POEM - The Litmus of Poetry

He seemed deep enough

Our conversations

They consisted of more

Than curse words and objectification

And call it what you will

A litmus test

A picture of a boa constrictor

Swallowing an elephant

A weighing of character

But I put him to the test

My gauge

My standard

Is found in poetry

Meaning

Can this person read poetry

Do they understand it

Will they even try

I offered a copy of my work

A thin book

He said he liked to read

Had some philosophical ruminations

Was kind and generous

He opened the cover

And balked

So I put the poetry away

Next to pictures of boa constrictors and elephants

And took a step back

Kept it on a friendly level

He never noticed

The awkward moment

Was mine alone

The sadness mine as well

As outside in the arid desert

I swear I glimpsed a fox

            In deep discussion

With an incredibly vain rose

POEM - Park

At the playground

That’s where

It all went down

Things happened

All day

The traffic from the ‘hood

Until the lights

Interrupted the night

Making amber hued spills

To splash into

Then climb out

Shake off shards

Of fading glow

Then dive headlong

Into the waiting shadows

In summer

There are model rockets

And Frisbee

And that weird bunch of kids

Who all ride unicycles

And figured out a new version

Of an old game

As they circle

Swerve

And toss a football around

I made it a point

To stop by often

Stroll through

Toss a disc around

Shoot some hoops

A little nature

To nurture

Amidst the urban land

POEM - Lights in the Graveyard

This twisting road

Disappearing into twilight

Falls away around the corner

Swallowed up in trees

Spindly tall foliage

Hiding secrets and mysteries

Like the surprise that meets me

As I round the corner

The yellow diamond sign

Tells me a church is near by

But the warning is incomplete

It should have an asterisks

Followed by a lengthy addendum

Something pithy and explanatory

            *The glowing lights you will see

            Scattered through the graveyard

            Approaching on your left

            Are not ghost or fairies

            Goblins nor swamp gas:

            Please do not be alarmed

There is no such warning

I am caught off guard

Luckily the country road is deserted

As I serve slightly in reaction

Distracted by the glowing accents

Gracing intermittent gravestones

With a tranquil, restful glow

I’m not sure

As I look at this odd sight

If I really get it

As I observe crosses and angels

Shinning their solar powered radiance

They are like little lanterns

Held aloft by the dreary ferryman

As he drudgingly navigates

The blackened murky waters

Of the dead river Styx

Are the souls in this cemetery

In need of a little more

An extra guiding light

Left out of charity

To encourage a certain path

I don’t think they appreciate it

In fact

It could be considered rude

Making blatant use of a sun

They no longer have need of

And provide a whimsical light

That mocks the blindness of their death

Decorate their headstone

And then leave a prohibitive barrier

A full six feet of soil

To block all aesthetic benefit

Which surely would enrich

The infinite boredom

As they decompose below

POEM - Dead Lines

All

I

Can

Say

Is

There is a very good reason

Deadlines

Are called

Deadlines

As I crease lines in my furrowed brow

Scratch lines through my thinning hair

Watch line after line of incoherent data

Lead me in a straight line

To an unavoidable

Possibly early

Death

Well, I just want to scream

Take my wireless mouse

And introduce it to the window

Forcibly

At high velocity

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

And now my problems are a big pink bubble

And I pile some more in

And I blow on the delicate sphere

Sending it floating gently into the universe

Until . . .

            It. . .

                        Goes . . .

                                                           

POP!!!

So

Very

Satisfying

The

Sound

Of

Dead

Lines

Passing!

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