POEM - Bless Me For I Have Sinned

It was a time
When we laughed
Ridiculously
It was that
Or anger

The car ride was long enough
That it inspired confession
From some of the reprobates
We claim as our children
And the effects were unexpected

Firstly we both realized
It wasn't us going crazy
It was willful disobedience
That made these things happen
Made us think the facts didn't add up
Though unsolved at the time
These revelations
Admissions of tresspasses
Straight up guilt-spill
Gave us
The parents
Vindication

Then it was a lifting
Of long carried burdens
That now
Years later
Could be laughed at
It must have been liberating
Because it seemed endless
Once the first one cracked
The rest broke the dam
Each clamoring
To dump their sins
Into the flood

All we could do was listen
Sit back and let it happen
Take down little mental notes
Start balancing the tally sheet
Making sure the retribution had occurred
And subconsciously planning
When any missed punishment
Would be best doled out

But laughing is what happened
We were all relieved
Especially them
The little dears
The little pointy-headed dears
The little never-un-grounded dears
Just keep talking, Slick
I'm keeping score
Just keep it coming
Keep it coming!

POEM - The Hiker Departs and Then Returns

Gratefully I did not die
Even perchance found
That it was a good experience
Though how could it not
You send a poet for a walk
In the horry wood
Beside a Walden-esque pond
And he will wax philosophical

The first five miles were fun
The second five
Only a bit uncomfortable
And just at the end
But those last two miles
Were worth the pain
As my youngest son and I
Went on ahead
And he talked
Almost ceaseless
About the interests
And thoughts
And experiences
Of his full eleven years

It was less inane
Than I thought it might be
As he expressed
His deep thoughts
Or ponderous ruminations
Freely

And today
For the rest of the day
I have his devotion
Professions of love
And a desire to stick around
Be close
And continue the conversation
And the hike wasn't too bad
Not too bad at all
As the ducks came in to land
Disturbing the glassy surface
Interupting our hiking talks

POEM - Very Camp

For loving camping
I hate camping
It is that basic eternal juxtaposition
Of theory versus application
And in theory
I love the mountains
And the outdoors
Clean air
Beautiful landscapes

In application it is not ideal
All previous statements hold true
But then you have to stay
Sleep in a tent
On the ground
In the cold
And the wet
Get up to pee
In the frigid dark
Steel your nerves
At every random rustling
So that you can void your bladder
Dive back in your bag
Quell the shivering
And get all of 10 of the recommended 40 winks

And then there is the gear
Sure all of us love REI
Lightweight colorful wonderland
So many great gadgets
All the latest must have accessories
Meant to make you salivate
And drain your bank account
Because one of these nifty innovations
Has to make this suck-fest tolerable
Only to arrive and spend hours
In ponderous confusion
About how to use
The infuriating contraption
You just had to have

Here's the untold truth
I will always go camping
Because there is that one time
When the stars align
And it is wonderful
And I sleep well
And you can't beat leaving the world back there
Back on its own
To ring and scream a busy ruckus
And all I have is near silence
A warm fire
Some s'mores
Good conversation
Flatulent freedom
And easy peaceful silences
Only broken by a random pop and sizzle
From the lapping tongues of fire
Dancing in a hypnotic trance

POEM - One-Sided Conversations

We came to say goodbye
Without the kids
Just a quick moment
Because it was late
And we were leaving early
But you were tired
Of one sided conversations
That were happening more and more

Dad stopped answering a long time ago
And it is no comfort any more
That you win every argument
Because you feel you lost
The argument that counted
The one about who was going to stay behind
Who could live without whom
Which one of you could stand
The most years being alone
Without giving into loneliness

He didn't even wait for your rebuttal
Just made the decision
Closed his eyes
And left you
To work it out

And you worked it out for a while
Even found friends
And then found good friends
But they got tired of arguing too
And got the last word in
Without ever letting you express your opinion

And it isn't any good
To tell the grand-babies
They just look at you
And smile
Their little clueless smiles
And those arguments are no fun
No one talks back
Gets your goat
Tells you to get over it
Where is the fun in that?

So you have one-sided conversations
While you make your way through the day
And the sound of thunder
Makes you think you heard Dad answer
And the breeze on the wind chimes
Sounds like Maryanne is at your door
And some of the grand-babies are growing up
And will soon start talking back

But not yet
So we stay a little longer
Make sure you are OK
Dispel the loneliness for a moment
While the storm picks up strength
And the thunder rumbles in the distance
Soon to be drowned out
By the wind chimes
As we say good bye

POEM - The Better Cook

My wife is the better cook
This is based on the overall scorecard
The competition plays out like this
I arrive
All flash and panache
With vague imagery
Of sensational dishes
Bouncing around my spastic brain

Linda arrives
Focused and informed
Has done her research
Made a list
Has a sensible restraint
And a complex palette

Mine is complex as well
In the way the band Yes is
All my ideas
All my flavors
All play lead
You will be overwhelmed
By the time I am done
And leave me in awe
You may also
Never come back

But she, the consummate master
Makes it right
Never thinking she will
Tempers her response
Peppers her influence gently
Like a lovely symphony
Each taste in harmony
Taking a turn
Playing their part
Bravo!

I eventually get it right
Sometimes even make a favorite
But rarely on the first attempt
I am the perpetual winner
Of the most improved ribbon
The accidental chef
For our residents
With more canine tastes
The wannabe
Living in the shadow
Of the humble master

POEM - Breakfast in the DF

The plaza called to me
Ready to abandon my flight
And stay a day or two more
I had found
In the vastness
Of Mexico City
Too much to leave behind
Without more moments collected

We had left late
From the hills of Toluca
And traffic in the DF
It is always there
But we had to eat
And Jose knew the place
The very best place
Believe me
And I did

There were errors in navigation
And I'm sure I didn't help
Felipe was trying
Jose was patiently insisting
He had been there
Really did know where we were
But a car full of guys
Is a car full of guys
And everyone has an opinion

We found a parking garage
Dropped a few extra pesos
To get a good spot
And walked out into the bustle
The air alive with mid morning activity
A block away found us
Inside the embrace
Of El Cardenal
And a few moments more
We were seated
Three floors up
In the ancient building
That sloped to the back
As if it was relaxing
For brunch as well

And then without asking
A server appeared
Lifted my cup
And filled it with the syrup of bliss
Hot cocoa
The Mexican way
The right way
Thick as melted butter
Bittersweet and spicy
With a taste of eons
Calling across jungles and mountains

I don't know how long I sat there
Eyes closed
Listening to the faint rustle
Of feathered headdress
Ruffled by ancient winds
But Jose called me to
"Good, eh?"
"Si! 

Es muy bueno, amigo!
Gracias! 

Gracias forever!"

It was so good

I nearly missed my plane

Again navigation errors

Again a car full of guys

Again I didn't really want to leave

One more abrazo for Jose

And a mad dash to the gate

Via con dios, DF

Mi corazon se quedo

!

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