Typewriter Poem - Once There was a Time for All Things

 

POEM - Mother-in-Laws Are Weird

It wasn't an easy relationship

My mother-in-law and I

I made a bad first impression

And never tried too hard to change it

And with that we settled into our roles

She difficult and judgemental

I insolent and insufferable

And both of us cordial

For the sake of everyone else

Long enough play acting and a reality develops

And although I was always dirty and poor

I was reliable

I showed up when chores needed doing

And did the job right

Ran errands 

Helped at parties

Took out the trash

Made cute grandkids

And took care of her daughter

And in order to maintain 

My established designation

She would often pay for my labors

The worst though was holidays

Subjected to various corny events

As part of her pet project

To ensure the grandkids wouldn't suffer

Because of our perceived poverty

From Zoo Lights to The Nutcracker

We attended

Graciously

Thankfully

Privately nitpicking

For our own morbid pleasure

Some clumsily contrived gaudiness

Or amateur production value

As simpering sappy slop abounded

And we begrudgingly joined in

She has passed now

Several years back

And we had been away for the holidays

For many years before that

And I find

In spite of myself

I actually miss it

Miss the sappy shows

Grow inexplicably nostalgic 

For the manufactured happiness

Feel sorrow for my immaturity

And I long to be the bain

Of that crazy old bat's existence

Realizing

A little too late

She was trying

In her own kooky way

To make things just a little more special

To give joy in a way she felt she could

To say she loved us

That she didn't mind too much

That we were still hanging around

POEM - Not Private, Just Boring

It was hilarious
Not laugh-out-loud hilarious
But so odd
Catching me cross-ways
Out of left field
Perspective restructuring
Type of hilarious
That statement floating my way

"I know y'all are private people"

Huh, so that's the prevailing opinion
The vibe that's transmitting
The tenor and tone we radiate
A sketch
Construct
Classification

I get it

Private may be how it looks
Especially to certain circles
That overlap intermittently
In an awkward vin diagram
Of interconnected space
Where our general pension for silence
Intersects with their addiction to divulging
Regardless of the occasion
Ever tiny detail
And every ache and pain
Juicy tidbit
Randy scandal
Weather pattern
Car tip
Recipe
Driving direction
And life history
On queue
Triggered on our part
By any nod or noise
Intended or accidental

But it isn't privacy that drives the silence

Private is what people call it
When you don't do your part
To fill in the empty space
Posture unasked opinions
Relate personal histories
Engage in any discussion
Regardless of your involvement
And do it all with a smile
The smile is what does it
Makes it so they can see you

But rather it is something else

Any of a list of other characteristics
A litany of personally cherished traits
Of misunderstood flavors
Shy
Indifferent
Withdrawn
Introverted
Distracted
Polite
Trying not to be rude
Avoiding participation
Being a peacemaker
Or just refraining from it all
Because no one really asked
To take on my burdens
And I'm not looking to hand them over
And I'm sure they have their own to carry

"Well, not really private...
       Just sort of boring"

POEM - The Mold is Just an Excuse

It must be September
I think as the conversation veers once again
To my mother's favorite seasonal topic
"Do you still have my shortbread mold?
     You know, a lot of people say it just isn't Christmas
          Until they have my shortbread
               And I just don't see it anywhere...."

I returned it nearly a decade before
Made a big ceremony out of it
Made sure there were witnesses
Should have taken a photo
Maybe that's where I went wrong....

Of course she knew right where it was in April
She had just found it doing Spring cleaning
Probably why it is lost now
It is with the Easter decorations
Or maybe the Independence day ones
Or the sewing
     Or the laundry
         Or the old newspapers

It is just an excuse
To cover her nagging suspicion
Based on intrinsic evidence
That her cooking isn't what it once was
That age is catching up to her
And her old stand-byes
Are starting to desert her
Like her memories
Fading off and hiding away
Niggling the corners of her vision
Flashes here and there just to make it worse

"No mom, I returned it already
But I will check once again
Maybe when I visit I can bring you a new one."

She tells me not to bother
She will just keep looking
Besides the old one was seasoned just right
And it takes too long to get a new one proper
And butter is getting so expensive
Plus it is an awful lot of work
Probably just as well
     You never gave it back . . .

POEM - When

Constructing my dreams around big plans
And the list of detailed plans are filled with modifiers
Ifs and maybes and myriad bets hedged
Little safeguards
Against failure

But Jose' always says When
     When we go to Spain
          When we fly there all together
               When we eat at that restaurant
                 The one on the cliff
                   That overlooks the sea
                     The freshest seafood so delicious you will never believe it
                       It will be the best
                            When we go to Spain.....

Jose' speaks like the plans are set
Tickets bought
Reservations and routes locked in
All the bed linens are cleaned and pressed
Tucked in neat and tight
Waiting for me to rest my head
And breathe in the intoxicating Spanish air
And When leads the way
And other words grab on excitedly
Like they've lassoed a tidal wave
And anything is possible
If is left in the wake of When's tide
Crashing on Spanish shores
Or exploring the streets of Mexico
Or any of a thousand adventures
     When we are back in Mexico City
         When I get my place there, amigo
             When you bring your wife there
                  Then mi casa es su casa forever
                        When we drive to Acapulco
                              You will see the villas so perfectly placed
                                   Against the seaside so beautiful you could cry
                                        Bluest waters crashing on the shore like heaven is real

When you and I are brothers
When we rule the world
You will see amigo
I promise
Believe me

                   When...

My Dinner With Fletcher

When did you get so old?
     How are you still alive?
How did you get fat?
     What's with the hair?
I wish I could grow that beard
      I always envied that you got Rat
I knew your voice buried in this strange face
      You didn't hesitate to embrace me
I'm working through my demons
       Yeah, and I'm glad you still are
My dad can't believe we are friends
       My mom doesn't like you either

That's ok she hated Linda too
My true loves never get her approval

My dad is sure you should leave the church
Cuz there is no way a Mormon can be cool

He doesn't love your loves either
      Yeah, parents still just don't understand

This is not my typical environment
An Irish dive bar in a ghetto outside Philly
Talking
Just talking
For hours and hours and hours
And now I am better for it
Just knowing
That this could always just happen

Sometimes the moment is just perfect
And you don't answer all the questions
And the wives will be upset
That the details weren't cataloged
That we got lost in the moments
That somehow in six hours of talking
I never explained my job
I never got your apartment number
I didn't fill in the blanks
In the 20 year pause in conversation
Never took one dang photo

Sometimes you don't ever explain

Sometimes
   The moment is so perfect
      You don't take the selfie

POEM - The Day Starts with Water. The Day Starts Good

Yesterday was only rain
Only seemed ready for bed
My mind only able to almost wake up
That type of water

Is the water of sleep and melancholy
It is out of balance
And a soaked and weary wretch was I

Today some balance returned
The sun glanced through
A gentle high cloud covering
Feeling better
My mind could begin
Prepare for possibilities

And with my traveling friends
We wandered on unknown roads
Relaxed
Driving where the whim directed
Turning or not turning
Sauntering

Again we found water
The large purposeful river flowed
Soothing because it was in its place
Taking familiar paths
Contributing to the balance
When all of nature collaborates
And the day started with water
A small tribute paid
And the day started good
Gathering the river's stories to me
Dropping my cares in its flowing current

Start the day unburdened

My pulse flowing

Like the river to the ocean

POEM - Cafe Poland

"It's just past the church"
He explained in vague tones
"An old, low house.
Red trim with no porch
And complex aromas
Invade the inconspicuous street."
An unexpectedly poetic guide
Pontificated freely

The embellishments were appropriate
We were later to verify
But in the overcast pre-arrival world
In which the oratory occurred
It was only the kismet of the moment
Serendipitous coincidence
To find such eloquence
Randomly roaming
That was precious
Taken as a good omen
Intrigue assured

There is comfort in comfort food
It is a warm embrace of familiarity
Even when completely foreign
The rapidly aging matriarch
Within the low, red trimmed aromatic shop
Set the proper tone
And the menu on the wall
Profferred the offerings
Typical Polish dishes
With mostly unfamiliar names
The attached list of components
Igniting a familiar longing
To climb inside and cozy up
To each new and intriguing dish

A selection was made
A table located
A brief wait
A shuffling arrival
Then heavily ladened plates
Gently arrived
A small grin of anticipation
We dig in hungrily
And you begin to understand a people
When you befriend their cuisine
This food spoke of long days
Of food from the land
Of not being able to fussily conjure
Frivoulous, pretty edibles
This was serviceable food
Meant to stick to the bones
Warm the spirits
Embrace and comfort
After a grueling day
Delicious and peaceful
Perogies filled with gentle moments
Cares and concerns easily thwarted
By the power of kraut and potatoes

POEM - Deliberately

Arriving at the pond
Deliberately
Acting on a sign
Found along a wandering snowy path
While lingering
Entranced by frigid water swirling
Perpetual carving
Conical paths
The Basin grows

Years ago Thoreau would visit
So says the placard near by
Today I am at more water
Also tied to Henry David
In relative solitude pausing
Left to wander the banks aimlessly
I’m surprised to find on the rocky shore
Plethora of round, flat stones
Begging to gain brief flight
Before taking a cool dip
I oblige as I am know to do
Fling small stones just so
To skip lightly across the surface
Five or six times at least
Before succumbing to friction
And slipping out of view

Did Thoreau’s skips number as high?
Surely he had to have tried
Found a deliberate moment
Among deliberate living
To liberate a deliberate stone
And found the essential essence
Of a life lived

But had his father taught him
To pick only the flattest and roundest stones
Held just so
In the crook of the index finger
Leaning over
Staying low
Extending the arm out in a wide arch
Flicking the wrist sharply at the end
Again and again
Each stone a little further
Until no more worthy projectiles can be found
Did he discover
In the end
That he had lived

POEM - Doors of Perception

If the weather hadn't been so perfect
The fading light just right
Melting into the deepening gold ocean
If I hadn't been in California
Watching the sunset
Glint and shine
Off the glass fences
Providing unobstructed views
To the denizens of perched cliff dwellings
As the lazy surf rolled silently 

On the wide sandy border far below
Maybe the earth wouldn't have shook
Like San Andrea had a grudge
Against me personally
Cracked my foundation
Rattled my windows
Made me stumble over words
Like a drunken wino on a raucous Saturday bender

I honestly didn't know
Nor was I prepared
For the revelation
Standing there on the warm hardwood floors
While the quirky record shop owner
Journeyed through musical tangents
Spinning the deepest vinyl cuts
All of us riding the same wavelength
Until the rouge wave caught me unawares
Toppled me
Sent me sinking
A new understanding
An open door slamming shut
I had to suddenly come to terms
With the now unavoidable fact
That not everyone likes The Doors
And even more really hate Jim Morrison

And for a moment
I lost my Lizard King
Left exposed as a small child
Self-aware of uncertainties and doubt
Lost and wandering on deaths highway dreaming
The ghosts of my dawning reality 

Crowding my fragile eggshell mind

A moment that seemed an eternity passed
And I was back
Changing the course of conversation
Steering clear of important matters
Loss of faith averted
Replaced by a small perception
The tiniest of revelations
Like the Little Prince and his drawings
Small things tell big stories
So I swerved
Left off talk of gold mines
Weird scenes and dusky queens
Replaced by discussion of equipment and speakers
Turntables and sonic qualities
Made my purchase
Stepped back into the coastal twilight
Resumed my spot in the Soft Parade
Waited till the music was over
As the night turned out the lights

POEM - Seven Years of Rain

Time makes no sense on cloudy days

Does the light tell me it is just past breakfast

Or is it perpetually a quarter till dinner

Is the growl in my stomach sincere

Or the pangs of boredom manifesting in munchies

The unbroken smoky slate bedthrow
Preserves mocking twilight tones

I'm stuck on Venus
And the rain feels listless

Unsure of just how to continue

Day after day

Fulfilling the minimal requirements

Just making the world damp enough

Year after year after year

It is a poignant event for a child in Oregon

To watch "All Summer in a Day"

And you become Margot

The child from earth

Who remembered the sun

Who remembered what it felt like

Trapped with peers who mocked her knowledge

I had come from California

Good friends with the best version of the sun

A joyful orb full of pleasant memories

But this gray Portland metropolis

Mocked my knowledge

And I nearly cried for Margot

Locked in the closet by cruel William

Seeing only reflected light

Through a sliver of a crack

Crushed by the eventual fade

The returning gloom

And it was all my ten year old being could do

To keep composure

Keep the memory alive

Fight against the Williams

Campaigning for the light

Reassuring the world the rain would end

With a weight of seven dim years

Each sunny day exploding

Crammed to breaking 

Lingering in its warm embrace

POEM - We Got Each Other

It was the best fall
The one when we biked everywhere
Because the Suburban got repossessed
Just gone one morning
No surprise there
An open blank canvas for a driveway
But at least there wasn't a payment due
So we celebrated like we'd won the lottery
Had the family over for fried chicken
Mashed potatoes
Corn on the cob
And a huge watermellon
All of it piled into the two seat kid trailer
The one I would strap the youngest kids into
To get them to school
Or take them to church
Or grab a snack from the corner market
And we had each other
Strong and free of a weight lifted in anguish
A car bought to prove we could
Only to prove we couldn't
But we did otherwise
Found so much joy
Making it against the odds
Finding new ways to get around
More time together
Longer conversations
A brighter sky in the waning temperatures
A respite from summer's torment
Just when we needed it
I miss being completely screwed
There is a certain comfort there
You know it can't get much worse
So everything seems much better
And besides
We got each other
Yeah, we always got that

POEM - The Heat of the Moment

The never-fail produce stand
Held unrelenting treasures
In Kaleidoscopic variety
Like some produce themed rummage sale
Hawking delectable enticements

Today we arrived early
Out on an early Saturday morning date
We ditched the kids
Still huddled in their pjs and blankets
To bask in the bright sun
The first pleasant morning this spring
And the veggie stand was in step
Offering intriguing horticultural options
To inspire adventurous agriculture

Amidst the onion sets and tomato plants
Across from seed potatoes
Around the corner from the perennials
Vibrant green leaves caught my eye
Possessed of a familiar shape
Oblong and on the narrow side
Drawing to a delightful point
These must be peppers
But not just any peppers
Upon examination the leaves revealed
A murderer's row of spicy renown
Bearing cautionary monikers
Reaper and scorpion and ghost, oh my!
And I couldn't grab them fast enough
Throwing caution to the wind
And then circling around
And running over it for good measure

The stand never fails
Another treasure rides home
Making our day
Growing our bliss

POEM - What Cherry Coke Means to Me

One more lunchtime
Found me sauntering
Headed for Campus Discounts
A recently captive badger
On self-imposed furlough
From the hallowed halls of Tucson High
Yearning for cheap popcorn
And anything else
As long as it wan't school

Loitering for all I was worth
I got dragged into the riptide
Of passing fellow former inmates
As they swept across the street
Up the stairs over the record store
Through the enticing scent filled doors
Of Grandma Tony's Pizza
To grab a slice
Play the eternally free pinball
Order up a round of cherry Cokes
Made to order
The intoxicating maraschino nectar
Infusing the caramel colored tonic
The libation of truancy
Cure for the common education

POEM - Stopping by Frost Farm on a Snowy Day

All of it was there

Somehow

Sitting in subtle repose

Every turn of phrase

Each vivid scene

Alive and well

Living out the lines

Wrought concerning their very existence 

And I stopping by

I am sure my car wonders

Why I turn down this lane

Clearly marked

In bold letters

Closed for the season

A blockade of snow

Clogging the lane

Undaunted I forge 

Many miles yet to journey

I will let them wait

While here i stand

On sacred ground

Alone 

Grateful for that blessing

His very world surrounding 

A solitary communing 

And then it was time

The moment perfect enough

And parting brought peace

A glimpse of the world

Seen through his eyes

No longer a wonder

How each line flowed with ease

Every word just right

My every step loosed a sonnet

Each breathe a perfect couplet

My heartbeat a clever rhyme

POEM - Baby Mangoes and Cotton Trees

The corner market
Was not on the corner
Perched against the shore
The backwater thoroughfare before it
Acres of rice paddies behind
Lush green endless and beautiful
The narrow embankment a tranquil hub
Advertising juice and seafood
Ensconced in mango trees
The diminutive green undeveloped fruits
Just within reach
Provided a tart green treat
Dabbed with salt
Eaten whole
The impossibility of the adult seed
Forgotten in these immature replicas

The next shore in the journey
Had its own unique trees
And it took a while to understand
Certain of some misunderstanding
Certain that cotton doesn't grow on trees
At least not back home
Must be a mistake because we have only a bush
But soon it was evident
This was not something lost in translation
The intrinsic support confirmed
This was also a source for cotton
With its massive green pods
And the silky soft fiber exposed a revelation
Verification of a newly learned truth

Every day a new something learned
Afloat in a strange land
A slower peaceful land
Of trees of wonder
And backwater cruises
Sun setting amid a humid mist
Smiling faces chew thoughtful
On the warmth of fried bananas
The sweet embodiment
Of the delectable day

POEM - Sips of Soda Water

Twisting in the missing in between of times

Fostering solemn deepening thoughts

Betwixt sips of soda water and lime

The ineffable mysteries bubble and churn

It is this way when we let the moments gather 

Potential energy of fantastic possibilities 

And it forces a daydream 

Wandering thought

A doodle in the margins

A page filled with practice scribbling

Demonstrating contenders for a new way

Of writing the letter ‘A’

For when I am undercover

Spying on the other guys

A perfect chameleon 

Or just closed eyes

Remembering unsuccessfully 

Just exactly how the ocean breezes

Coming off the Pacific 

In late spring visits to California

Felt just so

As they danced across my sun kissed cheeks

Saturated in ocean fragrances

With hints of seaside eateries

In intoxicatingly anesthetic perfection

Teasing out impossible thoughts

Alluring sirens song

Calling me to forget 

Lay here endlessly in sandy Eden

And abandon all pressing matters

Become still as driftwood

Knurled and smooth

Then high tide laps across me

Bumped and knocked

Slowly ocean bound

To drift aimlessly 

Rolling and churning

Sometimes tossed on another shore

Other times dragged back into the fray

Never to act

Only an interesting result

Of wind and water and sand and sun and time

And all of it caught

Between the briefest of thoughts 

An eternity of results

Bubbles in soda 

Slipped slowly 

With just a hint of lime

POEM - You Can Quote Me

Whenever I draw my mouth like this
Give a look like this
And drop some sassy knowledge
About the latest gossip
Buddy gets some props
A parenthetical quote
In physical comedy form

And when I get into a discussion
Deep and philosophical
With a random stranger
I hear Fletcher’s voice
Mirror his action
Play the game he taught me

My inner salesman
With the winning charm
And engaging small talk
That person I call Barz

When I am kind and I listen
Think about my actions
About others first
And the happiness of the less fortunate
I am Linda all the way

When I do what I should
And I look at the situation
Think before I act
Keep a cool, even head
And act with maturity
I am Merv for a few minutes or more

And sometimes I am lunatic
And odd and queer and peculiar
A frustrating cunnundrum
Of blurring contradictions
Where I take all of the quoted personalities
Throw them in a metaphysical blender
And pour out a tall drink of me
A little bit of everything
Rearranged and adapted
In a mostly awkward way
Writing my story
Borrowing heavily
From past matters
Many footnotes
A large and growing works cited
Forward yet to be assigned
Dedicated to my lovely wife
Who put up with me all these years
And to all the people along the way
Who didn’t trip me up
But lent a hand
Gave me an ingredient
Became a part of the whole

POEM - Pizza and Serendipity

We had been up since 2 AM
From the passenger seat I filmed the sun
Zoomed in and distorted
Bouncing along the horizon
Deepening orange ball
Floating through ombré purple sky
Nightfall eminent but not the journey
The reason for stopping was supplies
Something only the mega-mart could provide
The sign being the reason for exiting the freeway
In the dusky grime
Of the seedy side of Oklahoma City
A quick stop then back on the road to find dinner
Dinner found us
Gleaming new sign lighting the way
To an old and beloved favorite
The Peter Piper Pizza beckoned
And we heeded the Piper’s call
There was never a question we would
Quickly we retrieved supplies
Beneath thick swirling clouds
Of ominous migratory flocks
Perched like skid row thugs
A fowl collection
Of murders, tidings, and quarrels
Depending on taxonomy
Amid the disquieting stares we departed
Soon warmed by comforting familiarity
Order placed
Table procured
Enveloped in peaceful nostalgia
We ordered two pizzas
They messed up one
Gave it to us and corrected the order
What is more perfect than finding an old friend?
When that old friend gives you extra free pizza
We could have just stopped there
Never driven further
Been at peace with the decisions that lead us there
But duty and time beat the beckoning drum
And with full bellies
And still two full pizzas
We left overly satisfied and encouraged
Searching for Amarillo
Riding off into the fallen night

POEM - Chicago to LA and Donuts All the Way

The mother road begins
At the corner of Michigan and Adams
The front steps of the Art institute
A breeze coming off the lake
Carrying sounds of commotion
As traffic and pedestrians
And a massive city of busy
All clamour about
It just starts
No fanfare
And heads west yearning
A deep exhausting yearning
A building hunger within
A longing for deep enrichment
An empty hole
A hole only filled
By doughy deep fried greasy sweet delight
For here in the grand temple of architecture
The pilgrimage is fueled by donuts
In myriad variety
Each more memorable than the last
An aroma surely laden with pure ambrosia
Leaves the city awash
In a comforting blanket of caloric perfection
Just the perfect circle of joy
To carry a weary traveller on
Leaving the security
Of the ominous metropolis
And another bite
Can offer solace
In the desolation of the great plains
Or screw your courage to the sticking spot
Through twisting desert mountains
And even calm the nerves
When engulfed
By the endless expanse of LA
It is donuts that will see you through
One delicious dozen at a time