now I am stuck

And this poem is stuck

And the hours are dragging

And I had better just stop

Let this composition rest

Check the oil

And turn out the lights

Maybe tomorrow

I’ll write about the coming of winter

But for now I will just jot it down

POEM - Mouse / Lion

The little Plexiglas cage

Contained the frailest creature

All scrawny and serious

Unaware of the reasons

That this wire and that tube

Had to be attached

Taped, glued and stuck

To this that and the other

She just looked around

Flailed and slept

Plotting all along

Planning out

In great detail

Exactly how things would be done

When she got out of this joint

That’s the only explanation that makes sense

Of why our sweet little girl

Who couldn’t wait to come

Was so angry when it finally happened

Why the little mouse

Grew the spirit of a lion

Inside her slight frame

She sits now days

With her arms folded

And her head cocked

In an observational way

Deciding exactly which thing

That you are doing wrong

She is going to pounce on

Ravenously tearing apart

What is not right in her world

Then she rebuilds

Organizes and restructures

So that all is right

Just like she planned

In those first few weeks

Confined in a clear plastic box

Just watching

And waiting

And practicing

How to change her squeaky little voice

Into a mighty roar

POEM - Psych Ward on a Sunday

It’s not so much

The yellow pajamas

Or the fuzzy blue socks

That made it seem so bad

It was his look

The one in his eyes

Where the sparkle should be

Lonely sad and hopeless

Wondering how much more

How many sleepless nights

With the other inmate’s

Shuffling aimless feet

Walking past his door

Relentless

POEM - Sometimes a Movie

The stuff of living
It builds up
Piles onto itself
Damming the flow
Messing with the psyche
Like having to deal
With the reality of reality
Makes it all a little too real
And an escape is needed
To suspend
Willingly
Any hint of reality

Today was a day like that
And it seemed like
Too much serious stuff
Was clouding my perception
Blinding me
Making my aura all funky
And only a movie
Would reset reality
Only something really far out
Unrealistic
Lots of effects
And explosions
And space ships
Definately space ships

And only a movie
Can make that happen
And it does what it should
Clears out the mind
And tomorrow
Tomorrow I will handle reality
Just a little better
Lights
       Cameras
              Action

POEM - Candy Choices, Candy Consequences

The choices we make

Well, we have to live with them

And I’ve made some doozies

And today was another

As I morosely ponder

The spent paper carcasses

Of so many good candies

Filling up my wastebasket

I was only going to eat one

Or maybe two

Each day

Make them last

Savor and enjoy

Each gooey, chocolaty, sweet morsel

Alas it was one of those days

One where the sun comes up

One that ends in “Y”

One that is either a weekday

Or a weekend

And on any day like that

When confronted with the extra pressure

Of a bag full of Halloween candy

I cave like a sink hole in Florida

The destruction is devastating

The loss total

The residual damage

Incalculable