POEM - Samosa Discovery

“You can always start with the samosas

If you want to try Indian food

They are familiar

Like a more bite-sized pasty”

I suggest

“What’s a pasty?”

Is the reply

With a screwed up expression

Quizzical and untrusting

“Oh, a pasty . . .

It’s like a knish”

Confusion

“Like a k-what?”

“Perhaps a Russian piroshky, comrade?”

Crickets

“Nope”

“You know, like a Mexican empanada

Or an Italian calzone?”

“Are those foods?

I ain’t never eaten none of that.

Maybe Indian food isn’t for me”

I try again

I want this to work

This person

Sitting across from me

They need a broadened horizon

Like no other

Then it comes to me

“They are like Pizza Rolls

A little different

But basically, like Pizza Rolls”

A brightness behind the eyes

“Ohh, I like Pizza Rolls

Why didn’t you just say that?”

And they take a bite

And bliss rolls across their face

At the savory discovery

Occurring at this very moment

And then my reward

“I think I like Indian food

Why didn’t we do this sooner?

Can I have some more . . .

What are they . . .

Samosas?

These might be better than Pizza Rolls!

Hearing those words

Is better than anything

Well, maybe not better than the mint chutney

But pretty darn close

POEM - Good Men

I am the product of good men
Both in family
And in friends
There have been many
To lend a hand
Guide my journey
Direct the rutter
To higher paths
Better pursuits
Loftier goals

And I owe these good men
A little recognition
Because they are those
That would never ask for it
And those as well
Whom the smallest notion
That they have done good
Makes them do more good
Again and again
Never asking
To be noticed
Or praised
Maybe even
Never thinking
Any good they ever did
Was ever noticed

This is the notice
Good men
You have done well
Made me better
Your joy is my joy
Your tears mine as well
Your absence a void
Your existence essential
Our time
Even when brief
Is why I even try
To be
A good man

POEM - Shaved Ice

After the surgery
Feeling less than human
Wanting only
To find something normal
Something like a treat
Instead of the forced regiment
Of carefully portioned foodstuffs
Of bland calculated nutrients
To ensure optimal results
A nightmare for a foodie
A horror movie
Shot in two tones of bland

A night on the town
Family in tow
Just running errands
Enjoying some normality
And for their enjoyment
We stopped for shaved ice
Trying to stave off
The relentless clinging summer
For a few cool moments
I was in line only to pay
When something caught my eye
A list of flavors
Sans the cursed sugar
That was currently atop
My system's no fly list
And the heavens parted
The angel chorus sang
As I added my order to the list
With a tangible level
Of eager anticipation

I was not disappointed
Only pleasure
No reprucutions
I joined in normal life
Added color
To my gastronomical pallette
My mood improved
My will to live restored

After the surgery
I found pleasure
In simple things
My family's love
A beautiful day
Fresh clean air
But maybe most importantly
I found the joy
In the blessed union
Of flaky frozen water
Awash in flavored bliss

POEM – Stubbing My Little Toe on a Sunny Morning

A pinch of daylight

Crashes into my eyelids

I have chosen

In my mind

To ignore it

A sliver of daylight

Joins the fray

The memo to my mind remains

But the lines of communication

Suffered a collapse

The rest of my body

Never got the memo

And are confused by the foggy repertoire

Trickling from the upper floors

And the general bobbing and weaving

Blurting of incoherent babbles

And they are left to ask

Why on earth

Did he fling Little Toe

Straight into the bed frame?!?!

A beacon of sunlight

Rams forcefully

Into my bloodshot optics

Bathing my wincing face

In unhelpful brightness

As I howl and scream

At the piercing throb

Manifesting from my smashed digit

Full light of day

Now fully awake

My toe, I'm sure, thinks me silly

To carry on so long

He has been here before

Spends his days 

Being trampled on

And a stubbing now and then

Breaks up the monotony

Besides

He has miles to go 

Before he sleeps

Miles more to go

POEM - Biting Time

Frantic frolic
A scattered gallop
Feline paws
On laminate floor
Tenuous traction
Then drop
To a spring loaded crouch

The racket keeps us
Landlord and lady
In a fitful rest
As the clock ticks 11
And the galloping
Continues
With a thump
And a purr
And a gutteral twitter
Little half meows
Like a game of Marco Polo
Amidst the furniture
"I'm here
     Come find me!"
Here a chirp
There a flutter
Thump thump
Bump bump
Wrestle
     And bite
          Call out to the night
We are the rowdy kings
Who prowl in rambunctious ways
We are the sunlight seekers
Who prefer to sleep in the day

POEM - Sharp

It is a Wednesday
She tells me it is Sunday dress
I reach for my white shirt
But don't make it
My hand floats left
Distracted
By the red and pink floral number
The one I save
For the right occasion

And I think
On Sunday I am calm
We are a family
We go for a drive
Through the country
Fields and forests
Singing songs
Talking and conversing
Just being ourselves

So I grab my Sunday shirt
The one covered
In a field of flowers
A conversation starter
That lets me be me
Especially with the tie
A blue and green jewel tone
Shining like a country stream
Through the ruddy field

POEM - Refugee

He told a story
About fleeing over mountains
Miles rising
Through the foothills
Then the steeper paths
Over a peak
Only to see another peak
Forced to hike
While his mother put on a smile
Keeping up appearances
Partly for her son
Mostly to keep away suspicion
So that this would be a one way journey
Instead of a round trip

They went because they had to
I have climbed mountains too
At first by choice
To experience the hidden treasures
Share the quiet paths with my children
See the secrets in its craggy folds
And we started like the story
A happy walk
Just going for a stroll

We soon found an oppressor
Something to flee from
A monster of our inexperience
The trail a little longer
The sun a little hotter
The water supply inadequate

After a fitful rest
In the deep walled valley
We fled
Like a refugee
Unprepared for a difficult journey
Wanting to give up
Wanting relief
Hoping for deliverance
Some respite regardless the form
Dragging on over each rise
Only to see one more

Depleted we arrived
At the safety of the car
Something that told us we would not die
At least not today
The three sips of orange drink
Received as a ration
Before escaping our trial
Returning to our home

The refugees in the story
They made it too
And small things were sweet
Little kindnesses a salvation
A sip of cool drink
In a safe place
Ambrosia

POEM - She on Drugs

The off ramp is no place to take a nap
Despite this
The car two ahead was not inclined
To move any further
On this sunny lazy Saturday afternoon

All I was trying to do
Was take my eldest to work
And get back home
And sack out in front of some football
As soon as possible

The Hispanic gentleman approached cautiously
He knows the possible outcomes
Of approaching a stranger’s car
I try to help
Roll down my window
Smile and make it easy

“Can you help?
My English is not so good
She’s asleep
I don't know
Maybe you can help?”

I jumped out of my car
Impressed with his kindness
Concerned for a stranger
Obviously something wrong
He coordinates the rescue effort
In a hostile environment

The lady in the car was out cold
Snoozing hard
Luckily a smidgen of rigamortis
Kept her foot on the brake
Of the running car

I wrapped on the window
No response
“She on drugs”
Offers my new friend
In a matter of fact tone
He's probably right
I knock and yell
This time the eyes open
And a dim light begins to shine

“Are you ok?
Do you need help?
Can I call an ambulance or something?”

She is stunned and embarrassed
And now mostly awake
Claims to be ok
And pulls up to the light

We look at each other
Both equally skeptical
Both knowing some people are like that
And can't really be helped
He has done his part
Cared for a sister in trouble
Taught me a humbling lesson
Shown great character
And did the right thing

We shrug and head to our cars
She drives away surprisingly well
Though I keep my distance
She could relapse
Or something
And I explain
When I return to the car
With the simple answer
From my new comrade
“She on drugs”
Yes. Yes she is.

POEM - Edgar

The puff of black smoke
Curled on my chest
That arrived suddenly
From a line in an Eliot poem
Has pinned me down
On a lazy Sunday afternoon

I had intended to get up
Even brushed away the beast
But lingered a moment
Only to be pinned again
And my intentions dissipated

It wasn't an instant friendship
Me and the felines have history
Uneasy and troubled
His predecessors
A couple of finicky females
Didn't garner my support

But this one isn't a jerk
Though he chews the glasses
Hanging out of my pocket
And he makes it impossible
To sleep when he's in the room
And loves to watch our shows
And touch the screen
And pause the movie
And eat the tablet case
And finally knock it over

It is just a pleasant game
And my smoky companion
Makes me take a little longer
Relax just a little deeper
Breathe deep and calm
On a simple Sunday afternoon

POEM – Rooster of the Year

Across the gray-black macadam

Spreads a black feather fan

There was violence here last night

A streaking comet

Cracking into the silver egg

Carrying my baby chick

Rattled and shaken

But yolk unbroken

She came to rest on the grassy knoll

Peacefully observing the twisted remains

Of her beloved shell

It is no more and nevermore

And she is alternately

Stunned and sad and stunned again

And this rooster

May have never tended the nest

But he loves the brood

And he guards the house

Diligently

And he is glad the encasement held

The cargo mostly undamaged

Despite the shards that scatter the roadway

And scars in her memory

All that was left

Were black feathers

Etched across a country road

And the tears of oil

Pooling

Only the shell will die tonight

The hatchling carried home

A monkey still alive

To see the Year of the Rooster

POEM: Raccoon Lost His Gaze

I too picked that spot

Felt like I could die

A perfect spot

Cradled in the folds of the tree trunk

A small width of land

And then a depression

To hang my legs into

A place where other roots once lived

It must have fallen last year

Only the small ground cover had filled in

I was resting at the cross-roads

Four miles into the swamp

On a lonely trail

Waiting for the devil

Or anyone else

To hop along and pass the time of day

Until my traveling companions returned

I had opted to rest

They had chosen to explore

And I had hours to myself

Resting and waiting and whittling

A small stick and a slice of time

Letting the thoughts breathe in and out

The ground cover matched the lump of fur

That I hadn’t noticed before

A small startle and a measured examination

A small noise

No response

A larger noise

Still nothing

Must be dead

Hope he isn’t playing

I’m too tired to run away

Would probably just let him maul me

But it wasn’t necessary

He was dead

Resting in the same hole I had picked out

Resting on the new growth

Sheltered from the elements

This raccoon had lost his gaze

Hid from the weather

Under the earthy overhang

And the world let him rest

And passed him by

Suddenly I wasn’t so tired

Felt I could step out of that hole

Leave the tree seat behind

Find my tribe

A little more aware of my mortality

I left the devil at the crossroads

Never shook his hand

Found my own son further down the trail

Gave my hand to him instead

Pulled him back out of the swamp

Along a dusty trail

Under the shadow of the cypress

And the canopy of the loblolly pine

Poem - Pointed Crossing

The only reason I was driving slow
Instead of fish-tailing
Careening and swerving
Joyously enduring
My daughter's sternest looks
Was that it was the new car
The one we hadn't driven on dirt roads
The one that wasn't caked with mud
And that I had promised would never be so
But it had rained
On the dirt road
And ponderously I crept
Keeping the mud inside the wheel well
Not up over the hood
Smeared across the windshield
Caked to the undercarriage
Cautious and careful
Wary of every puddle and bog
As promised

I was rewarded
For an honored vow
As we intruded on the morning walk
Of the local stud of the deer clan
A handsome beast
About to cross the road
Our headlights told him not here
He quickly rerouted
Paused a moment
The briefest of nods
Then leaping to a sprint
Across the fog tinged field
To run and forage
Before the rest of the herd stirred
If he would have waited
We could have bumped fist
Completed the ritual
Begun by the tilt of a head
Continued in smashing knuckles
Alas a lingering look was all I got
Enough of a reward
For keeping the car clean
Slow as the sunrise we drove
Peaceful as a striding buck

POEM – Duel (Again and Again)

It may be true that I have never seen the whole film

Not straight through

But I’ve watched it dozens of times

When I was very young

I guess I should have been watching Looney Tunes

But back then cartoons ended by 10:30am

And sometimes friends had to leave in the afternoon

And I was stuck in front of the TV

Spinning the dial

First through the VHF

Then down to the UHF dial

Slowly clicking through the static

Hoping to catch a rogue cartoon

To fill up the doldrums

Until friends were allowed back out

It seemed I could always count on that movie

To be playing every Saturday afternoon

The one where the guy gets chased

All over the desert

By the semi-truck

And no one says anything

No explanation

Never figure out why

And I always somehow came in at the end

The nervous moments

Heading towards the cliff

The guy in the car gets away

The semi goes over the edge

In a spectacular cacophony

A sigh of relief

As a hat rolls by

Blown by the arid winds

Another tumbleweed in the collection

The credits roll

Still no answers

Always I sat there transfixed

Getting a little weirder

Wondering what I just watched

Wondering why I keep watching

Hoping to catch it again

Next Saturday

In the dull afternoon

The only thing on

When the cartoons and the friends

Leave me to duel with the TV dials

Searching for meaning

Aimless as a tumbleweed

POEM - Bark Worse Than Bite

 It wasn't our dogs
That kept me stirring
But the neighbors had been so nice
Never complained when it was
That terrible yip
In rapid succession
Far worse than the bass drum
Of the hound over the fence

But today is a holiday
With too much food
And just enough family
That being nice has expired
And grumpy
Is my bedfellow

And my prayers are not for my fellow man
But to the gods of silence
Wasted proffering
Selfish and un-thankful
And in this moment
I have not learned my lesson
My digits clenched into fists
Refuse to rise
To let blessings be counted

Except one
That it is not that spearheaded yip
And another
That I commiserated long enough
Through feeble written verse
That even the barker lost his bark

Maybe someone told him
There is a poet next door
Who
Regardless of rage
Will never yell back
In ways known to canines
But in verse only
That neither man nor beast
Has patience
To contemplate nor endure

POEM - Possum, I Wish You Could Stay

We all wanted you to stay

Marsupial of our dreams

So young and curious

But your work is not here

And we had to evict you

Please take no offense

No, really, I understand

I'm sure the large bowl of cat food

Sitting there unguarded

Was a delicacy

Compared to your insect heavy diet

But that is what you do

I know

I read up and you

And it would have ended in tears

You do not have a long life ahead

I can't wish you many years of happiness

It is a sad truth that science doesn't understand

You seem perfectly fine 

Roaming and foraging 

Deep in the woods

And then you play dead

One last time

And it sticks

So, again, I wish you could stay

You were a lovely guest

Quiet and furtive

Kind to the cats

Easily captured

Though kind of a pig

But the internet said no

It is better this way

I released you in a good part of the forest

Same place I sent your brother yesterday

Sorry for the bumpy car ride

Please don't hurry back

POEMS - Holidays in Summer

From May to June I would dread
Any holiday morning
For most of my youth
A holiday meant dad was home
And if that day wasn't Sunday
It meant dad was in the yard
And if dad was in the yard, well
That meant the rest of us would be soon
And didn't he know it was our day off too
That this junk was for Saturdays
This was a Wednesday for cripes sake!
Holidays on Wednesdays are bonus time
Sleeping in
Being lazy
Eating junk food
Going to the movies
Swimming and more swimming
And not just cooling off in the pool
After mowing the backyard
Head first
Fully clothed
Like my lunatic father would
Like he enjoyed it
As if this was fun for him
I guess he believed he did like it
He seemed always willing
To sacrifice our holidays
In pursuit of his bad habit
Tackling one horrific project after another
Bathing in summer sweat
Conducting the gas powered symphonies
Of roaring yard machines
Smiling for most of it
Crazy old man
Probably suffering from heat stroke
Someone should get him some ice water

POEM: Juarez is Again

I was only introduced
To Juarez
After the violent past
When only the wounds remained
Deep scars
Already beginning to heal

It was a controlled encounter
Set rules
Restricted movements
My first treading
On foreign soil

The next visit my heart opened
Juarez was again
The traumatic left behind
As it has been many times
This people do not
Let a little war ruin things
Let a little corruption make them cynical
Let destruction be permanent
They rise up
Put things back together
Clean up the overturned tables
Start the ovens
Hang a sign over the door
And serve up the salsa and chips

This time I watch the flag furl
Red, white and green
Blown by the wind
Big enough to cover a stadium
Or the brightly lit star
That shines from the hills of El Paso
As if in answer
Proclaiming the pride of a people
This time I walk through the streets
Break bread at her tables
Breathe the air recently forbidden
Walk the streets and shops
Laugh with my amigos
At the shirt that reads
  "Made in USA
      From Mexican Parts"
My heart now also full
Of Mexican parts

POEM - My Father is the Ghost My Mother Lives With

This isn't some metaphor

A loveless marriage

Ships passing in the night

Some abandoned halls of an empty four chamber heart

My father is in fact deceased

He expired and is no more Encased 

In this mortal coil

But it is a decade and a half later

And I only think of him when I need to

Or when my mother is talking

Or on the anniversaries

Of his birth or his death

But my mother still sort of needs him

To be around

Make sure things are in order

Be a presence to fill a lonely void

Somehow

And she expects him to be there

And when she talks about the little signs

The signals he still gives her

I don't think of it dismissively 

As the quaint fantasies of an addled mind

No mater how much I want to

Because I know she believes they are parted

But not separated 

And she believes forever is real

And he did to

And we all believe in ghosts

That like to visit on an occasion

Like to whisper to the grandchildren

To tell mom to do the dishes

Because he always told her that

He is the ghost that she lives with

That checks on her now and then

Whispers to her as well

Little things to calm her nerves

Lets her catch a glimpse of him

Out of the corner of her eye

With a big smile on his face

That raises his eyebrows 

And makes his eyes twinkle mischievously 

Kids Are People

Dishwater blonde kid

My son from my first marriage

           From my only marriage

My youngest son from an ongoing marriage

And he doesn't always get this

             To sit in the front seat

             For a long drive

Into the mountains we go

Uncharacteristicly

EzP is able to stay entertained

Without a single screen

Turned on

                  Off but close at hand

In case this journey fails

Despite all the assurances

That it would be a blast

Backup is at the ready

                          But it stays put

We are headed to pick up a friend

And a stranger

It doesn't bother him

All worry is on me

I own it

There are questions that come with ownership. . . 

Will EzP behave?

       And be able to understand 

             The accents and the mannerisms 

                     Of these folks so far from home?

He can

When bored

Cause a ruckus

Have behavioral issues

Bug the ever living cuss out of me

It worked out
He behaved
Talked and engaged
Answered questions
Carried a conversation
Effortlessly understood
                   Maybe far better than I
Our guests

It was soccer
And youth
And simplicity
And play
And a mountain stream
Of rushing dancing water
      Chilled noisy waterfalls
              Blissful clear pools
Hummus and string cheese and Red Vines and smiles
     And smiles
          And smiles
               And smiles







             

POEM - Form vs. Function

I liked it until I knew better

And grudge is a strong word

But even to my 3rd grade mind

It inspired strong emotions

When I got it

I loved it

When I premiered it

I understood

Sadly

Where the design went wrong

The plastic Peanuts lunchbox

That I had proudly lugged to school

With the thermos full of milk

    And a PB&J

            And celery sticks

                  And the little metal pudding cup

Just laid there

         Wide open

              For all the world to see

Like my lunch was Exhibit A

And I tried

I tried every which way

To make the thing sit up

Like everyone else's

             Wonderful lunch sanctuary

A bit of privacy

In the micromanaged world

That is elementary school

But it didn't work

And I continued on

Exposing my culinary secrets

Each and every meal time

Unguarded

On display

Exposed

My lunchbox

A similar lunchbox exposing the design flaw