one would like to think
of time
as moving forward, as if
the past
could be left behind, but
not so.
we tend to drag
with us,
the dead, the lost,
the loved ones born
into our hearts a long
time ago.
it's movement to be sure,
but not towards
some clearing,
some peaceful field,
but to a smaller place,
darker and haunted,
stacked and crammed
with all
that we once feared.
Thursday, January 9, 2020
what's new
what's new,
she says, nothing I tell her.
same old.
and you,
me too.
still with what's her name?
no,
she flew the coop.
yeah, mine
too.
seems to be going around.
so true.
well, nice catching up.
yeah.
have a good day.
ok, same to you.
she says, nothing I tell her.
same old.
and you,
me too.
still with what's her name?
no,
she flew the coop.
yeah, mine
too.
seems to be going around.
so true.
well, nice catching up.
yeah.
have a good day.
ok, same to you.
promises
the check is in the mail.
it'll be there on time.
I promise.
cross my heart, hope to die.
till death do us part.
in sickness and in health.
honest.
I sent the check yesterday.
you should have it by tomorrow.
if not
call me.
i'll send another. you know
i'd never
let you down.
it'll be there on time.
I promise.
cross my heart, hope to die.
till death do us part.
in sickness and in health.
honest.
I sent the check yesterday.
you should have it by tomorrow.
if not
call me.
i'll send another. you know
i'd never
let you down.
what war?
did you hear
we might be going to war,
no,
I've been busy, what up with that.
I hope
it doesn't interfere with
my ski trip,
I've been planning for it all year.
no,
it's over there, the usual, bombs
and rockets.
tanks, guns, people dying,
so tired of it in the papers
and online all
the time. war war war.
skiing sounds like fun.
you should be good, where are
you going?
Vale?
great, great, some nice lodges
up there.
good food and drinks too.
yeah, I just bought a whole new ski
outfit too, and boots.
white with red and blue stripes.
sort of like the flag.
oh, how cool.
we might be going to war,
no,
I've been busy, what up with that.
I hope
it doesn't interfere with
my ski trip,
I've been planning for it all year.
no,
it's over there, the usual, bombs
and rockets.
tanks, guns, people dying,
so tired of it in the papers
and online all
the time. war war war.
skiing sounds like fun.
you should be good, where are
you going?
Vale?
great, great, some nice lodges
up there.
good food and drinks too.
yeah, I just bought a whole new ski
outfit too, and boots.
white with red and blue stripes.
sort of like the flag.
oh, how cool.
Wednesday, January 8, 2020
the tantrum
when I refused to buy
my son at the age of four
or five,
some toy, or magazine full of
comic book
super heroes, seeing that
he had more
than he could carry, he went
crazy for a few minutes.
turning red,
screaming, begging for
what he wanted. so I picked
him up in the store,
to settle him down, and he
looked at me and said,
dad, I love you, but i'm
mad at you right now.
it almost worked.
my son at the age of four
or five,
some toy, or magazine full of
comic book
super heroes, seeing that
he had more
than he could carry, he went
crazy for a few minutes.
turning red,
screaming, begging for
what he wanted. so I picked
him up in the store,
to settle him down, and he
looked at me and said,
dad, I love you, but i'm
mad at you right now.
it almost worked.
it's not love if you feel like this
in the cold,
hands deep into the wells
of my
coat pockets, I stand,
stamping my feet
and wait
for the subway train
to arrive.
I haven't been to the zoo
in some time.
although
I lived in one
for a couple of years.
but now
I just want to see what it's
like,
behind cages and bars,
with me on
the other side,
looking in, not out,
as prisoners do.
hands deep into the wells
of my
coat pockets, I stand,
stamping my feet
and wait
for the subway train
to arrive.
I haven't been to the zoo
in some time.
although
I lived in one
for a couple of years.
but now
I just want to see what it's
like,
behind cages and bars,
with me on
the other side,
looking in, not out,
as prisoners do.
Your Honor, I object
I've been studying the law
for some time now
and feel that i'm ready to take
the bar exam.
most of my education though
has been through
television and an assortment of
movies,
like to kill a mockingbird,
or the verdict,
my cousin vinny, not to mention
perry mason,
judge judy
and divorce court.
I've had some hands on experience
there.
sometimes, I yell out, I object,
your honor
when in an argument with someone
I disagree with, an angry ex wife,
or when a surly friend rambles
on about something
making no sense whatsoever.
where were you on the night of...
I might say, or
isn't it true that you need glasses
when you drive?
or
isn't it true you were having an
affair with the deceased,
and that you work for a cement
company
down by the river where the body
was discovered
tied to a bucket of hardened
cement? well?
remember you're under oath!
may I approach the bench your honor?
ladies and gentlemen of the jury,
I stand here...etc. blah blah blah.
I've seen enough legalese,
and depositions in
my life time to
write up a will, or a divorce
decree. piece of cake.
sign here, initial here,
repeat over and over with
each new triple spaced page.
for some time now
and feel that i'm ready to take
the bar exam.
most of my education though
has been through
television and an assortment of
movies,
like to kill a mockingbird,
or the verdict,
my cousin vinny, not to mention
perry mason,
judge judy
and divorce court.
I've had some hands on experience
there.
sometimes, I yell out, I object,
your honor
when in an argument with someone
I disagree with, an angry ex wife,
or when a surly friend rambles
on about something
making no sense whatsoever.
where were you on the night of...
I might say, or
isn't it true that you need glasses
when you drive?
or
isn't it true you were having an
affair with the deceased,
and that you work for a cement
company
down by the river where the body
was discovered
tied to a bucket of hardened
cement? well?
remember you're under oath!
may I approach the bench your honor?
ladies and gentlemen of the jury,
I stand here...etc. blah blah blah.
I've seen enough legalese,
and depositions in
my life time to
write up a will, or a divorce
decree. piece of cake.
sign here, initial here,
repeat over and over with
each new triple spaced page.
how to end a relationship
I want to see what I can't see.
hear what I can't hear, know what I don't
know.
I want the light on.
I want to know what's on your mind,
inside your heart.
I want the truth, not
the dark.
I no longer want to wonder
what's a lie,
and what isn't.
can you stop pretending to be
what you aren't
and be real for once in your
life?
hear what I can't hear, know what I don't
know.
I want the light on.
I want to know what's on your mind,
inside your heart.
I want the truth, not
the dark.
I no longer want to wonder
what's a lie,
and what isn't.
can you stop pretending to be
what you aren't
and be real for once in your
life?
perfectionists
some people are perfectionists.
it's a stressful life.
the thread, the lint, the scuff
of shoe.
a zipper that refuses to pull.
the day
is ruined so easily,
by ice, or rain.
how quickly it all goes south,
that feeling
that everything is ok,
slides down
the drain,
when the tire goes flat,
when
the call is late,
when the stocking runs, or the
heel breaks. one single strand
of hair,
out of place.
the roots going grey,
the unmade bed, forgotten
on the way to work. all terrible
things,
imperfect, to the point
that life is killing them.
it's a stressful life.
the thread, the lint, the scuff
of shoe.
a zipper that refuses to pull.
the day
is ruined so easily,
by ice, or rain.
how quickly it all goes south,
that feeling
that everything is ok,
slides down
the drain,
when the tire goes flat,
when
the call is late,
when the stocking runs, or the
heel breaks. one single strand
of hair,
out of place.
the roots going grey,
the unmade bed, forgotten
on the way to work. all terrible
things,
imperfect, to the point
that life is killing them.
reassamble
when the sun slips
into view, the world reassembles
to what it
was before it set.
we are no different.
rising
each day to make right
whatever life
we choose. putting things
in order.
fixing what we regret.
into view, the world reassembles
to what it
was before it set.
we are no different.
rising
each day to make right
whatever life
we choose. putting things
in order.
fixing what we regret.
women love babies
women love babies.
whether it's theirs or belongs
to someone else.
grandbabies. babies of all color.
the smaller, the fresher
right out of the oven
they go crazy over them.
they see a baby and they scream
like a seagull
finding a sardine
on the beach.
they gather around the new born
baby
and lean into the crib or stroller
and wheeze
like air
leaving a punctured balloon.
women love babies,
they poke, and hold,
pinch their fat little cheeks,
kiss and cajole, they can't
get enough of them,
while men
nod at one another and stare,
and think things like, yeah.
I made that, that kid over there.
the one they're passing around.
that's mine.
whether it's theirs or belongs
to someone else.
grandbabies. babies of all color.
the smaller, the fresher
right out of the oven
they go crazy over them.
they see a baby and they scream
like a seagull
finding a sardine
on the beach.
they gather around the new born
baby
and lean into the crib or stroller
and wheeze
like air
leaving a punctured balloon.
women love babies,
they poke, and hold,
pinch their fat little cheeks,
kiss and cajole, they can't
get enough of them,
while men
nod at one another and stare,
and think things like, yeah.
I made that, that kid over there.
the one they're passing around.
that's mine.
Tuesday, January 7, 2020
when the world went cold
she used to love
the snow, before she moved south
to the keys.
come over she'd say.
bring
snacks, bring drinks, bring lips.
come to me,
before the roads are thick
with it.
before the ice forms.
before
I fall asleep. hurry, she'd
say.
I miss you.
but looking back I think it was
the snow
that made her
like that,
not me. her attempt at staying
warm
when the world went cold.
the snow, before she moved south
to the keys.
come over she'd say.
bring
snacks, bring drinks, bring lips.
come to me,
before the roads are thick
with it.
before the ice forms.
before
I fall asleep. hurry, she'd
say.
I miss you.
but looking back I think it was
the snow
that made her
like that,
not me. her attempt at staying
warm
when the world went cold.
fish on ice
the fish,
silver stripes,
on ice,
still glimmering
in
made beauty,
the fluorescent lights
upon them.
lying still with
black eyes.
marked for sale.
how they once swam
splitting the water
with ease.
never knowing that this
future
lie before them.
no different from
them are we, perhaps.
silver stripes,
on ice,
still glimmering
in
made beauty,
the fluorescent lights
upon them.
lying still with
black eyes.
marked for sale.
how they once swam
splitting the water
with ease.
never knowing that this
future
lie before them.
no different from
them are we, perhaps.
You May Need Some Gum Work
what about tomorrow
at 7 a.m.
the dental receptionist says,
trying to fill
her January calendar.
x-rays, cleaning?
I just had a cleaning a few
weeks ago.
june, she says. and no x-rays.
but my teeth are good.
haven't had a tooth ache
in forty years.
7 a.m.? she says again.
the doctor says you really need
to get in here.
she wants to talk to you about
your gums.
my gums?
yes, she says she can transfer
skin from other places and reinforce
your gums.
we can do a seven step skin graft.
you're getting long in the tooth.
I almost tell her to jump in a lake,
or something to that effect, but
instead say,
sounds expensive.
I go the mirror and look at my gums.
they look nice and pink.
perfectly fine.
okay, i'll be in tomorrow at 7,
but no gum work.
just a nice cleaning.
okay. it's your mouth, she says.
7 sharp, don't be late.
at 7 a.m.
the dental receptionist says,
trying to fill
her January calendar.
x-rays, cleaning?
I just had a cleaning a few
weeks ago.
june, she says. and no x-rays.
but my teeth are good.
haven't had a tooth ache
in forty years.
7 a.m.? she says again.
the doctor says you really need
to get in here.
she wants to talk to you about
your gums.
my gums?
yes, she says she can transfer
skin from other places and reinforce
your gums.
we can do a seven step skin graft.
you're getting long in the tooth.
I almost tell her to jump in a lake,
or something to that effect, but
instead say,
sounds expensive.
I go the mirror and look at my gums.
they look nice and pink.
perfectly fine.
okay, i'll be in tomorrow at 7,
but no gum work.
just a nice cleaning.
okay. it's your mouth, she says.
7 sharp, don't be late.
the interior decorator
he had a full length black
bear coat
that fell to the floor.
and wore a ring on each finger.
one more gaudy than
the next.
he knew his colors, his
style.
louis the 14th, Versace to Oscar
Wilde.
let's go out,
me and you,
he said with a seductive wink.
let's get happy at happy hour.
i'm sorry I told him, but I
don't roll
that way.
plus the fact that I have a kid
and I'm happily married
she's got a pot roast
in the oven
waiting for me.
you don't know until you try it
he insisted.
his lisp more pronounced
with each sip of drink.
no. I told. I know. I've known
since the age of five.
back when natalie wood was alive.
bear coat
that fell to the floor.
and wore a ring on each finger.
one more gaudy than
the next.
he knew his colors, his
style.
louis the 14th, Versace to Oscar
Wilde.
let's go out,
me and you,
he said with a seductive wink.
let's get happy at happy hour.
i'm sorry I told him, but I
don't roll
that way.
plus the fact that I have a kid
and I'm happily married
she's got a pot roast
in the oven
waiting for me.
you don't know until you try it
he insisted.
his lisp more pronounced
with each sip of drink.
no. I told. I know. I've known
since the age of five.
back when natalie wood was alive.
object dissonance
what to keep, or throw away,
is not always easy.
how many shoes can
one person
own
and not use,
stacked in a closet
full, books, rakes, tools.
and that
machine to wash the house,
what year was that ever used.
some people keep
everything.
giving a value to each.
attaching to it some memory
ticket.
holding on for dear life
to what it meant,
fearing its absence
would be the end of things.
as if it never happened.
she had his guitar, his book,
his pictures
all within hands reach.
her son's first diaper
stuck in a large baggie.
a ribbon or bow. photographs
by the hundreds.
a patch for his eye, a book marker
signed.
a magazine he scribbled
on. a pen from
a hotel in St. Pete.
a hair brush. a glass
from some island. a half
empty bottle of
a soured red wine.
his voice mails. full of pain
and tears.
she loved that the most.
is not always easy.
how many shoes can
one person
own
and not use,
stacked in a closet
full, books, rakes, tools.
and that
machine to wash the house,
what year was that ever used.
some people keep
everything.
giving a value to each.
attaching to it some memory
ticket.
holding on for dear life
to what it meant,
fearing its absence
would be the end of things.
as if it never happened.
she had his guitar, his book,
his pictures
all within hands reach.
her son's first diaper
stuck in a large baggie.
a ribbon or bow. photographs
by the hundreds.
a patch for his eye, a book marker
signed.
a magazine he scribbled
on. a pen from
a hotel in St. Pete.
a hair brush. a glass
from some island. a half
empty bottle of
a soured red wine.
his voice mails. full of pain
and tears.
she loved that the most.
without exception
in all honesty
there is very little complete
telling
of the truth of who
we are.
who comes clean fully?
we all
have secrets,
whether in love, or money,
sex
or what we think
about her or him.
we cower in the shadows
in prayer,
that no one ever finds out
completely
what stirs within.
in all honesty,
we lie, we deceive,
without exception,
we pretend.
there is very little complete
telling
of the truth of who
we are.
who comes clean fully?
we all
have secrets,
whether in love, or money,
sex
or what we think
about her or him.
we cower in the shadows
in prayer,
that no one ever finds out
completely
what stirs within.
in all honesty,
we lie, we deceive,
without exception,
we pretend.
Monday, January 6, 2020
the math of love
what is the math
of love.
the equation, the formula
that makes
it work.
what numbers should we use.
how can we and subtract
divide
or multiply in order to
arrive
at the right answer.
it's not simple math
by any stretch
of the imagination.
it's almost unknown, but
you know
when you finally get there.
when the equation is solved.
then you put the chalk
away, hold her and try
to never let her go.
of love.
the equation, the formula
that makes
it work.
what numbers should we use.
how can we and subtract
divide
or multiply in order to
arrive
at the right answer.
it's not simple math
by any stretch
of the imagination.
it's almost unknown, but
you know
when you finally get there.
when the equation is solved.
then you put the chalk
away, hold her and try
to never let her go.
peace and love
it wasn't really peace and love.
the sixties.
it's a myth.
the drugs, the music.
the concerts. the revolution
never happened.
it was mostly a mess. the runaways.
the homeless.
the mud. the overdoses.
the disease, the free clinics.
the addicts.
but we sweep all of it away, and pretend
that those years
were some sort of Shangri la.
hardly.
it was an age of assassinations.
LSD.
Nixon.
Vietnam. women's rights. civil rights.
gay rights.
everyone was on the street.
marching with a sign over something.
but it wasn't really peace and love.
it was a crazy time
painted in day glow colors. long hair.
free love, not really.
nothing is free. the sixties
never happened like
you see it in the movies,
or on tv. it's a myth.
the sixties.
it's a myth.
the drugs, the music.
the concerts. the revolution
never happened.
it was mostly a mess. the runaways.
the homeless.
the mud. the overdoses.
the disease, the free clinics.
the addicts.
but we sweep all of it away, and pretend
that those years
were some sort of Shangri la.
hardly.
it was an age of assassinations.
LSD.
Nixon.
Vietnam. women's rights. civil rights.
gay rights.
everyone was on the street.
marching with a sign over something.
but it wasn't really peace and love.
it was a crazy time
painted in day glow colors. long hair.
free love, not really.
nothing is free. the sixties
never happened like
you see it in the movies,
or on tv. it's a myth.
when the well runs dry
you see it in the dying man's
eyes.
some semblance of hope,
believing this is just temporary.
i'll be out of here
in no time, back to work.
you see in your parents eyes.
the love for their children, they'll
be alright.
give them time. given them schooling.
money.
it was in my mother's eyes as she stared
out the bare
kitchen window on a Friday night.
he'll be home soon.
he'll be home soon.
it was in our eyes on Christmas eve.
it's in the eyes of those in church.
those in the unemployment line.
the drug addict in rehab.
in the beggars' eyes on the corner
as the next car arrives.
it's in the eyes of single people,
clicking
endlessly online.
the waitress pouring coffee at three
in the morning.
the janitor mopping halls.
you see it in the eyes of men
coming out of a coal mine, their blue
eyes surrounded
by black.
everyone hoping there is a better life.
there's hope every where you
look.
it's in the eyes of husbands and wives,
hoping
that somehow love
will return, just wait, pray,
be patient, it will arrive.
hope.
the elixir that keeps us going
until that well
runs dry.
eyes.
some semblance of hope,
believing this is just temporary.
i'll be out of here
in no time, back to work.
you see in your parents eyes.
the love for their children, they'll
be alright.
give them time. given them schooling.
money.
it was in my mother's eyes as she stared
out the bare
kitchen window on a Friday night.
he'll be home soon.
he'll be home soon.
it was in our eyes on Christmas eve.
it's in the eyes of those in church.
those in the unemployment line.
the drug addict in rehab.
in the beggars' eyes on the corner
as the next car arrives.
it's in the eyes of single people,
clicking
endlessly online.
the waitress pouring coffee at three
in the morning.
the janitor mopping halls.
you see it in the eyes of men
coming out of a coal mine, their blue
eyes surrounded
by black.
everyone hoping there is a better life.
there's hope every where you
look.
it's in the eyes of husbands and wives,
hoping
that somehow love
will return, just wait, pray,
be patient, it will arrive.
hope.
the elixir that keeps us going
until that well
runs dry.
the river of time
how time is swift
from start to finish.
a powerful force moving on.
the first kiss, the first time
you make
love.
the first movie together.
meals.
walks, hand in hand through
the parks.
the first time at the beach.
the waves upon
our feet.
the collection of moons we
photographed and sent, saying
can you see it from where you are.
the cards and letters, the texts.
the long talks
into the cold nights when
winter kept us home.
birthdays, Christmas.
so much of life became our own.
but how swiftly time moves on
and things end,
to never see or hear from this
love again.
from start to finish.
a powerful force moving on.
the first kiss, the first time
you make
love.
the first movie together.
meals.
walks, hand in hand through
the parks.
the first time at the beach.
the waves upon
our feet.
the collection of moons we
photographed and sent, saying
can you see it from where you are.
the cards and letters, the texts.
the long talks
into the cold nights when
winter kept us home.
birthdays, Christmas.
so much of life became our own.
but how swiftly time moves on
and things end,
to never see or hear from this
love again.
still life
it's a simple wooden
bowl
holding fruit. an orange
and apple,
grapes.
it sits on the table
under a bright light,
across from
her easel and chair.
how easily she takes her
hand
and dips the brush into paint.
the canvas
is her home.
and soon, without a word
an empty world
is full, what's in her
eye is born.
bowl
holding fruit. an orange
and apple,
grapes.
it sits on the table
under a bright light,
across from
her easel and chair.
how easily she takes her
hand
and dips the brush into paint.
the canvas
is her home.
and soon, without a word
an empty world
is full, what's in her
eye is born.
imaginary musing
there are days
when you miss someone.
miss them dearly.
you forget all the pain and agony
they brought into your
life.
you miss the imaginary
person
they pretended to be.
not who they really were.
a mirage.
it's hardly different from
missing true love.
or so they say.
when you miss someone.
miss them dearly.
you forget all the pain and agony
they brought into your
life.
you miss the imaginary
person
they pretended to be.
not who they really were.
a mirage.
it's hardly different from
missing true love.
or so they say.
i'm there too
I hear the whistle of the train
as it crosses
the trestle, no more than a mile
or two
from where I sit.
through the woods, across a narrow
stream.
I imagine the lives
within the cars, leaning
onto the windows, cold,
mirroring the pelting
rain.
so far from home,
from loved ones.
needing rest and food,
affection
and comfort. on the rails again.
i'm there too.
as it crosses
the trestle, no more than a mile
or two
from where I sit.
through the woods, across a narrow
stream.
I imagine the lives
within the cars, leaning
onto the windows, cold,
mirroring the pelting
rain.
so far from home,
from loved ones.
needing rest and food,
affection
and comfort. on the rails again.
i'm there too.
coup de foudre
is there such a thing as love
at first sight,
the bolt of lighting when
catching someone's eye?
the coup de foudre.
a brush of luck or destiny,
call it chance.
two strangers in the night.
who's to know, but it happens,
that gut feeling
of immediate attraction,
the longing
for romance.
it's happened once or twice,
in my life,
but in the end.
it was not unlike a bottle
of champagne
popped and drank,
full of fizz and fun,
but
then once the bubbles
were gone, the love
went flat. we were done.
at first sight,
the bolt of lighting when
catching someone's eye?
the coup de foudre.
a brush of luck or destiny,
call it chance.
two strangers in the night.
who's to know, but it happens,
that gut feeling
of immediate attraction,
the longing
for romance.
it's happened once or twice,
in my life,
but in the end.
it was not unlike a bottle
of champagne
popped and drank,
full of fizz and fun,
but
then once the bubbles
were gone, the love
went flat. we were done.
dating criteria
i get an email from a woman
on venus,
another from
france,
one from mars, two from
a woman
in New Zealand.
despite my narrowed
profile criteria.
the dating site,
Disharmony, has expanded
my search for
the next love of my
life.
looks, distance
apparently don't matter.
height, weight,
direction of eyes.
green skin,
two heads, smoke like
a chimney,
never been
to school, no problem.
illiterate and medicated,
go for it.
they just winked, or liked,
or viewed you.
they've lowered my standards
to the nth degree.
(or maybe lowered theirs)
incarceration,
no teeth. devil worshiping
women with
six kids and a husband
living in the basement.
why not, they say,
give them a chance.
they all have good hearts,
good intentions.
give it a shot, get off
the street.
on venus,
another from
france,
one from mars, two from
a woman
in New Zealand.
despite my narrowed
profile criteria.
the dating site,
Disharmony, has expanded
my search for
the next love of my
life.
looks, distance
apparently don't matter.
height, weight,
direction of eyes.
green skin,
two heads, smoke like
a chimney,
never been
to school, no problem.
illiterate and medicated,
go for it.
they just winked, or liked,
or viewed you.
they've lowered my standards
to the nth degree.
(or maybe lowered theirs)
incarceration,
no teeth. devil worshiping
women with
six kids and a husband
living in the basement.
why not, they say,
give them a chance.
they all have good hearts,
good intentions.
give it a shot, get off
the street.
give me one of those
i pick up some indian
food,
carry away
from the local new restaurant
next to dominos.
a bag of what, i don't know.
i just point at a line
on the menu
and say one of those,
but it gets the best of me.
it's a long dark night
of sweating,
and prayer
on the cold bathroom
floor.
i have to stick with what
i know.
food,
carry away
from the local new restaurant
next to dominos.
a bag of what, i don't know.
i just point at a line
on the menu
and say one of those,
but it gets the best of me.
it's a long dark night
of sweating,
and prayer
on the cold bathroom
floor.
i have to stick with what
i know.
Sunday, January 5, 2020
she did a dance
she did a dance once.
throwing her arms into the air,
tossing her black mane
of hair around
her shoulders.
alone.
in the living room.
her music on.
don't move she said.
sit there and enjoy the show.
she was limber,
and moved in a fluid enticing
flow.
full of drink, tipsy
to the point of falling over
I told her enough.
no more,
but she insisted and danced
until she
fell upon the floor.
two hours later,
gently
I knocked on the bathroom
door.
in a minute she said.
in a minute,
i'll dance
some more.
throwing her arms into the air,
tossing her black mane
of hair around
her shoulders.
alone.
in the living room.
her music on.
don't move she said.
sit there and enjoy the show.
she was limber,
and moved in a fluid enticing
flow.
full of drink, tipsy
to the point of falling over
I told her enough.
no more,
but she insisted and danced
until she
fell upon the floor.
two hours later,
gently
I knocked on the bathroom
door.
in a minute she said.
in a minute,
i'll dance
some more.
not sleeping
at night, not sleeping.
wide eyed in the dark
i pondered the shadowed
ceiling, staring at
a quiet fan in spin
bringing some relief
to summers thickened heat.
I wondered
what she was thinking.
asleep or not, a foot
apart, but in retrospect
a thousand miles
between us.
then I realized that all
my thoughts were
trained on her, while
hers were elsewhere,
on someone else.
which in the end made
it reasonable and easy
to abandon a ship that
was listing, and sinking
quickly to darker sand.
wide eyed in the dark
i pondered the shadowed
ceiling, staring at
a quiet fan in spin
bringing some relief
to summers thickened heat.
I wondered
what she was thinking.
asleep or not, a foot
apart, but in retrospect
a thousand miles
between us.
then I realized that all
my thoughts were
trained on her, while
hers were elsewhere,
on someone else.
which in the end made
it reasonable and easy
to abandon a ship that
was listing, and sinking
quickly to darker sand.
this might hurt a little
every now and then I go in
to the dermatologist to have her
freeze or scrape off
a bump, or blemish, or something
she looks at with
raised eyebrows and an oh my
grimace on her face.
she yanks out this gizmo
cannister, which I prefer over
the scalpel, and pulls the trigger
at the top of my head. a blast of
freezing cold chemically induced air,
pulverizes
the suspicious spot.
where can I get one of those,
I ask her. amazon?
no, she says, laughing. you
have to go to med school first
and get a white smock, like
mine with your name on it.
get an office, blah blah blah.
you're no fun, I tell her.
shut up she says and roll over.
take your shirt off, I have
work to do. you really like the sun,
don't you, she says,
as I feel the blast of cold air
hit my skin.
to the dermatologist to have her
freeze or scrape off
a bump, or blemish, or something
she looks at with
raised eyebrows and an oh my
grimace on her face.
she yanks out this gizmo
cannister, which I prefer over
the scalpel, and pulls the trigger
at the top of my head. a blast of
freezing cold chemically induced air,
pulverizes
the suspicious spot.
where can I get one of those,
I ask her. amazon?
no, she says, laughing. you
have to go to med school first
and get a white smock, like
mine with your name on it.
get an office, blah blah blah.
you're no fun, I tell her.
shut up she says and roll over.
take your shirt off, I have
work to do. you really like the sun,
don't you, she says,
as I feel the blast of cold air
hit my skin.
only two channels
half the time the radio
didn't work.
and when it did you could only
get a few
am
stations on the wobbly
dial.
the Spanish channel,
or the religious channel.
I listened to both
from time to time, getting
equal amounts
of information.
the religious channel
seemed broke, they were always
asking for money
before each preacher began
his sermon,
the call in shows, send
money, send money, we
can't stay on the air
if you don't send money.
if you want your crops to grow
send a check.
if you want your wife back,
send a check.
if you want your kidneys
to work again,
send an envelope full of
cash.
they seemed to have a deal
with God. a
quid pro quo sort of thing.
you give us your hard earned
money and we'll get on the line
with the almighty and take
care of your problems.
I almost sent in a few bucks
after I caught my wife
with her married boyfriend
again, but got lunch instead
and met this wonderful
waitress from Sperryville.
the lord works in mysterious
ways.
didn't work.
and when it did you could only
get a few
am
stations on the wobbly
dial.
the Spanish channel,
or the religious channel.
I listened to both
from time to time, getting
equal amounts
of information.
the religious channel
seemed broke, they were always
asking for money
before each preacher began
his sermon,
the call in shows, send
money, send money, we
can't stay on the air
if you don't send money.
if you want your crops to grow
send a check.
if you want your wife back,
send a check.
if you want your kidneys
to work again,
send an envelope full of
cash.
they seemed to have a deal
with God. a
quid pro quo sort of thing.
you give us your hard earned
money and we'll get on the line
with the almighty and take
care of your problems.
I almost sent in a few bucks
after I caught my wife
with her married boyfriend
again, but got lunch instead
and met this wonderful
waitress from Sperryville.
the lord works in mysterious
ways.
a rough night
there was the time he showed
up,
still drunk,
for work.
8 a.m.
shaky. red faced.
a new black eye blooming
on one side.
he trembled as he lifted
his 7 11 coffee to his lips.
you ok,
I asked him, as he
looked bleary eyed
from the truck
to the house
where the ladders and
buckets sat.
yeah, he said, lighting
a cigarette.
no ladder work today, I told
him
as he slunk
behind the wall, sleeping
it off in the warm
sun for half
the day.
up,
still drunk,
for work.
8 a.m.
shaky. red faced.
a new black eye blooming
on one side.
he trembled as he lifted
his 7 11 coffee to his lips.
you ok,
I asked him, as he
looked bleary eyed
from the truck
to the house
where the ladders and
buckets sat.
yeah, he said, lighting
a cigarette.
no ladder work today, I told
him
as he slunk
behind the wall, sleeping
it off in the warm
sun for half
the day.
Saturday, January 4, 2020
what to eat
if you want to get a splitting headache
in like a new York minute
start looking up what's healthy to eat
on youtube.
within ten minutes you'll find
that meat is good for you.
that meat is bad for you.
eggs are the devil. eggs are good.
lettuce will kill you.
avocados are full of fat.
coffee is bad. salt and sugar, evil.
too much fruit, too little fruit.
no milk, no dairy, no gluten.
no pasta, no bread, no fish
full of mercury. sardines
and anchovies, yes. but not
in oil. no glucose, or syrup,
or candy,or cake. nothing in a bag,
or a box, or a barrel
you only feel safe
with celery, or parsley.
raw vegetables and all the while
I look at my ninety-two year
old father smoking a cigar
and eating a steak.
in like a new York minute
start looking up what's healthy to eat
on youtube.
within ten minutes you'll find
that meat is good for you.
that meat is bad for you.
eggs are the devil. eggs are good.
lettuce will kill you.
avocados are full of fat.
coffee is bad. salt and sugar, evil.
too much fruit, too little fruit.
no milk, no dairy, no gluten.
no pasta, no bread, no fish
full of mercury. sardines
and anchovies, yes. but not
in oil. no glucose, or syrup,
or candy,or cake. nothing in a bag,
or a box, or a barrel
you only feel safe
with celery, or parsley.
raw vegetables and all the while
I look at my ninety-two year
old father smoking a cigar
and eating a steak.
what are the reasons
is it timing.
is it good luck or bad,
fate
or an act of divine intervention,
or divine apathy
that keeps, or throws
us off track.
is God playing dice with
the universe,
despite Einstein's
pondering?
is anything set in stone.
is the future
ever known? what are
the reasons for
the ones we love,
the ones we let go?
is it good luck or bad,
fate
or an act of divine intervention,
or divine apathy
that keeps, or throws
us off track.
is God playing dice with
the universe,
despite Einstein's
pondering?
is anything set in stone.
is the future
ever known? what are
the reasons for
the ones we love,
the ones we let go?
becoming known
as children we put our ears
to a glass
and held it to the wall
to listen to the neighbors fight
and curse one another.
they hardly made a sound
outside their walls,
church going and proper,
the yard a fine trimmed
lawn, a car that shined,
but now
at night,
they'd go at it, with pots
and pans,
breakables thrown,
uttering words we rarely
heard, becoming known.
to a glass
and held it to the wall
to listen to the neighbors fight
and curse one another.
they hardly made a sound
outside their walls,
church going and proper,
the yard a fine trimmed
lawn, a car that shined,
but now
at night,
they'd go at it, with pots
and pans,
breakables thrown,
uttering words we rarely
heard, becoming known.
this will not last
we pause, we sigh,
we wait at the light
as the motorcade
slowly slides by
led by the black hearse.
the drizzle of rain,
the drizzle
of time. so many go quickly,
though most prefer
an easier way
and slowly die.
who knows?
but we wait
and let the line pass.
lights on in single
file.
our turn will come.
be patient,
this will not last.
we wait at the light
as the motorcade
slowly slides by
led by the black hearse.
the drizzle of rain,
the drizzle
of time. so many go quickly,
though most prefer
an easier way
and slowly die.
who knows?
but we wait
and let the line pass.
lights on in single
file.
our turn will come.
be patient,
this will not last.
buying flowers
we haven't seen you in a while
the florist says
as I stop in to smell
the roses.
ah, yes, I respond, it has been
a fortnight or more, hasn't it,
perhaps longer
since I last
bought a hurried bouquet
of roses, or an orchid, or
daffodil.
things change, I say softly,
studying the garden under
lights and glass. I actually
enjoy flowers more these days
when I purchase them.
but I buy them not with a note
of apology, or heart felt
poem attached. trying to soothe
or buy a love back.
it's different now, I buy them
for me,
for my own pleasure, my own
home, no longer for someone
I once held dear, no longer
for someone that took me
so often to task.
the florist says
as I stop in to smell
the roses.
ah, yes, I respond, it has been
a fortnight or more, hasn't it,
perhaps longer
since I last
bought a hurried bouquet
of roses, or an orchid, or
daffodil.
things change, I say softly,
studying the garden under
lights and glass. I actually
enjoy flowers more these days
when I purchase them.
but I buy them not with a note
of apology, or heart felt
poem attached. trying to soothe
or buy a love back.
it's different now, I buy them
for me,
for my own pleasure, my own
home, no longer for someone
I once held dear, no longer
for someone that took me
so often to task.
were you ever in the military?
were you ever in the military
the woman asks
as she fill out my form at
the social security office.
she looks up at
the top of my head,
at the shorn locks
down to a fine bristle.
nope. I say.
just the cub scouts when I
was in the second grade.
but I hated it. the uniforms.
the rules and regulations.
someone always above you
giving orders, telling
you to tie a knot,
no not that knot,
I want square knot.
or being forced to study
which plant was
poison ivy and which plant
wasn't. leaves of three,
let em be, leaves of four,
eat some more.
it drove me crazy
all that discipline, so
I went awol, tossed my
little blue hat, my red
scarf, shirt and pants,
and waddled away,
down the creek
so that I couldn't be tracked.
so, you're answer is no,
the woman at the counter says,
looking up from her
computer screen. yes, I mean
yes my answer is no.
not really. just the cub
scouts, like I was saying.
the woman asks
as she fill out my form at
the social security office.
she looks up at
the top of my head,
at the shorn locks
down to a fine bristle.
nope. I say.
just the cub scouts when I
was in the second grade.
but I hated it. the uniforms.
the rules and regulations.
someone always above you
giving orders, telling
you to tie a knot,
no not that knot,
I want square knot.
or being forced to study
which plant was
poison ivy and which plant
wasn't. leaves of three,
let em be, leaves of four,
eat some more.
it drove me crazy
all that discipline, so
I went awol, tossed my
little blue hat, my red
scarf, shirt and pants,
and waddled away,
down the creek
so that I couldn't be tracked.
so, you're answer is no,
the woman at the counter says,
looking up from her
computer screen. yes, I mean
yes my answer is no.
not really. just the cub
scouts, like I was saying.
the ant farm
there are days when you don't
really want to talk with anyone,
socialize or interact in any way.
you just want to watch, observe.
study what's going around you.
look at people in a scientist
kind of way. like having an ant
farm, and checking it out from
time to time, to see what the deal is.
if there are any new tunnels.
watching them carry bread crumbs
down into their caves. they all
seem to have a plan of some sort.
without so much as a wiggle of
their antennae they get
whatever the heck they're doing
done.
really want to talk with anyone,
socialize or interact in any way.
you just want to watch, observe.
study what's going around you.
look at people in a scientist
kind of way. like having an ant
farm, and checking it out from
time to time, to see what the deal is.
if there are any new tunnels.
watching them carry bread crumbs
down into their caves. they all
seem to have a plan of some sort.
without so much as a wiggle of
their antennae they get
whatever the heck they're doing
done.
the Harley couple
I pull up next to a Harley
at the light
and look over. a little American
flag is stuck on the back.
he's a beefy guy with
a grey mustache circa 1979
and a squirrel like pony
tail hanging out the back
of his helmet.
his belly hangs out from
his unzipped leather Harley jacket
touching the front handle bars.
his babe is on board behind him.
with her dark glass helmet on,
she looks 25, skinny with long blonde
hair, but when she takes her
helmet off to talk with
her man, she could be 70 or
older with a deep well
grooved tan. they look over
at me, looking at them, and
I give them the thumbs up.
he revs the bike as loud
as he can and gives me a wide
smile. a smile that says,
ain't it lucky to be me.
she winks and slides
her helmet back on.
wiggling her waif like torso
towards him in a snug hug.
off they go into the sunset
with a rumble and roar.
it's wonderful to be in love.
at the light
and look over. a little American
flag is stuck on the back.
he's a beefy guy with
a grey mustache circa 1979
and a squirrel like pony
tail hanging out the back
of his helmet.
his belly hangs out from
his unzipped leather Harley jacket
touching the front handle bars.
his babe is on board behind him.
with her dark glass helmet on,
she looks 25, skinny with long blonde
hair, but when she takes her
helmet off to talk with
her man, she could be 70 or
older with a deep well
grooved tan. they look over
at me, looking at them, and
I give them the thumbs up.
he revs the bike as loud
as he can and gives me a wide
smile. a smile that says,
ain't it lucky to be me.
she winks and slides
her helmet back on.
wiggling her waif like torso
towards him in a snug hug.
off they go into the sunset
with a rumble and roar.
it's wonderful to be in love.
they tell you who they are
you can't change people.
you can't reweave the fabric
of their soul.
dark stays dark and light stays light.
for better or worse.
it's in the blood, the core.
the heart.
once you realize that, you move on.
it's pointless
and exhausting to do otherwise.
life is way too precious to be
with the wrong person.
they will tell you who they are.
don't look back.
just go.
you can't reweave the fabric
of their soul.
dark stays dark and light stays light.
for better or worse.
it's in the blood, the core.
the heart.
once you realize that, you move on.
it's pointless
and exhausting to do otherwise.
life is way too precious to be
with the wrong person.
they will tell you who they are.
don't look back.
just go.
time to go
no need to get up,
I say.
pulling at my collar.
i'm just passing through.
just going to the other
side of the room.
to look out the window
the one with
the view.
don't get up, don't move.
i'm fine.
so nice to see you,
and you and you.
is that the exit sign?
I say.
pulling at my collar.
i'm just passing through.
just going to the other
side of the room.
to look out the window
the one with
the view.
don't get up, don't move.
i'm fine.
so nice to see you,
and you and you.
is that the exit sign?
failure to communicate
she was fluent in several languages.
and yet, we couldn't
communicate.
she'd stare blankly at me, without
so much
a word, or shrug, or grimace,
or smile
upon her face. the eyes were dead.
she was a hard read.
but her actions spoke loudly.
I still feel the impact of
her screams.
and yet, we couldn't
communicate.
she'd stare blankly at me, without
so much
a word, or shrug, or grimace,
or smile
upon her face. the eyes were dead.
she was a hard read.
but her actions spoke loudly.
I still feel the impact of
her screams.
harvest
too early to rise,
and yet
you're up and on the road.
work.
you harvest the field when
it's ready.
the world tells you
when it's time to go.
so you go.
and yet
you're up and on the road.
work.
you harvest the field when
it's ready.
the world tells you
when it's time to go.
so you go.
dry clean only
the new sweater,
slipped into the mix and mash
of clothes
being washed
has shrunken down
to almost nothing.
it might fit a small
thin child now. tightly.
I hold it up, out of the dryer,
warm and soft,
I try to stretch it,
tugging at the sleeves,
the collar, but
nope, it's done. game
over for this sweater.
I peel back the label
hidden underneath.
dry clean only.
damn the small print.
slipped into the mix and mash
of clothes
being washed
has shrunken down
to almost nothing.
it might fit a small
thin child now. tightly.
I hold it up, out of the dryer,
warm and soft,
I try to stretch it,
tugging at the sleeves,
the collar, but
nope, it's done. game
over for this sweater.
I peel back the label
hidden underneath.
dry clean only.
damn the small print.
Friday, January 3, 2020
tofu ribeye
i try to mold some tofu
into the shape
of a rib eye steak. i throw some
onions into
the pan, mushrooms.
a smidgen of olive oil.
but it's not working.
where's the grease, the splatter,
the scent of charred meat
that I've been
eating since two.
steak was at the top of the food
pyramid when i was in
school
right below that was butter
and milk.
white bread,
ice cream and cake.
now a soy bean is king.
sitting
in its slender green jacket,
smirking at us all
as we try to make do.
into the shape
of a rib eye steak. i throw some
onions into
the pan, mushrooms.
a smidgen of olive oil.
but it's not working.
where's the grease, the splatter,
the scent of charred meat
that I've been
eating since two.
steak was at the top of the food
pyramid when i was in
school
right below that was butter
and milk.
white bread,
ice cream and cake.
now a soy bean is king.
sitting
in its slender green jacket,
smirking at us all
as we try to make do.
flying on her broom
I knew there were skeletons
in
her closet.
I just didn't know how many,
and how
many of them
still had flesh on their bones
and were
texting her night and day.
it was Halloween year round.
lots of
creaking floors,
closet doors closed,
secrets unburied
in so many tombs.
I lost count of her
left over lovers, the shadows
in the yard
that she'd meet at the park,
flying on her broom.
in
her closet.
I just didn't know how many,
and how
many of them
still had flesh on their bones
and were
texting her night and day.
it was Halloween year round.
lots of
creaking floors,
closet doors closed,
secrets unburied
in so many tombs.
I lost count of her
left over lovers, the shadows
in the yard
that she'd meet at the park,
flying on her broom.
how love was
the running sky above,
seems impatient,
trying to get to where
it needs go
before nightfall.
wrapped loosely
in garlands of pink,
a tangled ribbon of blues.
nowhere is there
a sun to see.
it's below us now, but
the clouds go swiftly
in the remaining light,
as we gaze in wonder,
and watch as if for
the first time, this
earthly magic,
like how love was
between me and you.
seems impatient,
trying to get to where
it needs go
before nightfall.
wrapped loosely
in garlands of pink,
a tangled ribbon of blues.
nowhere is there
a sun to see.
it's below us now, but
the clouds go swiftly
in the remaining light,
as we gaze in wonder,
and watch as if for
the first time, this
earthly magic,
like how love was
between me and you.
Men
when I see the aged men
in long coats,
the cross hatched stitches
of life and stress
upon their faces,
grey and smoking, legs crossed
on the benches in
central park, glancing at the young
women running by, I can't help
but think that
it's a blessing and a curse,
this drive,
this sensuality
that appears
in early boyhood, and goes on
into the years,
even now, hardly a day
passes without
giving it thought. does
the world
truly revolve around this?
there's a strange almost
insatiable
urge
to be in love, to have
intimacy.
men wear it on their sleeves,
it's in their eyes,
it's coded in the language
of their smile.
it's primitive in a way,
a craving, an appetite
for the opposite.
you wonder when, or if it
will ever wane.
in long coats,
the cross hatched stitches
of life and stress
upon their faces,
grey and smoking, legs crossed
on the benches in
central park, glancing at the young
women running by, I can't help
but think that
it's a blessing and a curse,
this drive,
this sensuality
that appears
in early boyhood, and goes on
into the years,
even now, hardly a day
passes without
giving it thought. does
the world
truly revolve around this?
there's a strange almost
insatiable
urge
to be in love, to have
intimacy.
men wear it on their sleeves,
it's in their eyes,
it's coded in the language
of their smile.
it's primitive in a way,
a craving, an appetite
for the opposite.
you wonder when, or if it
will ever wane.
black and white
nothing is black or white,
despite
the notion that it could be.
so much of life is between
the lines.
the small print of us.
all are not
evil, or good, just human.
there are shades of light.
swipes of black, or shadow.
but if love appears,
a glorious rainbow
of color makes so much doubt,
so much of the darkness
disappear,
and turn to white.
despite
the notion that it could be.
so much of life is between
the lines.
the small print of us.
all are not
evil, or good, just human.
there are shades of light.
swipes of black, or shadow.
but if love appears,
a glorious rainbow
of color makes so much doubt,
so much of the darkness
disappear,
and turn to white.
but no more, please
we used to fight a lot.
bicker all the time,
then there'd be sulking
and the silent treatment.
i'd come home from work
and she'd be happy
for a while, but
the house would be a mess.
I was hungry, she was hungry.
she wanted to go for a walk,
or sit on the couch
and stare out the window
at the swaying trees.
she wouldn't leave me alone,
always pulling at the chain.
needing constant attention,
always in my lap
when I tried to read or
write a poem.
how she'd sit up and beg.
she wanted to watch tv
together, or curl up next
to me in bed,
pulling at the blankets
and sheets. taking my
favorite pillow for her own.
she drooled a lot too.
and had fleas, and would drag
things into the house
that were disgusting.
her barking was endless.
each trip to the vet would
empty my wallet.
she was a great dog, I miss
her,
but no more, please.
bicker all the time,
then there'd be sulking
and the silent treatment.
i'd come home from work
and she'd be happy
for a while, but
the house would be a mess.
I was hungry, she was hungry.
she wanted to go for a walk,
or sit on the couch
and stare out the window
at the swaying trees.
she wouldn't leave me alone,
always pulling at the chain.
needing constant attention,
always in my lap
when I tried to read or
write a poem.
how she'd sit up and beg.
she wanted to watch tv
together, or curl up next
to me in bed,
pulling at the blankets
and sheets. taking my
favorite pillow for her own.
she drooled a lot too.
and had fleas, and would drag
things into the house
that were disgusting.
her barking was endless.
each trip to the vet would
empty my wallet.
she was a great dog, I miss
her,
but no more, please.
no christmas card this year
I used to get more Christmas
cards
than I did this year.
the box was full of red envelopes
with little
santa claus stamps
stuck on the corner.
I go through the list
to see who has dissed me in such
a despicable way
this holiday season.
ex wives ex girlfriends.
siblings. not a peep out of any
of them. not a card, or a cookie
baked.
the ex in-laws, nada.
the sister, nothing.
the son, the brother in law.
zippo.
and I was almost friends with
these people.
in the past all the cards were
signed, with love and best
wishes for the holiday season,
so and so.
but I guess the love is gone,
or maybe it was temporary,
or not at all. oh well.
it's a shame.
cards
than I did this year.
the box was full of red envelopes
with little
santa claus stamps
stuck on the corner.
I go through the list
to see who has dissed me in such
a despicable way
this holiday season.
ex wives ex girlfriends.
siblings. not a peep out of any
of them. not a card, or a cookie
baked.
the ex in-laws, nada.
the sister, nothing.
the son, the brother in law.
zippo.
and I was almost friends with
these people.
in the past all the cards were
signed, with love and best
wishes for the holiday season,
so and so.
but I guess the love is gone,
or maybe it was temporary,
or not at all. oh well.
it's a shame.
which diet to choose from
I peruse the new diets,
trying to lose a little weight before
spring.
not that i'm going to be prancing
around on the beach
in a speedo, or anything.
but just to drop a few pounds
for health, to be lighter on my
feet for those long nights
out dancing. that's a joke.
but there are so many diets
to choose from.
the all chicken diet.
the poultry only diet, anything
with wings that can't fly.
all meat, which entails all
four legged animals, too slow
to run away from the butcher.
just plants.
the botanical garden diet.
just fish, just water and bread.
the Alcatraz diet, it's called.
the jungle diet. snakes and bugs,
with an occasional rhino sandwich.
the island diet. berries, nuts,
bananas and mangos,
with a coconut milk chaser.
the city diet, which is my favorite
pizza, bagels with cream cheese,
pretzels and steak subs
all washed down with a big gulp.
then there's the grandpa diet,
for those without teeth.
oatmeal, soups and grilled cheese.
jello with cool whip.
then there's the lost in the woods
in west virginia diet.
squirrel stew, raccoon brisket,
and pan fried field mice.
basically road kill.
it's a toss up, not sure which
way i'll go, but it's time
to think about nutrition
and health to get the new
year started.
trying to lose a little weight before
spring.
not that i'm going to be prancing
around on the beach
in a speedo, or anything.
but just to drop a few pounds
for health, to be lighter on my
feet for those long nights
out dancing. that's a joke.
but there are so many diets
to choose from.
the all chicken diet.
the poultry only diet, anything
with wings that can't fly.
all meat, which entails all
four legged animals, too slow
to run away from the butcher.
just plants.
the botanical garden diet.
just fish, just water and bread.
the Alcatraz diet, it's called.
the jungle diet. snakes and bugs,
with an occasional rhino sandwich.
the island diet. berries, nuts,
bananas and mangos,
with a coconut milk chaser.
the city diet, which is my favorite
pizza, bagels with cream cheese,
pretzels and steak subs
all washed down with a big gulp.
then there's the grandpa diet,
for those without teeth.
oatmeal, soups and grilled cheese.
jello with cool whip.
then there's the lost in the woods
in west virginia diet.
squirrel stew, raccoon brisket,
and pan fried field mice.
basically road kill.
it's a toss up, not sure which
way i'll go, but it's time
to think about nutrition
and health to get the new
year started.
end of the reel
the beauty of time and distance,
no contact
is that you wake up one
morning completely free.
hardly a thought passes by
about someone.
they're gone, almost as if
it never happened, as if
they never existed except
in some old movie that you saw.
it's the end of the reel.
story over, done, fini.
all gone.
no contact
is that you wake up one
morning completely free.
hardly a thought passes by
about someone.
they're gone, almost as if
it never happened, as if
they never existed except
in some old movie that you saw.
it's the end of the reel.
story over, done, fini.
all gone.
skin and bones
some need the shine,
the glimmer
and glam, the bling
of life.
the four star meal,
the four star room,
those jimmy choo
heels. the prada bag,
the gucchi coat.
some need paris,
or rome.
a luxury liner.
a gold phone. some need
a mansion a Mercedes,
a ranch, a cabin,
a beach front home.
the black card, diamonds,
the driver, the maid,
the butler.
some need the attention,
the admiration to prove
their worth,
to yell out, this is where
I've been, this is what
I own, but in the end.
without love, without
compassion, we're
empty,
we're all just skin
and bones.
the glimmer
and glam, the bling
of life.
the four star meal,
the four star room,
those jimmy choo
heels. the prada bag,
the gucchi coat.
some need paris,
or rome.
a luxury liner.
a gold phone. some need
a mansion a Mercedes,
a ranch, a cabin,
a beach front home.
the black card, diamonds,
the driver, the maid,
the butler.
some need the attention,
the admiration to prove
their worth,
to yell out, this is where
I've been, this is what
I own, but in the end.
without love, without
compassion, we're
empty,
we're all just skin
and bones.
Thursday, January 2, 2020
A Flock of Geese
I see a flock of geese flying overhead
in a v formation.
thirty or forty of them.
I can hear them talking in their bark
like way.
what are we doing, the second one on
the left says
to the one behind him.
what do you mean what are we doing?
are we really flying south
for the winter?
seems silly. it's not even cold
out. maybe we should just go halfway
this year with global warming
and all.
the other one shrugs. I don't know.
i'm just going because I have
a friend in palm springs.
he's got extra room in a nest
on a golf course. says I can stay there
no problem.
the golf course is covered in
pieces of bagels
and cream cheese. loxs
and civilta fish. these people
take a bite and throw
it away. oy vey.
what do you mean exactly by these
people?
nothing, nothing. i'm just saying
you don't have to worry about looking
for worms down there.
I just don't see the point anymore.
we haven't had snow
or ice in ages.
i'm not as young as I used to be.
I've only go so many
miles left on these wings.
look at my feathers, do these
look like the feathers of a young bird?
you know
my uncle Al got hit by a drone last
year doing this, a younger goose in the third
row says. true story.
maybe we should go
part of the way this year,
the one says,
like stop in Charleston,
and check the long range weather
forecast. find a deli.
ahh, quit your kvetching, and
start flapping those wings
instead of your beak. we're
halfway there.
in a v formation.
thirty or forty of them.
I can hear them talking in their bark
like way.
what are we doing, the second one on
the left says
to the one behind him.
what do you mean what are we doing?
are we really flying south
for the winter?
seems silly. it's not even cold
out. maybe we should just go halfway
this year with global warming
and all.
the other one shrugs. I don't know.
i'm just going because I have
a friend in palm springs.
he's got extra room in a nest
on a golf course. says I can stay there
no problem.
the golf course is covered in
pieces of bagels
and cream cheese. loxs
and civilta fish. these people
take a bite and throw
it away. oy vey.
what do you mean exactly by these
people?
nothing, nothing. i'm just saying
you don't have to worry about looking
for worms down there.
I just don't see the point anymore.
we haven't had snow
or ice in ages.
i'm not as young as I used to be.
I've only go so many
miles left on these wings.
look at my feathers, do these
look like the feathers of a young bird?
you know
my uncle Al got hit by a drone last
year doing this, a younger goose in the third
row says. true story.
maybe we should go
part of the way this year,
the one says,
like stop in Charleston,
and check the long range weather
forecast. find a deli.
ahh, quit your kvetching, and
start flapping those wings
instead of your beak. we're
halfway there.
the light is everywhere
I tell my therapist,
to take the sharpest knife
out of her educated
drawer and start cutting.
slice me to the bone.
eviscerate my soul.
I know it's going to hurt
more than
any pain I've ever known,
but please, for the sake
of sanity, for the life of me,
begin, let's get to the bottom
of why
I've made the same mistake
over and over.
seeking the most chaotic and sick
individuals to fall in love with,
the incurable narcissists.
so she does. okay, she says.
here we go.
I scream, I cry, I bend over
like a child
and let it all out. I weep my
heart out.
but in the end I get it.
i truly see the cause, I see the origin
of all lies.
hello father.
it isn't just a light at the end
of a tunnel.
the light is everywhere.
to take the sharpest knife
out of her educated
drawer and start cutting.
slice me to the bone.
eviscerate my soul.
I know it's going to hurt
more than
any pain I've ever known,
but please, for the sake
of sanity, for the life of me,
begin, let's get to the bottom
of why
I've made the same mistake
over and over.
seeking the most chaotic and sick
individuals to fall in love with,
the incurable narcissists.
so she does. okay, she says.
here we go.
I scream, I cry, I bend over
like a child
and let it all out. I weep my
heart out.
but in the end I get it.
i truly see the cause, I see the origin
of all lies.
hello father.
it isn't just a light at the end
of a tunnel.
the light is everywhere.
the empty house
the empty house
with its darkened windows,
the unkept yard,
is for sale.
a yellow sign bends in the wind.
I stop for a moment
to look.
a family lived there once.
two children.
a dog. a husband
and wife.
never friends, but we waved
as time
went by.
rarely saying a word to one
another.
but still, they were familiar
to me,
as I to them.
it's sad in a simple way,
how easily they've slipped
away unnoticed,
the way a light
rain might fall when
expecting sun.
with its darkened windows,
the unkept yard,
is for sale.
a yellow sign bends in the wind.
I stop for a moment
to look.
a family lived there once.
two children.
a dog. a husband
and wife.
never friends, but we waved
as time
went by.
rarely saying a word to one
another.
but still, they were familiar
to me,
as I to them.
it's sad in a simple way,
how easily they've slipped
away unnoticed,
the way a light
rain might fall when
expecting sun.
if it snows
survival
used to be on my mind.
the dollar made,
the dollar saved.
each bill waiting on the desk
to be paid.
tomorrow, or the next day.
keeping the home fire burning,
but it's different now.
the hunting has slowed.
the cupboards are full.
there's no more holding my
hands over
the hot stove,
sharpening a stick to go out
to kill something,
or
waiting for the phone ring.
there's no worry,
no wondering about the roads
if it snows.
used to be on my mind.
the dollar made,
the dollar saved.
each bill waiting on the desk
to be paid.
tomorrow, or the next day.
keeping the home fire burning,
but it's different now.
the hunting has slowed.
the cupboards are full.
there's no more holding my
hands over
the hot stove,
sharpening a stick to go out
to kill something,
or
waiting for the phone ring.
there's no worry,
no wondering about the roads
if it snows.
no doubt
it's not funny at all,
but
it's hard not to laugh at it
with so
much time and water
under
the clock
and bridge, passed.
soul mate.
cell mate.
oh well. better to be alone
without
then to be alone with.
no doubt.
but
it's hard not to laugh at it
with so
much time and water
under
the clock
and bridge, passed.
soul mate.
cell mate.
oh well. better to be alone
without
then to be alone with.
no doubt.
taking out the hammer
i see that metal
will not burn and melt down quite
so easily.
so once the fire dies,
full of cards
and photos, clothes,
ribbons and bows,
books and other
sentimental
things that no longer
have value,
i pluck out the thick ring
and hold it warm in my hand.
hardly scarred, or worn.
not a nick
or graze upon it.
this calls for a hammer.
which is what
i do.
will not burn and melt down quite
so easily.
so once the fire dies,
full of cards
and photos, clothes,
ribbons and bows,
books and other
sentimental
things that no longer
have value,
i pluck out the thick ring
and hold it warm in my hand.
hardly scarred, or worn.
not a nick
or graze upon it.
this calls for a hammer.
which is what
i do.
the same story
our stories match
to a certain degree.
so many do when hearts are tied
to
darkness.
lovers who were liars.
she said, I cried my make up off
so many times.
came unglued. she tells me
her story.
then mine. but we both have tired
of it. it's not ancient history
quite yet.
but give it time.
it will become a tale told
in the third person.
to a certain degree.
so many do when hearts are tied
to
darkness.
lovers who were liars.
she said, I cried my make up off
so many times.
came unglued. she tells me
her story.
then mine. but we both have tired
of it. it's not ancient history
quite yet.
but give it time.
it will become a tale told
in the third person.
in the field with birds
in looking back.
I see the scarecrow
in the field, hung upright among
the stalks
of endless corn.
the straw hair,
the long face, made up.
in clothes
once worn to dance in,
perhaps.
bright in color, soft to the touch.
an unpleasant woman,
I see the scarecrow
in the field, hung upright among
the stalks
of endless corn.
the straw hair,
the long face, made up.
in clothes
once worn to dance in,
perhaps.
bright in color, soft to the touch.
an unpleasant woman,
set out
on a task
to keep the crows at bay.
the exaggerated lips
and eyes, stitched in black.
arms stretched in cross like
submission.
it reminds of so much.
but she's still at last,
except for
a wavering wind,
that blows between the seams.
on a task
to keep the crows at bay.
the exaggerated lips
and eyes, stitched in black.
arms stretched in cross like
submission.
it reminds of so much.
but she's still at last,
except for
a wavering wind,
that blows between the seams.
crickets
I do hear crickets on
nights like this.
in from the cold, together
or alone.
the tiny snap of their
arms,
the slap of their thin hands.
what's with the noise?
wouldn't it be better to hop
in silence.
safer.
I think that on occasion.
keeping my mouth shut, lying
low,
waiting
for safety.
waiting for better times.
nights like this.
in from the cold, together
or alone.
the tiny snap of their
arms,
the slap of their thin hands.
what's with the noise?
wouldn't it be better to hop
in silence.
safer.
I think that on occasion.
keeping my mouth shut, lying
low,
waiting
for safety.
waiting for better times.
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
i love the dress
she tells me about
her first husband.
then her second.
finally her third.
she has descriptive
harsh names for each of them.
loser
liar
cheater
in no particular order.
never again, she says, as she flips
through a bridal
magazine.
never again, although I do love
this dress.
her first husband.
then her second.
finally her third.
she has descriptive
harsh names for each of them.
loser
liar
cheater
in no particular order.
never again, she says, as she flips
through a bridal
magazine.
never again, although I do love
this dress.
being misunderstood
Oscar wilde said that he feared
not being
misunderstood.
I like that.
it says so much about being
different.
not being who they want you to be.
being alive and not one of the masses
heading over
the cliff
in droves.
most art of value, most writing,
most
music
occurs that way. not grey
but a rainbow,
an array of color,
full of joy, full of pain.
a splendid opening of the heart
and mind
outside the box.
against the grain.
not being
misunderstood.
I like that.
it says so much about being
different.
not being who they want you to be.
being alive and not one of the masses
heading over
the cliff
in droves.
most art of value, most writing,
most
music
occurs that way. not grey
but a rainbow,
an array of color,
full of joy, full of pain.
a splendid opening of the heart
and mind
outside the box.
against the grain.
the sound of a hammer against a nail
I remember the fallen
horse
in Barcelona, lying on the street.
the wagon
turned over,
the man
with a broken arm, bleeding,
now in our car,
our back seat.
my brother and I in the front
as we sped to
a hospital.
my father in his navy whites
now streaked
in red.
his hands on the wheel,
he looked as scared as we were.
as he turned
the car around, I heard the shot.
the sound of a gun going off.
like the strike of a hammer
on a nail,
and looked back
to the policeman in grey,
his black holster open,
standing over the lifeless horse.
the steam of blood
still in the air.
horse
in Barcelona, lying on the street.
the wagon
turned over,
the man
with a broken arm, bleeding,
now in our car,
our back seat.
my brother and I in the front
as we sped to
a hospital.
my father in his navy whites
now streaked
in red.
his hands on the wheel,
he looked as scared as we were.
as he turned
the car around, I heard the shot.
the sound of a gun going off.
like the strike of a hammer
on a nail,
and looked back
to the policeman in grey,
his black holster open,
standing over the lifeless horse.
the steam of blood
still in the air.
walk away
you can't help angry
souls.
you can't argue, or agree to
disagree.
it's just best to leave
them alone,
let them be,
let them stew in their
misfortune.
don't let them infect
your healing soul.
they are too sad,
too lonely and hurt.
life has not gone their way,
and most likely never
will. walk away.
souls.
you can't argue, or agree to
disagree.
it's just best to leave
them alone,
let them be,
let them stew in their
misfortune.
don't let them infect
your healing soul.
they are too sad,
too lonely and hurt.
life has not gone their way,
and most likely never
will. walk away.
again you find your stride
the blue lake
is a beauty, a gem, a coin
shining in
the sun on this perfect first
day of
the year.
it's candy to the eye.
a lover that wants
to be embraced and held
and remembered.
it's why you go, it's
why you return
time after time.
each lap around, each tree
a friend of sorts,
a familiar home.
again you find your stride.
is a beauty, a gem, a coin
shining in
the sun on this perfect first
day of
the year.
it's candy to the eye.
a lover that wants
to be embraced and held
and remembered.
it's why you go, it's
why you return
time after time.
each lap around, each tree
a friend of sorts,
a familiar home.
again you find your stride.
the first day
the kid in front of me at the ABC
store
is happy.
the clerk is in the back
he tells me
breaking a hundred
dollar bill
that he got for Christmas.
happy new year, the kid says,
grinning ear to ear,
oblivious still
to death, disease, divorce
and the rest.
happy new year to you, I tell
him, setting
my bottle of vodka
onto the counter.
so far so good.
store
is happy.
the clerk is in the back
he tells me
breaking a hundred
dollar bill
that he got for Christmas.
happy new year, the kid says,
grinning ear to ear,
oblivious still
to death, disease, divorce
and the rest.
happy new year to you, I tell
him, setting
my bottle of vodka
onto the counter.
so far so good.
bon appetit
you watch a show about meat.
the slaughtering of caged pigs,
chickens, cows and sheep.
you no longer want to eat meat.
you put it onto the list,
along with milk
sugar, eggs, bread
and mercury contaminated fish.
what's left?
you're down to beans.
lettuce.
parsley and leeks.
bon appetit.
the slaughtering of caged pigs,
chickens, cows and sheep.
you no longer want to eat meat.
you put it onto the list,
along with milk
sugar, eggs, bread
and mercury contaminated fish.
what's left?
you're down to beans.
lettuce.
parsley and leeks.
bon appetit.
closure
she slips a note
through the door, late at night.
I don't hear her,
i'm sound asleep in the floor above.
I find it in the hall
when I arise.
it says nothing,
but is signed at the bottom
with her name.
it's the most
concise and revealing
thing she's every written
to me.
the blank page.
it says everything.
closure.
through the door, late at night.
I don't hear her,
i'm sound asleep in the floor above.
I find it in the hall
when I arise.
it says nothing,
but is signed at the bottom
with her name.
it's the most
concise and revealing
thing she's every written
to me.
the blank page.
it says everything.
closure.
please don't die
the room is cold.
these old windows made
of glass
and wood, do little to keep
out the wind.
the glare of sunlight flies
in,
but I like them.
circa 1968. it's who I am.
mid century modern.
the computer is sluggish.
so am I.
I offer it coffee, but
it stutters, it's sleepy,
it has no
reply.
my fingers rest on the keyboard.
waiting.
waiting patiently.
please don't die.
these old windows made
of glass
and wood, do little to keep
out the wind.
the glare of sunlight flies
in,
but I like them.
circa 1968. it's who I am.
mid century modern.
the computer is sluggish.
so am I.
I offer it coffee, but
it stutters, it's sleepy,
it has no
reply.
my fingers rest on the keyboard.
waiting.
waiting patiently.
please don't die.
in the rear view
the madness is over.
lights are pulled. trees
discarded
still draped in tinsel.
boxes are on the curb. bottles.
bags.
the remnants of holidays
rushed through.
I see a broken heart or two.
on the grass.
love
notes torn. so much unrequited.
so much
in the rear view.
lights are pulled. trees
discarded
still draped in tinsel.
boxes are on the curb. bottles.
bags.
the remnants of holidays
rushed through.
I see a broken heart or two.
on the grass.
love
notes torn. so much unrequited.
so much
in the rear view.
midnight scrabble
we play scrabble long into
the night.
new years comes, it goes.
we say nothing.
I have nowhere to put my q
without a u
but the bag is still full.
I see words
in my sleep. I hear words.
I think about
words
and now with this board
half full
before me,
I have nowhere left to move.
the night.
new years comes, it goes.
we say nothing.
I have nowhere to put my q
without a u
but the bag is still full.
I see words
in my sleep. I hear words.
I think about
words
and now with this board
half full
before me,
I have nowhere left to move.
resolutions in reverse
where as some, with the start
of a new day,
a new year, a new decade,
propose a list of things to do,
positive changes to be made,
finding a better way
to live, with more books to read,
losing weight, eating properly.
but after a moment of thought
I prefer to say no to that
and retreat to where
I was before.
going backwards, living my old
life, for that was when
I was happiest. no need for
resolutions, no need to add
a new plan. in fact it's time
to eliminate the dark souls and
things that took me off track,
and go back to the person
I really am.
of a new day,
a new year, a new decade,
propose a list of things to do,
positive changes to be made,
finding a better way
to live, with more books to read,
losing weight, eating properly.
but after a moment of thought
I prefer to say no to that
and retreat to where
I was before.
going backwards, living my old
life, for that was when
I was happiest. no need for
resolutions, no need to add
a new plan. in fact it's time
to eliminate the dark souls and
things that took me off track,
and go back to the person
I really am.
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
crossing the bridge
I drive to California
Maryland
crossing over the bridge
from Solomon's island.
it's a narrow crossing,
two lanes going in two
directions.
it arcs high into the blue
grey sky
of December.
I look down into the steel
ribbons of water,
the cork like boats
floating, plowing their
way somewhere.
sails are tight in the wind,
the flags stiff.
I pass over.
eyes straight ahead,
hands on the wheel,
and get to where I've
never been.
Maryland
crossing over the bridge
from Solomon's island.
it's a narrow crossing,
two lanes going in two
directions.
it arcs high into the blue
grey sky
of December.
I look down into the steel
ribbons of water,
the cork like boats
floating, plowing their
way somewhere.
sails are tight in the wind,
the flags stiff.
I pass over.
eyes straight ahead,
hands on the wheel,
and get to where I've
never been.
imprint of chaos
with ease
you can recall the argument.
the words, as if written
on a sheet a paper
they are in view
line by line.
each flinch of the brow,
narrowing
of the eyes,
each denial and shrug,
is remembered. such are the effects
of betrayal
and lies.
the stamp of chaos is etched
upon your
mind.
you can recall the argument.
the words, as if written
on a sheet a paper
they are in view
line by line.
each flinch of the brow,
narrowing
of the eyes,
each denial and shrug,
is remembered. such are the effects
of betrayal
and lies.
the stamp of chaos is etched
upon your
mind.
the car won't start
i see the man with the hood up
on his car.
his hands are tugging at wires
while his wife
stands nearby
holding jumper cables.
her hair covers her face.
it's cold out.
it's beginning to snow.
the kids in shiny pink
and blue coats
are tugging
at their legs.
they look tired.
he tries the engine.
it whirrs grinds, goes silent.
no luck. they all pile
into the other car,
saying little,
then drive away.
on his car.
his hands are tugging at wires
while his wife
stands nearby
holding jumper cables.
her hair covers her face.
it's cold out.
it's beginning to snow.
the kids in shiny pink
and blue coats
are tugging
at their legs.
they look tired.
he tries the engine.
it whirrs grinds, goes silent.
no luck. they all pile
into the other car,
saying little,
then drive away.
scratching the itch
I have an itch
I used to tell her.
it's in the middle
of my
back, where I can't reach.
(I'd leave out the itch in my heart)
she'd roll her eyes and reach
over with her long nails
and say, where.
here? here? here?
moving her hand from side to side.
there. i'd finally say as she
landed on the exact spot.
there. right there.
dig hard.
and i'd feel
the satisfying
scratch until the itch was gone.
(still no mention of my heart)
I used to tell her.
it's in the middle
of my
back, where I can't reach.
(I'd leave out the itch in my heart)
she'd roll her eyes and reach
over with her long nails
and say, where.
here? here? here?
moving her hand from side to side.
there. i'd finally say as she
landed on the exact spot.
there. right there.
dig hard.
and i'd feel
the satisfying
scratch until the itch was gone.
(still no mention of my heart)
everything changes
so much is unclear.
and the new year will do little
to clear
things up.
it's another day
on the calendar, another page
turned.
into another month.
another year.
everything is in flux.
changes
are everywhere.
nothing ever stays the same,
but us.
and us, we're still here.
and the new year will do little
to clear
things up.
it's another day
on the calendar, another page
turned.
into another month.
another year.
everything is in flux.
changes
are everywhere.
nothing ever stays the same,
but us.
and us, we're still here.
the airport visit
we go to the airport
to watch people.
the real life drama
of arrivals
and departures.
the tears and hugs, the sweet
farewells
waving until
each is out of sight.
the rush of it all.
the whirlwind
of people moving towards
where they need to go.
the luggage pulled
and carried.
the sound of jets on
the tarmac,in the air,
landing.
there is so much love
and loneness
in the faces, it's hard
to take it all in.
to watch people.
the real life drama
of arrivals
and departures.
the tears and hugs, the sweet
farewells
waving until
each is out of sight.
the rush of it all.
the whirlwind
of people moving towards
where they need to go.
the luggage pulled
and carried.
the sound of jets on
the tarmac,in the air,
landing.
there is so much love
and loneness
in the faces, it's hard
to take it all in.
party shrimp
give me a pound of shrimp
I tell the
fish person behind the counter,
who
happens to be a very
short woman
from south east asia.
I can see the top of her head.
what kind?
she yells over the counter.
I look at the rows of shrimp
on ice.
they're from everywhere.
some cooked, some raw
some still in their
little grey shelled
jackets.
it's the ellis island of
shrimp.
I don't know, I tell her.
cooked, no shells
and big.
okay, she says. pulling
out handfuls of shrimp
with her blue gloved hands.
party tonight?
we'll see, I tell her.
the day is young.
I tell the
fish person behind the counter,
who
happens to be a very
short woman
from south east asia.
I can see the top of her head.
what kind?
she yells over the counter.
I look at the rows of shrimp
on ice.
they're from everywhere.
some cooked, some raw
some still in their
little grey shelled
jackets.
it's the ellis island of
shrimp.
I don't know, I tell her.
cooked, no shells
and big.
okay, she says. pulling
out handfuls of shrimp
with her blue gloved hands.
party tonight?
we'll see, I tell her.
the day is young.
dating
it's a season of noshing.
snacking
nibbling.
opening and closing the
fridge
to see what's in there
to hold
you over until dinner.
to hold you over
until the real deal is put
on the table.
the banquet.
the three course meal.
wine,
dessert and coffee
an after dinner
drink to top it off
while you sit by the fire,
before bed.
snacking
nibbling.
opening and closing the
fridge
to see what's in there
to hold
you over until dinner.
to hold you over
until the real deal is put
on the table.
the banquet.
the three course meal.
wine,
dessert and coffee
an after dinner
drink to top it off
while you sit by the fire,
before bed.
Monday, December 30, 2019
the long talk into the night
we talk long into the night
finishing a bottle of wine.
we say bitter things to one another,
words
we'll regret
in the morning. but it's truth.
the love is over.
what was
never was, we were passengers
on a train
going nowhere.
each afraid to get off. each staring
out the window
at others
at the station, also
hoping for the courage
to move
on with their lives.
we make no plans though to
do anything about it.
we sleep on it, and another
day
turns into another year.
the wind of time pushes grey
into our hair,
deepens our eyes.
finishing a bottle of wine.
we say bitter things to one another,
words
we'll regret
in the morning. but it's truth.
the love is over.
what was
never was, we were passengers
on a train
going nowhere.
each afraid to get off. each staring
out the window
at others
at the station, also
hoping for the courage
to move
on with their lives.
we make no plans though to
do anything about it.
we sleep on it, and another
day
turns into another year.
the wind of time pushes grey
into our hair,
deepens our eyes.
each and every eye
the moons spreads across
the lawn
like milk.
a silk pond upon the darkened
green.
I see you are about to cry,
which
is not unusual
it's how you live your life.
nothing
but you can be observed or
admired,
you must have each and
very eye.
the lawn
like milk.
a silk pond upon the darkened
green.
I see you are about to cry,
which
is not unusual
it's how you live your life.
nothing
but you can be observed or
admired,
you must have each and
very eye.
into the shadows
I see you at the back of a room.
standing there alone,
your arms folded across
your chest.
you are unreachable. nothing
has changed.
the sadness of you is on your
face.
where there was light, there is
none.
the shadow has become your home.
your voice
is lost in the wilderness
of trees.
at last I have realized that you
have no heart.
no soul.
there was never any future
between us.
no present.
your existence was imaginary.
I can only look at you so long,
before turning away.
I am free.
standing there alone,
your arms folded across
your chest.
you are unreachable. nothing
has changed.
the sadness of you is on your
face.
where there was light, there is
none.
the shadow has become your home.
your voice
is lost in the wilderness
of trees.
at last I have realized that you
have no heart.
no soul.
there was never any future
between us.
no present.
your existence was imaginary.
I can only look at you so long,
before turning away.
I am free.
the carousel
life is not a carousel.
although it feels it at times.
riding the fake
pretty horse
with a stiff mane. a glimmer
of false joy
in her eye.
but it's not real.
the whisper of song.
the kiss of spring,
the sweetness of summer wine.
it's a dizzying time
and the sooner you hop off
and leave that carnival world
behind,
the sooner your life
will find peace.
real love.
although it feels it at times.
riding the fake
pretty horse
with a stiff mane. a glimmer
of false joy
in her eye.
but it's not real.
the whisper of song.
the kiss of spring,
the sweetness of summer wine.
it's a dizzying time
and the sooner you hop off
and leave that carnival world
behind,
the sooner your life
will find peace.
real love.
waiting for what's next
they put his body on ice
until
the family figures out what to do
with him.
it was always like that.
what to do with him.
how much, they say. gathering
around the table
smoking, uneasy in their chairs.
where to bury him.
the coffin, the headstone.
an obituary?
what would it say.
so he stays on ice. his own money
counted and
already spent.
his stash taken, the pockets
emptied.
his days were long and hard.
he felt the cold
as he waited
on the fountain steps.
crumpled in used clothes.
and now this.
waiting again, for what's next.
until
the family figures out what to do
with him.
it was always like that.
what to do with him.
how much, they say. gathering
around the table
smoking, uneasy in their chairs.
where to bury him.
the coffin, the headstone.
an obituary?
what would it say.
so he stays on ice. his own money
counted and
already spent.
his stash taken, the pockets
emptied.
his days were long and hard.
he felt the cold
as he waited
on the fountain steps.
crumpled in used clothes.
and now this.
waiting again, for what's next.
ringing in the new
we put our hats on.
we're holding glasses of champagne
in plastic cups.
the ball drops.
we cheer in the new year.
confetti is everywhere.
we kiss.
but there is doubt.
you can feel it in the stale
air.
we are happy in the moment.
strangers at this late hour.
so much of life is like that.
a ball dropping,
the thrill
of the new.
then real life sets in and
there
is trash to be taken out.
we're holding glasses of champagne
in plastic cups.
the ball drops.
we cheer in the new year.
confetti is everywhere.
we kiss.
but there is doubt.
you can feel it in the stale
air.
we are happy in the moment.
strangers at this late hour.
so much of life is like that.
a ball dropping,
the thrill
of the new.
then real life sets in and
there
is trash to be taken out.
natalie
i see the tremble in his hand.
the voice, hoarse.
he's not well.
he's younger than i am, so it
worries me.
are you okay, i ask him.
not really he says, his cup
rattling in his hand as he moves
it slowly to his lips.
remember the time we were in
Georgetown,
it was cold and we waited
in line for an hour to get into
Winstons on M street,
and we met those girls from
Marymount? how we both wanted
to dance
with the same girl? what was
her name?
natalie? i say. brown hair,
blue eyes.
ah, he says. she was something,
wasn't she.
the voice, hoarse.
he's not well.
he's younger than i am, so it
worries me.
are you okay, i ask him.
not really he says, his cup
rattling in his hand as he moves
it slowly to his lips.
remember the time we were in
Georgetown,
it was cold and we waited
in line for an hour to get into
Winstons on M street,
and we met those girls from
Marymount? how we both wanted
to dance
with the same girl? what was
her name?
natalie? i say. brown hair,
blue eyes.
ah, he says. she was something,
wasn't she.
halfway there
it's clear.
through the window.
wet with rain.
the last leaf
has fallen,
the trees are bare,
the branches
are crooked limbs,
arthritic
and grey as far as
the eye can see.
not a drop of green.
but we're halfway there.
through the window.
wet with rain.
the last leaf
has fallen,
the trees are bare,
the branches
are crooked limbs,
arthritic
and grey as far as
the eye can see.
not a drop of green.
but we're halfway there.
peter at the golden gate
peter at the gate
says, so, you made it.
did you find everything you were
looking for?
I laugh. the last time I heard
that I was checking out
in line
at the grocery store.
not really, I tell him.
I need another few years.
I need another trip down
the aisles.
the fun aisle. the love aisle.
the accomplishment aisle.
ah, he says, too late for that,
and hands me my fluffy robe
trimmed in gold.
orientation is two clouds
on the left.
says, so, you made it.
did you find everything you were
looking for?
I laugh. the last time I heard
that I was checking out
in line
at the grocery store.
not really, I tell him.
I need another few years.
I need another trip down
the aisles.
the fun aisle. the love aisle.
the accomplishment aisle.
ah, he says, too late for that,
and hands me my fluffy robe
trimmed in gold.
orientation is two clouds
on the left.
Sunday, December 29, 2019
relation ships
some ships are meant to go down.
a small hole
will do that, slowly perhaps,
but down she'll go. straight to the bottom
no matter how hard
you bucket out the water.
a larger hole, of course will
sink things even quicker.
I've been on enough of these doomed
ships to know,
strap tightly on
that life preserver.
a small hole
will do that, slowly perhaps,
but down she'll go. straight to the bottom
no matter how hard
you bucket out the water.
a larger hole, of course will
sink things even quicker.
I've been on enough of these doomed
ships to know,
strap tightly on
that life preserver.
the in laws are coming
I tell my friend how envious
I am of him, how wonderful
it is
that he's found love. that's
he's found
his soul mate for life.
married
and secure in his new house.
the yard, the fence. the wreathe
on the door.
the sign that reads home sweet home.
the in-laws arriving for the weekend.
he looks at me and pulls out
a sheet of paper
and says here,
here's the weekend list
of chores I need
to do.
at 7 a.m.
walk the dog.
rake the leaves.
shovel the snow.
the driveway needs salt,
the gutters need
to be cleaned.
the tires need air.
lunch at noon. shopping.
then there's painting to be done.
furniture to be moved.
sheets to be changed.
a light to be hung.
then we'll check the dog
for fleas.
then dinner. tv.
then sleep.
but you love her, don't you,
I ask,
as he puts the list away.
of course I do. he says.
of course. it's the life I've
been waiting for.
I am of him, how wonderful
it is
that he's found love. that's
he's found
his soul mate for life.
married
and secure in his new house.
the yard, the fence. the wreathe
on the door.
the sign that reads home sweet home.
the in-laws arriving for the weekend.
he looks at me and pulls out
a sheet of paper
and says here,
here's the weekend list
of chores I need
to do.
at 7 a.m.
walk the dog.
rake the leaves.
shovel the snow.
the driveway needs salt,
the gutters need
to be cleaned.
the tires need air.
lunch at noon. shopping.
then there's painting to be done.
furniture to be moved.
sheets to be changed.
a light to be hung.
then we'll check the dog
for fleas.
then dinner. tv.
then sleep.
but you love her, don't you,
I ask,
as he puts the list away.
of course I do. he says.
of course. it's the life I've
been waiting for.
i'm sentimental
i'm sentimental
and yet can rip a card or letter
in two,
sent in love,
or like,
or something that pretends
to be either.
a photo as well
of happier times without
so much as shedding
a tear.
not a single boo hoo.
i can light a match and send
up
the sweetest of sentiments.
toss a box
of chocolates
out the window without
a thought.
but believe me, i'm
very sentimental,
or at least i used to be
when it came to me
and you.
and yet can rip a card or letter
in two,
sent in love,
or like,
or something that pretends
to be either.
a photo as well
of happier times without
so much as shedding
a tear.
not a single boo hoo.
i can light a match and send
up
the sweetest of sentiments.
toss a box
of chocolates
out the window without
a thought.
but believe me, i'm
very sentimental,
or at least i used to be
when it came to me
and you.
setting limits
when the mice
get into the cupboard and eat
through a box
of penne pasta, you smile.
you put another box up there.
it's cold
you reason, they have no where
to else to go
there's snow on the ground,
it's nearly five below.
but come spring, they'll be
gone.
and you'll plug up the hole.
compassion has its limits.
get into the cupboard and eat
through a box
of penne pasta, you smile.
you put another box up there.
it's cold
you reason, they have no where
to else to go
there's snow on the ground,
it's nearly five below.
but come spring, they'll be
gone.
and you'll plug up the hole.
compassion has its limits.
we were in paraguay
I know this dream, she says,
touching my shoulder,
waking me up from the dream.
I had it too, the same one.
we were in love.
we were in Paraguay together.
the shine was shining
on the wet streets.
someone was in the church tower,
ringing the bell, the streets
were covered in white flowers.
it was before this, before
everything.
we were young, innocent.
almost without sin. there
was nothing that could keep
us apart.
go back to sleep, I tell her,
putting my head back down
on the pillow.
take me with you, she says.
don't leave me behind.
okay, I say to her, taking
her hand into mine. okay.
touching my shoulder,
waking me up from the dream.
I had it too, the same one.
we were in love.
we were in Paraguay together.
the shine was shining
on the wet streets.
someone was in the church tower,
ringing the bell, the streets
were covered in white flowers.
it was before this, before
everything.
we were young, innocent.
almost without sin. there
was nothing that could keep
us apart.
go back to sleep, I tell her,
putting my head back down
on the pillow.
take me with you, she says.
don't leave me behind.
okay, I say to her, taking
her hand into mine. okay.
the surprise
your hair on end.
the tingle of spine, the opening
of retinas
in each raised eye.
the sweat upon your brow,
the pressure rising. the heart
racing.
the tumble of gut
full of strangely arriving
butterflies.
a sudden jolt of fear
pricks your mind.
one never gets used to being
surprised.
the tingle of spine, the opening
of retinas
in each raised eye.
the sweat upon your brow,
the pressure rising. the heart
racing.
the tumble of gut
full of strangely arriving
butterflies.
a sudden jolt of fear
pricks your mind.
one never gets used to being
surprised.
the new year
where has everyone gone to,
you ask
in the silence
of a rainy street. has exhaustion
set in
from the frenzy of holiday.
has the air left
the balloon of a year almost
done.
the money spent, the drinks
gone dry.
no one dances anymore. no one
takes a hand
and leads a loved one, slowly
across the floor.
the world is tired.
the music has stopped.
a new year will erase the old
year.
what will enfold?
you ask
in the silence
of a rainy street. has exhaustion
set in
from the frenzy of holiday.
has the air left
the balloon of a year almost
done.
the money spent, the drinks
gone dry.
no one dances anymore. no one
takes a hand
and leads a loved one, slowly
across the floor.
the world is tired.
the music has stopped.
a new year will erase the old
year.
what will enfold?
everything french
i go into the little French store,
where everything
is French.
a bell rings when you open the door.
the place is overflowing with
cups, dishes, towels,
stuff
my mother would love. i go slow
so as to not
break anything.
one sneeze could bring the place
crashing down.
i spot an apron with a chicken
on it,
but it's not my size. a metal
statue of
the Eiffel tower. ninety dollars.
what would that be in francs, or is
it euros now?
there's a basket of fake bread,
paper mache or something.
rolls and baquettes, they look
real, shiny as if lathered with butter.
i pick up the baquette
and think about how it would make
a nice sandwich.
lots of wine books, wine openers,
wine corks. wine wine wine.
there's a calendar of paris in the spring.
i open it up hoping
fifi or michelle
might be in it lounging
around in some café wearing
fishnet stockings. nope.
i wander around
until the woman in back
whispers loudly, can i help you
with anything? then i leave.
where everything
is French.
a bell rings when you open the door.
the place is overflowing with
cups, dishes, towels,
stuff
my mother would love. i go slow
so as to not
break anything.
one sneeze could bring the place
crashing down.
i spot an apron with a chicken
on it,
but it's not my size. a metal
statue of
the Eiffel tower. ninety dollars.
what would that be in francs, or is
it euros now?
there's a basket of fake bread,
paper mache or something.
rolls and baquettes, they look
real, shiny as if lathered with butter.
i pick up the baquette
and think about how it would make
a nice sandwich.
lots of wine books, wine openers,
wine corks. wine wine wine.
there's a calendar of paris in the spring.
i open it up hoping
fifi or michelle
might be in it lounging
around in some café wearing
fishnet stockings. nope.
i wander around
until the woman in back
whispers loudly, can i help you
with anything? then i leave.
bombshell review
it's a horrible movie,
bombshell,
with horrible real life people
doing horrible
real things.
it's all neatly wrapped
up in a glossy
box.
it's a movie where you don't
have to think too much.
you just sit there and watch
eating popcorn
wondering when it will end.
it's the world we
live in. frighteningly
sleazy and corrupt.
it's what you see on tv
everyday, at every hour.
from politicians, to lawyers,
and the media.
it's non stop.
it might be time for another
great flood.
bombshell,
with horrible real life people
doing horrible
real things.
it's all neatly wrapped
up in a glossy
box.
it's a movie where you don't
have to think too much.
you just sit there and watch
eating popcorn
wondering when it will end.
it's the world we
live in. frighteningly
sleazy and corrupt.
it's what you see on tv
everyday, at every hour.
from politicians, to lawyers,
and the media.
it's non stop.
it might be time for another
great flood.
a slow boat to somewhere
I think about going to china
as I sit
in a Chinese restaurant,
but I don't know anyone there, yet.
take a slow boat, perhaps.
I don't speak the language,
or know anything about it other than
what I've
learned at
Peking Gourmet, but it might be fun.
I stare at the paper placemat,
trying to figure out which animal
I am.
the rat, the snake, the rabbit.
then I order another mai tai, that
first one
went down too easy.
the guy comes over to refill
my water glass again,
after I took another sip.
I want to ask him about china,
but I think he's from Cuba.
Cuba might be fun too, closer
and it's like going back into time.
as I sit
in a Chinese restaurant,
but I don't know anyone there, yet.
take a slow boat, perhaps.
I don't speak the language,
or know anything about it other than
what I've
learned at
Peking Gourmet, but it might be fun.
I stare at the paper placemat,
trying to figure out which animal
I am.
the rat, the snake, the rabbit.
then I order another mai tai, that
first one
went down too easy.
the guy comes over to refill
my water glass again,
after I took another sip.
I want to ask him about china,
but I think he's from Cuba.
Cuba might be fun too, closer
and it's like going back into time.
it's like riding a bike
i'll be on the look out for you,
he says,
putting his hand on my shoulder
in a friendly way,
but condescending way.
that's some wild story you have there.
what a cup of crazy that woman was.
i'll see if my girlfriend has any
friends
that are single. but normal women.
not nuts, promise.
how old are you?
I laugh. don't worry about it.
being alone
is fine
after the living hell I went through.
it's nice. the quiet. the calmness.
the peace. yesterday I read a book
for over an hour.
a book? he says. really?
i'll know when it's time to jump
back into
the pool, tell him.
okay, okay, he says. I get you.
but let me know.
it's like riding a bike, you fall
over and then you get back on.
he says,
putting his hand on my shoulder
in a friendly way,
but condescending way.
that's some wild story you have there.
what a cup of crazy that woman was.
i'll see if my girlfriend has any
friends
that are single. but normal women.
not nuts, promise.
how old are you?
I laugh. don't worry about it.
being alone
is fine
after the living hell I went through.
it's nice. the quiet. the calmness.
the peace. yesterday I read a book
for over an hour.
a book? he says. really?
i'll know when it's time to jump
back into
the pool, tell him.
okay, okay, he says. I get you.
but let me know.
it's like riding a bike, you fall
over and then you get back on.
love yourself
it's a matter of rewiring,
she tells you.
getting the neurons to run
on different pathways.
light up new lights.
take a new way home, change.
get out of town,
run, take a break, do things
differently.
get busy. get happy
doing all the things you like
and love.
don't sit too long
with ruminations, but
move on. don't dwell,
don't stay too long with
what was.
the new is the pathway
out.
above all, love yourself.
she tells you.
getting the neurons to run
on different pathways.
light up new lights.
take a new way home, change.
get out of town,
run, take a break, do things
differently.
get busy. get happy
doing all the things you like
and love.
don't sit too long
with ruminations, but
move on. don't dwell,
don't stay too long with
what was.
the new is the pathway
out.
above all, love yourself.
Saturday, December 28, 2019
the evangelist
his birthday arrives.
my brother.
the evangelist.
fourteen months ahead of me.
brilliant
and kind.
another year down.
generous to a fault.
i could do well to follow
him.
we're heading in the same
direction,
but on different paths.
my brother.
the evangelist.
fourteen months ahead of me.
brilliant
and kind.
another year down.
generous to a fault.
i could do well to follow
him.
we're heading in the same
direction,
but on different paths.
senior discount
i go through the prompts to buy
movie tickets.
oh look, there's a discount
for seniors.
it's high time i started taking
advantage of
being so old.
damn right. where's my walker,
my cane,
my seeing eye dog, damn it.
kids get out of my yard.
where's my oatmeal, my teeth,
my prune juice?
where's
my Saturday evening post.
my reader's
digest
my melba toast?
did i ever tell you about
the time at Woodstock, when
Janis Joplin invited me into
her tent?
oh yeah, she was a wild one.
hop on my lap little one
and let grandpop tell you
that story.
movie tickets.
oh look, there's a discount
for seniors.
it's high time i started taking
advantage of
being so old.
damn right. where's my walker,
my cane,
my seeing eye dog, damn it.
kids get out of my yard.
where's my oatmeal, my teeth,
my prune juice?
where's
my Saturday evening post.
my reader's
digest
my melba toast?
did i ever tell you about
the time at Woodstock, when
Janis Joplin invited me into
her tent?
oh yeah, she was a wild one.
hop on my lap little one
and let grandpop tell you
that story.
a change is gonna come
I listen to Otis
on the radio, a change is gonna
come.
it's a sweet melancholy song,
that sways
and flows. you don't ever want
it to end.
but you do want the change,
you want it to come.
you can feel it in your bones.
we all need a change.
a new day.
a fresh start.
a change is gonna come, let
it play.
on the radio, a change is gonna
come.
it's a sweet melancholy song,
that sways
and flows. you don't ever want
it to end.
but you do want the change,
you want it to come.
you can feel it in your bones.
we all need a change.
a new day.
a fresh start.
a change is gonna come, let
it play.
i'm a wholesales gem dealer
i'm in turkey right now she writes
to me
via text.
it's jane, a stunning blonde
on elite singles.
i'm a wholesales gem dealer,
she writes,
but I do real estate in Greece.
I have a son named dusty.
I look at my phone and shake my
head.
I get the funny feeling
that she might be a scammer. oh my.
(on the internet, no less)
her age is sixty, but her glamor
shot says thirty.
what a nice name, dusty, I write
back.
a strange coincidence, my house
is dusty. the maid is coming
tomorrow.
what do you do, she writes.
i'm an international
deli meat salesman, I tell her.
I specialize in salami and uncured hams.
she writes back. i'm a wholesales
gem dealer, but I do real estate
in Greece.
what's your son's name, I type in.
to me
via text.
it's jane, a stunning blonde
on elite singles.
i'm a wholesales gem dealer,
she writes,
but I do real estate in Greece.
I have a son named dusty.
I look at my phone and shake my
head.
I get the funny feeling
that she might be a scammer. oh my.
(on the internet, no less)
her age is sixty, but her glamor
shot says thirty.
what a nice name, dusty, I write
back.
a strange coincidence, my house
is dusty. the maid is coming
tomorrow.
what do you do, she writes.
i'm an international
deli meat salesman, I tell her.
I specialize in salami and uncured hams.
she writes back. i'm a wholesales
gem dealer, but I do real estate
in Greece.
what's your son's name, I type in.
peccadillos
they were mild peccadillos
at first.
small sins.
like using all the hot water,
or trimming
her hair in the sink.
hiding her phone, walking
deep into the woods
alone.
leaving the door unlocked.
whistling
while I tried to write,
or think.
and sleeping in the other room
at night.
small things, small things,
but in time,
something obviously
wasn't right.
at first.
small sins.
like using all the hot water,
or trimming
her hair in the sink.
hiding her phone, walking
deep into the woods
alone.
leaving the door unlocked.
whistling
while I tried to write,
or think.
and sleeping in the other room
at night.
small things, small things,
but in time,
something obviously
wasn't right.
the first date
I knew we wouldn't get along
when she pulled
out her banjo
and began to play.
her sister took out a pair
of spoons
and started banging them
on her boney knees.
her aunt Sadie came out
of the kitchen
with a washboard
and pops came in from milking
a goat
and started playing his fiddle.
her mother put her teeth in and
began to yodel.
they passed around a jug
of white lighting
and the children started
dancing. they let the pigs
in too,
as I raised my shoes, sitting
there with a bouquet of flowers
in my calvin klein suit.
when she pulled
out her banjo
and began to play.
her sister took out a pair
of spoons
and started banging them
on her boney knees.
her aunt Sadie came out
of the kitchen
with a washboard
and pops came in from milking
a goat
and started playing his fiddle.
her mother put her teeth in and
began to yodel.
they passed around a jug
of white lighting
and the children started
dancing. they let the pigs
in too,
as I raised my shoes, sitting
there with a bouquet of flowers
in my calvin klein suit.
coup de grace
life makes more sense
when the truce is known.
no longer adrift
in the currents, or blown
off course
by the dark winds.
you know now what it truly
is.
rarely do we get such a sweet
gift from above, a final straw
upon the back. thank your
lucky
stars
for a coup de grace.
when the truce is known.
no longer adrift
in the currents, or blown
off course
by the dark winds.
you know now what it truly
is.
rarely do we get such a sweet
gift from above, a final straw
upon the back. thank your
lucky
stars
for a coup de grace.
auditions on thursday
you reach the denouement period
of things.
when the climax has been
reached.
justice has been served
and
the masks are off revealing who
is really who.
the complexities of the plot
are made clearer.
Shakespeare does well with it.
tying all the loose
strings together
into a fine satisfying knot.
the play is over, the curtain
closes.
auditions will be held on
Thursday for what comes next.
of things.
when the climax has been
reached.
justice has been served
and
the masks are off revealing who
is really who.
the complexities of the plot
are made clearer.
Shakespeare does well with it.
tying all the loose
strings together
into a fine satisfying knot.
the play is over, the curtain
closes.
auditions will be held on
Thursday for what comes next.
Friday, December 27, 2019
will there be jello?
I get ten pounds of medical
insurance
information in the mail.
the mailman was bent over
with the package
and through it on the porch.
i begin to sort through it.
I sigh. I read.
the print is so small.
I thought I was done with this.
it was all signed and confirmed
last year.
plan b, plan d. plan A.
with prescriptions,
without.
eye care and dental? maybe.
what about co pay.
what about primary visits.
specialist visits?
MRI's and x-rays. flu shots
and tetanus.
what about the colonoscopy,
god help me.
how much are my premiums?
will I keep my doctor, whoever
she is this year.
what's my yearly limit.
cost per room for an overnight
stay?
will there be jello?
insurance
information in the mail.
the mailman was bent over
with the package
and through it on the porch.
i begin to sort through it.
I sigh. I read.
the print is so small.
I thought I was done with this.
it was all signed and confirmed
last year.
plan b, plan d. plan A.
with prescriptions,
without.
eye care and dental? maybe.
what about co pay.
what about primary visits.
specialist visits?
MRI's and x-rays. flu shots
and tetanus.
what about the colonoscopy,
god help me.
how much are my premiums?
will I keep my doctor, whoever
she is this year.
what's my yearly limit.
cost per room for an overnight
stay?
will there be jello?
she was a child
we were different.
blue was my color, red hers.
she liked
to fight,
she saw no humor in anything,
I saw
it in all.
she slept on the left,
me the right.
I preferred peace.
I tried to tell the truth.
she lied.
I had patience and loyalty.
she stared into her phone
hidden in her hand
and punched at the keys.
I walked at midnight,
she lay alone
and stared more into her
phone.
she cried. she played with
her rosary beads.
I listened.
she covered up her ears,
she wiped at her reddened eyes.
I saw the end.
she saw nothing but
the sadness of her life,
which had no end no matter
where
she was going next.
she was a child in need of
a father, only that,
might make it right.
blue was my color, red hers.
she liked
to fight,
she saw no humor in anything,
I saw
it in all.
she slept on the left,
me the right.
I preferred peace.
I tried to tell the truth.
she lied.
I had patience and loyalty.
she stared into her phone
hidden in her hand
and punched at the keys.
I walked at midnight,
she lay alone
and stared more into her
phone.
she cried. she played with
her rosary beads.
I listened.
she covered up her ears,
she wiped at her reddened eyes.
I saw the end.
she saw nothing but
the sadness of her life,
which had no end no matter
where
she was going next.
she was a child in need of
a father, only that,
might make it right.
it starts slowly
it starts slowly.
the missing word, the lost key.
the appointment
not kept.
memories slip, the paper curls
with age,
yellows.
our minds retreat, saying enough
with this.
give me back my childhood,
i'm not ready
for the grave.
the missing word, the lost key.
the appointment
not kept.
memories slip, the paper curls
with age,
yellows.
our minds retreat, saying enough
with this.
give me back my childhood,
i'm not ready
for the grave.
the infinite
the black sky
is pin pricked with an infinite
number
of stars.
brighter than diamonds,
brighter
than anything we could make
here
on earth.
but we doubt.
we can't imagine how
this is so, so
we
try to figure it out
and yet
only in death will we
truly to know.
is pin pricked with an infinite
number
of stars.
brighter than diamonds,
brighter
than anything we could make
here
on earth.
but we doubt.
we can't imagine how
this is so, so
we
try to figure it out
and yet
only in death will we
truly to know.
doing hard time
everyone needs a home.
a place of rest.
an island to go to,
a place without bars,
or wire,
or the dread of no hope.
to have a bed. a chair, books.
a quiet room
all your own, a refuge
to regroup, repair.
I was without joy for
over a year, seems so
much longer,
that time behind the wall
of dead love.
but now it's back,
there's peace, there's
joy, there's no longer
abuse or fear.
no more of that.
a place of rest.
an island to go to,
a place without bars,
or wire,
or the dread of no hope.
to have a bed. a chair, books.
a quiet room
all your own, a refuge
to regroup, repair.
I was without joy for
over a year, seems so
much longer,
that time behind the wall
of dead love.
but now it's back,
there's peace, there's
joy, there's no longer
abuse or fear.
no more of that.
going vegan
I decide to give up
bacon
for a few days,
okay. twelve hours.
and I have to admit,
I do feel a lot better.
i'm perkier and my skin has
a nice healthy glow to it.
i'm drinking my green juice
and slicing up
some carrots
for dinner.
I stand at the kitchen
sink,
cutting up my carrots,
celery too, I like the color.
but then I see a deer
crossing in the woods.
a healthy looking beast.
he looks my
way
and we make eye contact.
I cant help but think
of meat. of spare ribs
and pot roast. I sigh.
those were
days.
well actually, the hours.
it's only been twelve hours
and eleven minutes now.
bacon
for a few days,
okay. twelve hours.
and I have to admit,
I do feel a lot better.
i'm perkier and my skin has
a nice healthy glow to it.
i'm drinking my green juice
and slicing up
some carrots
for dinner.
I stand at the kitchen
sink,
cutting up my carrots,
celery too, I like the color.
but then I see a deer
crossing in the woods.
a healthy looking beast.
he looks my
way
and we make eye contact.
I cant help but think
of meat. of spare ribs
and pot roast. I sigh.
those were
days.
well actually, the hours.
it's only been twelve hours
and eleven minutes now.
Thursday, December 26, 2019
the unknown heart
is there a fate worse
than
death, I believe there is.
for death has no sting,
with faith.
a thousand times worse
is being with someone
when there is no
love,
trapped in a life of
no trust, no kindness. no joy.
you are truly alone
when someone sleeps beside you,
and their heart is dark
and
unknown.
than
death, I believe there is.
for death has no sting,
with faith.
a thousand times worse
is being with someone
when there is no
love,
trapped in a life of
no trust, no kindness. no joy.
you are truly alone
when someone sleeps beside you,
and their heart is dark
and
unknown.
true north
once you find true north
do not
be swayed in another direction.
do not let charm fool you.
do not listen to the siren's song.
don't listen
to those who want you to go
their way.
it's a disaster in the making.
I have wandered
off course many times.
persuaded with a kiss and more.
so I know, at least for me
which way
to go.
my true north, not theirs.
do not
be swayed in another direction.
do not let charm fool you.
do not listen to the siren's song.
don't listen
to those who want you to go
their way.
it's a disaster in the making.
I have wandered
off course many times.
persuaded with a kiss and more.
so I know, at least for me
which way
to go.
my true north, not theirs.
the outside
when I look back,
I see how beauty made her smile.
the shape
of people.
the size, the weight,
the clothes one wore.
a superficial take on the world.
a house just so.
the perfect chair,
the perfect rose.
her hand always on her phone,
saying look,
scrolling through a hundred
photos,
look how beautiful these young
people are.
never once, saying how kind
or good they were.
I see how beauty made her smile.
the shape
of people.
the size, the weight,
the clothes one wore.
a superficial take on the world.
a house just so.
the perfect chair,
the perfect rose.
her hand always on her phone,
saying look,
scrolling through a hundred
photos,
look how beautiful these young
people are.
never once, saying how kind
or good they were.
spiritual books
i dive
into another one of Henri
Nouwen's
depressing
takes on spirituality.
the joy is flattened
with guilt
and sin, with remorse,
regret and
depression. at times
it's brutal
and dark.
a sunless field of grey.
you can feel his wounds
bleed,
see the bruised heart,
his conflicting
faith,
not matching his desires.
his unflinching commitment
to the catholic
faith, despite so much
he doesn't agree with.
it's a hard read,
one I seldom go back to
anymore,
quickly putting it
down, skimming the pages,
finding little
in relief.
into another one of Henri
Nouwen's
depressing
takes on spirituality.
the joy is flattened
with guilt
and sin, with remorse,
regret and
depression. at times
it's brutal
and dark.
a sunless field of grey.
you can feel his wounds
bleed,
see the bruised heart,
his conflicting
faith,
not matching his desires.
his unflinching commitment
to the catholic
faith, despite so much
he doesn't agree with.
it's a hard read,
one I seldom go back to
anymore,
quickly putting it
down, skimming the pages,
finding little
in relief.
A Mere Spark
a spark
sets aflame so much,
just the mere twitch of metal
on metal or
lighting
in rain.
a wire frayed,
a thrown match, a word,
a glance
in anger
does nothing if not
the same.
it takes
so little to set the dry world
on fire.
the house,
the love, a marriage,
all so easily
set asunder,
so quickly devoured.
sets aflame so much,
just the mere twitch of metal
on metal or
lighting
in rain.
a wire frayed,
a thrown match, a word,
a glance
in anger
does nothing if not
the same.
it takes
so little to set the dry world
on fire.
the house,
the love, a marriage,
all so easily
set asunder,
so quickly devoured.
life music
there are songs
that feel like soundtracks to your
own life.
they resonate. they feel like they
were written for you.
the words are true, the melody.
whether sad, or joyous songs.
they fit the moment.
the mood.
Gordon lightfoot does that for me.
beautiful and if you could read my mind.
in the early morning rain.
or Costello's almost blue,
Allison,
or ship building.
al green, let's stay together.
tom wait's
I hope I don't fall in love with you.
blue valentine
Kentucky avenue.
everybody's talking by nilsson
old friends, the dangling conversation.
paul simon.
a hazy shade of winter.
it's a long list, a bevy of songs
that you've heard
for years, for decades
and will listen to
for more to come.
they fit, they capture where you are
in the moment.
in love, or without love.
they feel like home to you.
that feel like soundtracks to your
own life.
they resonate. they feel like they
were written for you.
the words are true, the melody.
whether sad, or joyous songs.
they fit the moment.
the mood.
Gordon lightfoot does that for me.
beautiful and if you could read my mind.
in the early morning rain.
or Costello's almost blue,
Allison,
or ship building.
al green, let's stay together.
tom wait's
I hope I don't fall in love with you.
blue valentine
Kentucky avenue.
everybody's talking by nilsson
old friends, the dangling conversation.
paul simon.
a hazy shade of winter.
it's a long list, a bevy of songs
that you've heard
for years, for decades
and will listen to
for more to come.
they fit, they capture where you are
in the moment.
in love, or without love.
they feel like home to you.
he meant no harm
you get the call.
your man jake is gone.
he's finally let go of the wheel.
there is sadness, grief, sorrow,
but a strange
feeling
of relief too.
life was hard for him, each
day
a struggle
with addictions, broken
dreams, promises
unkept. always
on the move.
shelters, the woods, a couch.
a friend's
shed
to lay his things, rest
his head.
every soup kitchen knew him.
I see him now in old town,
at the fountain,
cigarette hanging from his lips,
combing his long hair
in the summer sun,
a pocket full of cash
from a days work,
checking out the women
as they walk
by, ignoring his whistles
and cat calls.
he meant no harm.
your man jake is gone.
he's finally let go of the wheel.
there is sadness, grief, sorrow,
but a strange
feeling
of relief too.
life was hard for him, each
day
a struggle
with addictions, broken
dreams, promises
unkept. always
on the move.
shelters, the woods, a couch.
a friend's
shed
to lay his things, rest
his head.
every soup kitchen knew him.
I see him now in old town,
at the fountain,
cigarette hanging from his lips,
combing his long hair
in the summer sun,
a pocket full of cash
from a days work,
checking out the women
as they walk
by, ignoring his whistles
and cat calls.
he meant no harm.
the ghost of christmas past
as a new year approaches,
a new decade
you look back at the last
twelve
months
and take stock of the good
and bad,
the wrong turns
taken,
the people you've lost,
or allowed
into your life that you
shouldn't have.
you see the error of your ways,
but don't get too hard
on yourself.
you're human, you expect
the best out of everyone,
you believe that people
for the most part are good
and honest, true,
and when you discover that
they aren't,
it's not on you.
it's on them. let go,
release the darkness,
the ghost of Christmas
past,
and live in the light again.
it's a new year, a new day.
a new decade
you look back at the last
twelve
months
and take stock of the good
and bad,
the wrong turns
taken,
the people you've lost,
or allowed
into your life that you
shouldn't have.
you see the error of your ways,
but don't get too hard
on yourself.
you're human, you expect
the best out of everyone,
you believe that people
for the most part are good
and honest, true,
and when you discover that
they aren't,
it's not on you.
it's on them. let go,
release the darkness,
the ghost of Christmas
past,
and live in the light again.
it's a new year, a new day.
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
when Santa's sled broke down
it's still dark
when I get out of bed
and go see what the racket
is in the other room,
I see
santa, half drunk on the floor.
his boots are off.
the place is full of elves too,
eating everything they can get
their little
hands on. they've wiped
out all my cookies
and are slicing up tomorrows
honey baked ham.
apparently the sled broke down.
hey, hey, I say to him, shaking
his shoulder.
yo, like what up dude?
kids are waiting,
they're depending on you.
he pulls off his fake beard,
and scratches his face.
I don't know, he says. i'm getting
too old for this.
something's wrong with the sled.
these new sleds, with the computers
and all.
I miss the old ones, with reindeer.
you don't have any reindeer?
no prancer, dancer, pluto
and and...the other ones.
yeah I do, but they're just for show.
they're up on the roof.
probably freezing their acorns off.
some of them got shot when we flew
too low over the red states. sorry
about the blood on the roof.
but I think it's going to rain tomorrow.
the sled runs on plutonium now,
very high tech.
I think the software needs a reboot,
or something.
I get my phone out and google
santa's sled and we work through
the problem.
I get my friend Jimmy on the line
in India and he texts a link
to get it up
and running again.
Santa sends one of his elves up to reboot
the system.
we all hear it start up on the roof,
and the elves start cheering in
their strange high pitched, jockey like
voices. I can't wait for them to
get out of my house.
okay, thanks, he says. I guess
I should get going. he snaps his beard
back around his face
and puts his shiny black boots back on.
do you mind if I have the rest of this,
he says, holding up a half empty
bottle of tangueray?
sure, I tell him, sure. take it.
I look around the room,
under the tree,
where's my stuff, I ask him, no gifts
for me.
oh yeah, sorry about that.
I checked my list, but I got nothing
down here for you. seems you've been a bad
boy, most of the year. I just landed
here because we stalled out.
but look, here you can have my fit
bit.
he takes it off his wrist and pats
his belly. it's useless in my line
of work, with all the cookies and cakes
along the way. alright, got to go.
hi ho silver, or something like that.
when I get out of bed
and go see what the racket
is in the other room,
I see
santa, half drunk on the floor.
his boots are off.
the place is full of elves too,
eating everything they can get
their little
hands on. they've wiped
out all my cookies
and are slicing up tomorrows
honey baked ham.
apparently the sled broke down.
hey, hey, I say to him, shaking
his shoulder.
yo, like what up dude?
kids are waiting,
they're depending on you.
he pulls off his fake beard,
and scratches his face.
I don't know, he says. i'm getting
too old for this.
something's wrong with the sled.
these new sleds, with the computers
and all.
I miss the old ones, with reindeer.
you don't have any reindeer?
no prancer, dancer, pluto
and and...the other ones.
yeah I do, but they're just for show.
they're up on the roof.
probably freezing their acorns off.
some of them got shot when we flew
too low over the red states. sorry
about the blood on the roof.
but I think it's going to rain tomorrow.
the sled runs on plutonium now,
very high tech.
I think the software needs a reboot,
or something.
I get my phone out and google
santa's sled and we work through
the problem.
I get my friend Jimmy on the line
in India and he texts a link
to get it up
and running again.
Santa sends one of his elves up to reboot
the system.
we all hear it start up on the roof,
and the elves start cheering in
their strange high pitched, jockey like
voices. I can't wait for them to
get out of my house.
okay, thanks, he says. I guess
I should get going. he snaps his beard
back around his face
and puts his shiny black boots back on.
do you mind if I have the rest of this,
he says, holding up a half empty
bottle of tangueray?
sure, I tell him, sure. take it.
I look around the room,
under the tree,
where's my stuff, I ask him, no gifts
for me.
oh yeah, sorry about that.
I checked my list, but I got nothing
down here for you. seems you've been a bad
boy, most of the year. I just landed
here because we stalled out.
but look, here you can have my fit
bit.
he takes it off his wrist and pats
his belly. it's useless in my line
of work, with all the cookies and cakes
along the way. alright, got to go.
hi ho silver, or something like that.
bowls of hard candy
my mother would put out a bowl
of hard
candy each year.
Christmas candy.
most of it was left over from
the year before,
or the year before that.
striped
and hard.
ribboned green and red,
orange too.
some gooey on the inside.
others
too sweet or bitter,
impossible to chew
without breaking a tooth.
it never went bad.
the ashtrays were full
of slick white
pieces.
clean of color, unfinished
and spit out
into hands
when no one was looking.
of hard
candy each year.
Christmas candy.
most of it was left over from
the year before,
or the year before that.
striped
and hard.
ribboned green and red,
orange too.
some gooey on the inside.
others
too sweet or bitter,
impossible to chew
without breaking a tooth.
it never went bad.
the ashtrays were full
of slick white
pieces.
clean of color, unfinished
and spit out
into hands
when no one was looking.
past present and future
if we could back,
go forward, see the present and
what
could be if not
for mistakes made, sins
committed,
lies,
betrayal and array of
bad decisions.
if we were in the Christmas
carol,
given a tour
of our life by the spirits,
would we change,
repent.
get it right. most would,
I do believe, and others
yet,
will see no wrong,
and change nothing.
go forward, see the present and
what
could be if not
for mistakes made, sins
committed,
lies,
betrayal and array of
bad decisions.
if we were in the Christmas
carol,
given a tour
of our life by the spirits,
would we change,
repent.
get it right. most would,
I do believe, and others
yet,
will see no wrong,
and change nothing.
two cups of chicken broth
I have no chicken broth
for the stuffing.
I have no celery either, but
who gives a damn
about celery.
in a panic I look up a substitute
for chicken broth, then
wonder if the grocery store
is still open.
probably. It seems that selling
stuff is more
important than celebrating
the birthday of Jesus,
savior of the world.
heathens.
maybe 7-11 carries chicken broth.
they have every thing under
the sun now.
what is chicken
broth? I wonder.
I have a whole chicken.
can I make some?
can I squeeze a chicken's
thigh, or breast and get some?
(don't go there)
it's a dilemma.
I search the cupboard and come
across a box
of vegetable broth left over
from
a previous wife.
I look at the expiration date.
looks good.
I take a chance.
for the stuffing.
I have no celery either, but
who gives a damn
about celery.
in a panic I look up a substitute
for chicken broth, then
wonder if the grocery store
is still open.
probably. It seems that selling
stuff is more
important than celebrating
the birthday of Jesus,
savior of the world.
heathens.
maybe 7-11 carries chicken broth.
they have every thing under
the sun now.
what is chicken
broth? I wonder.
I have a whole chicken.
can I make some?
can I squeeze a chicken's
thigh, or breast and get some?
(don't go there)
it's a dilemma.
I search the cupboard and come
across a box
of vegetable broth left over
from
a previous wife.
I look at the expiration date.
looks good.
I take a chance.
a box of coal for christmas
I go through my box of coal
left on my doorstep, hoping beyond
hope
that it's not just coal,
that a bag of sweets might be
at the bottom.
some thoughtful gift.
a card, or letter sealed with
a red lipped kiss.
but no.
it's just coal. black and chalky.
cold soft stones.
the powder stains my
hands, my lips
when I touch them.
but it's a very nice box.
wooden. sturdy and strong.
It will hold my weight when I
turn it over.
it'll make a perfect stool
for the closet.
left on my doorstep, hoping beyond
hope
that it's not just coal,
that a bag of sweets might be
at the bottom.
some thoughtful gift.
a card, or letter sealed with
a red lipped kiss.
but no.
it's just coal. black and chalky.
cold soft stones.
the powder stains my
hands, my lips
when I touch them.
but it's a very nice box.
wooden. sturdy and strong.
It will hold my weight when I
turn it over.
it'll make a perfect stool
for the closet.
they're together again
together
in church, in their pew.
at last again,
husband, wife, son.
family.
waving gaily to the priest,
their dearest
and closest friend.
all bowing their heads.
hands pressed
together.
repeating the rote prayers.
rosaries and hymnals
in hand.
pious and perfect.
what a pretty picture it is.
though most of it
will always be untrue.
the married man
in her phone,
in her heart, he's never
not far away, never giving up,
never through.
in church, in their pew.
at last again,
husband, wife, son.
family.
waving gaily to the priest,
their dearest
and closest friend.
all bowing their heads.
hands pressed
together.
repeating the rote prayers.
rosaries and hymnals
in hand.
pious and perfect.
what a pretty picture it is.
though most of it
will always be untrue.
the married man
in her phone,
in her heart, he's never
not far away, never giving up,
never through.
to be fair
to be fair,
to be Christian is not
always
easy.
to submit to forgiveness
is hard
when the ache
is still there.
when the bones
are cold,
the heart a remnant
of
stone, chipped and
fissured.
to be fair, even now,
with time
past
with the spirit of
holidays here,
it's hard to look back
with a gentle
heart
and say, no worries,
it's fine, go on your
way. I wish you nothing
but
good cheer.
to be Christian is not
always
easy.
to submit to forgiveness
is hard
when the ache
is still there.
when the bones
are cold,
the heart a remnant
of
stone, chipped and
fissured.
to be fair, even now,
with time
past
with the spirit of
holidays here,
it's hard to look back
with a gentle
heart
and say, no worries,
it's fine, go on your
way. I wish you nothing
but
good cheer.
the questions of tomorrow
a dozen or more
black birds find the wire
across the highway.
undisturbed by the day, or weather.
they sit
in curious judgement, or
ambivalence.
who's to know
their minds sitting still
like this,
together.
how black they are, oiled
and large, tightly feathered
in their coats,
in no hurry for whatever
lies before them.
no worries. unlike us.
shivering in the cold and
questions
of tomorrows.
black birds find the wire
across the highway.
undisturbed by the day, or weather.
they sit
in curious judgement, or
ambivalence.
who's to know
their minds sitting still
like this,
together.
how black they are, oiled
and large, tightly feathered
in their coats,
in no hurry for whatever
lies before them.
no worries. unlike us.
shivering in the cold and
questions
of tomorrows.
dash board saints
the homeless, out early.
looking much like actors
in a cecil b demille
movie.
they look like prophets.
like dashboard saints
on each corner,
layered in long coats.
bearded.
bleary eyed and worn.
persistent and undaunted by
the harshness
of wind
from cars speeding by.
what will a dollar buy.
five,
ten, does it matter.
how much will change things,
and not bring
them here again,
flushing us with a strange
guilt, or
some emotion
we can't reason with.
looking much like actors
in a cecil b demille
movie.
they look like prophets.
like dashboard saints
on each corner,
layered in long coats.
bearded.
bleary eyed and worn.
persistent and undaunted by
the harshness
of wind
from cars speeding by.
what will a dollar buy.
five,
ten, does it matter.
how much will change things,
and not bring
them here again,
flushing us with a strange
guilt, or
some emotion
we can't reason with.
early christmas morning
they are dragging the lake
on this early Christmas morning.
the men in blue, gloved,
with over coats and hats standing
at the edge
of the broken pond, the shards
of ice
opened to a sky
of blue.
someone has wandered off
in the night,
full of gin or rye,
perhaps fallen,
stepping gaily onto the sheet
of ice,
sliding, sliding until it
gave way.
no one is sure of anything, so
they're dragging
the lake
on this Christmas morning,
while the children in their houses,
warm
and gifted,
pay no mind.
on this early Christmas morning.
the men in blue, gloved,
with over coats and hats standing
at the edge
of the broken pond, the shards
of ice
opened to a sky
of blue.
someone has wandered off
in the night,
full of gin or rye,
perhaps fallen,
stepping gaily onto the sheet
of ice,
sliding, sliding until it
gave way.
no one is sure of anything, so
they're dragging
the lake
on this Christmas morning,
while the children in their houses,
warm
and gifted,
pay no mind.
Tuesday, December 24, 2019
sleep easy
it will be easy to sleep
tonight.
the glass of wine makes sure
of that.
the meal,
the pie. the cold
outside.
dreams will come fast on
this night.
folded tight between
the sheets,
the heavy blanket.
so much good, so much to
be grateful
for.
so much to delight in
within this sweet life.
tonight.
the glass of wine makes sure
of that.
the meal,
the pie. the cold
outside.
dreams will come fast on
this night.
folded tight between
the sheets,
the heavy blanket.
so much good, so much to
be grateful
for.
so much to delight in
within this sweet life.
the gift basket
when the church
left a basket
on the porch my mother cried.
a ham, a turkey.
potatoes.
everything. bread.
milk.
eggs.
chocolate.
she stood on the porch
and cried,
her hands upon her tired
face.
quickly she brought it
all inside.
embarrassed at being poor
and without a
husband,
but happy
for her children. hungry
no more.
left a basket
on the porch my mother cried.
a ham, a turkey.
potatoes.
everything. bread.
milk.
eggs.
chocolate.
she stood on the porch
and cried,
her hands upon her tired
face.
quickly she brought it
all inside.
embarrassed at being poor
and without a
husband,
but happy
for her children. hungry
no more.
a light in a window
as a paper boy,
I would pull my red wagon, with
my dog
beside me
in the cold mornings
of Maryland.
i'd bundle the papers
and toss them onto porches
as I ran
the streets, the wagon
squeaking behind me.
the quiet of Christmas
morning
was magnificent,
not a soul out, but a milk
truck rolling,
the clink of bottles,
a barking dog.
a yellow brush of
light in a window
far off.
I would pull my red wagon, with
my dog
beside me
in the cold mornings
of Maryland.
i'd bundle the papers
and toss them onto porches
as I ran
the streets, the wagon
squeaking behind me.
the quiet of Christmas
morning
was magnificent,
not a soul out, but a milk
truck rolling,
the clink of bottles,
a barking dog.
a yellow brush of
light in a window
far off.
a different light
I skip church this year.
nothing to do with faith, or disbelief.
that's never
been
a problem.
but it's different now.
I see
a different light, walk a different
path.
I went
and prayed with darkness beside
me.
believed in someone, that wasn't
worth believing.
she tested my faith, and failed
at
everything.
even the devil quotes the Bible,
and offers you peace.
nothing to do with faith, or disbelief.
that's never
been
a problem.
but it's different now.
I see
a different light, walk a different
path.
I went
and prayed with darkness beside
me.
believed in someone, that wasn't
worth believing.
she tested my faith, and failed
at
everything.
even the devil quotes the Bible,
and offers you peace.
the best is yet to come
I've always expected good things
to come.
for good people to appear,
for love to arrive
on time.
true love, not the other kind.
I'm optimistic by nature
despite
what's come along. I always see
the light
at the end of every dark
tunnel, no matter what's
gone wrong.
and truly, nothing's changed.
I still look up, and expect good.
expect joy, expect that the best
is yet to come.
to come.
for good people to appear,
for love to arrive
on time.
true love, not the other kind.
I'm optimistic by nature
despite
what's come along. I always see
the light
at the end of every dark
tunnel, no matter what's
gone wrong.
and truly, nothing's changed.
I still look up, and expect good.
expect joy, expect that the best
is yet to come.
let's hurry to bed
I put a plate of cookies
out on the table,
a nice assortment,
freshly baked.
a cold glass of milk,
before turning in.
I check the chimney to make
sure it's clean and ready.
the fire out.
I look out the window
with my son,
and stare up into
the sky. it won't be long,
I tell him, soon, soon.
let's hurry to bed.
scoot, scoot,
i'll be up shortly, now
say your prayers and tomorrow
will be here,
in a very short time.
out on the table,
a nice assortment,
freshly baked.
a cold glass of milk,
before turning in.
I check the chimney to make
sure it's clean and ready.
the fire out.
I look out the window
with my son,
and stare up into
the sky. it won't be long,
I tell him, soon, soon.
let's hurry to bed.
scoot, scoot,
i'll be up shortly, now
say your prayers and tomorrow
will be here,
in a very short time.
the crooked lines
i'll go tomorrow
to the hospital to visit a dying friend.
he's no longer conscious,
but just the same,
i'll touch his hand. say something
i'm unsure of.
merry Christmas perhaps or
i'll say goodbye.
but I know I won't be
coming here again.
i'll try and imagine
the end of my own life,
i'll compare his to mine.
no different, no better or worse.
but he's found his peace
at last
after years of living outside
the crooked lines.
to the hospital to visit a dying friend.
he's no longer conscious,
but just the same,
i'll touch his hand. say something
i'm unsure of.
merry Christmas perhaps or
i'll say goodbye.
but I know I won't be
coming here again.
i'll try and imagine
the end of my own life,
i'll compare his to mine.
no different, no better or worse.
but he's found his peace
at last
after years of living outside
the crooked lines.
as if it snowed
I take a long walk
through the narrow streets,
the high hills
of town.
the stars are out. it's nearly warm.
an odd
December day.
houses are lit
with flickering strings of lights.
the bright glow
of green and blue and red,
sleighs
and santas,
a thousand ornaments
on display.
I stop on occasion to look in,
and see inside
some windows the gatherings.
the laughter.
the food, the opening of gifts,
the toasts and pouring
of drinks.
i hear familiar music play.
there is no one out, but me.
no cars, no trucks.
my boots step softly on the pavement.
there is the purity of quiet
as if snow had
fallen and fallen
on this Christmas eve.
through the narrow streets,
the high hills
of town.
the stars are out. it's nearly warm.
an odd
December day.
houses are lit
with flickering strings of lights.
the bright glow
of green and blue and red,
sleighs
and santas,
a thousand ornaments
on display.
I stop on occasion to look in,
and see inside
some windows the gatherings.
the laughter.
the food, the opening of gifts,
the toasts and pouring
of drinks.
i hear familiar music play.
there is no one out, but me.
no cars, no trucks.
my boots step softly on the pavement.
there is the purity of quiet
as if snow had
fallen and fallen
on this Christmas eve.
fresh bread
it's nearly done.
this bread I've been cooking for
so long.
months in fact, in the hot oven.
it's sweet bread
full
of raisons and cinnamon.
a buttered crust, baked to
a satisfying crunch.
it's hard on the outside, soft
within.
it's me.
this bread I've been cooking for
so long.
months in fact, in the hot oven.
it's sweet bread
full
of raisons and cinnamon.
a buttered crust, baked to
a satisfying crunch.
it's hard on the outside, soft
within.
it's me.
tomorrow, she says
the little girl swirls
in the warm
winter day, a day before Christmas.
she sees
me and says howdy neighbor
as she always does
before her mother waves
her away.
but she whispers conspiratorially
to me,
with a small hand cupped
to her mouth
and says,
santa is coming tonight.
then she spins off to retrieve
and kick the ball, to tire
herself
and try to fall sleep before
midnight.
far past my own bedtime.
in the warm
winter day, a day before Christmas.
she sees
me and says howdy neighbor
as she always does
before her mother waves
her away.
but she whispers conspiratorially
to me,
with a small hand cupped
to her mouth
and says,
santa is coming tonight.
then she spins off to retrieve
and kick the ball, to tire
herself
and try to fall sleep before
midnight.
far past my own bedtime.
hands in the dough
I see her hands in the dough,
the powder
of flour,
the cutting board,
the kneading, rolling.
her radio on.
Christmas music.
her bird in it's cage.
snow
in the air.
the tree is up, the train
slowly
chugs around the toy track.
a mirror pond,
a miniature town
around it.
there's a phone nestled
between shoulder
and neck.
her laminated list of numbers
on the counter.
I see her hands making
pasta.
the sauce on the stove.
the wooden
spoon, the oven on.
in this world, all was well.
nothing felt wrong.
the powder
of flour,
the cutting board,
the kneading, rolling.
her radio on.
Christmas music.
her bird in it's cage.
snow
in the air.
the tree is up, the train
slowly
chugs around the toy track.
a mirror pond,
a miniature town
around it.
there's a phone nestled
between shoulder
and neck.
her laminated list of numbers
on the counter.
I see her hands making
pasta.
the sauce on the stove.
the wooden
spoon, the oven on.
in this world, all was well.
nothing felt wrong.
wait for it
the bend of the tree
straining under ice and wet snow
reminds
me of days,
I came to know.
the desire to rise
and straighten,
to get warm in the suns
embrace.
but like so much of
this world
and pain,
it's temporary.
spring does come.
just wait.
straining under ice and wet snow
reminds
me of days,
I came to know.
the desire to rise
and straighten,
to get warm in the suns
embrace.
but like so much of
this world
and pain,
it's temporary.
spring does come.
just wait.
the butterball turkey
i put a big fat turkey in the oven
and set the table.
table for one.
but i go all out with the good china.
a lit candle, music on.
roasted potatoes, carrots and
cranberries.
i take a peak at the bird
every now and then, only five
more hours to go,
i baste it with butter,
talk to it like a small child,
encouraging it.
soon, hopefully before Christmas ends,
it will be done.
and set the table.
table for one.
but i go all out with the good china.
a lit candle, music on.
roasted potatoes, carrots and
cranberries.
i take a peak at the bird
every now and then, only five
more hours to go,
i baste it with butter,
talk to it like a small child,
encouraging it.
soon, hopefully before Christmas ends,
it will be done.
it lingers
it lingers.
the smoke, fog, the windows
running
with traces
of tears.
it's clear though.
the past,
the future is so close,
so near.
we empty what was full,
we discard
remove,
we blow at the air,
but it lingers,
the memory,
the fear.
the smoke, fog, the windows
running
with traces
of tears.
it's clear though.
the past,
the future is so close,
so near.
we empty what was full,
we discard
remove,
we blow at the air,
but it lingers,
the memory,
the fear.
the juice bar in o.c.
i remember the first juice
bar
i went to in the early seventies.
a hippy joint
at the beach
full of long haired
red eyed
too friendly and happy college
drop outs.
carrot juice,
beet juice.
any fruit or vegetable
on the planet had
been squeezed
and put into a blender
with celery stalks.
horrible.
bitter and tasteless.
not cheap either
for free loaders
like me and my pals.
it was the end of free
love, end of the war,
end of an era. end of
Nixon, end of the beatles,
and all that came before.
now this.
carrot juice. good lord.
bar
i went to in the early seventies.
a hippy joint
at the beach
full of long haired
red eyed
too friendly and happy college
drop outs.
carrot juice,
beet juice.
any fruit or vegetable
on the planet had
been squeezed
and put into a blender
with celery stalks.
horrible.
bitter and tasteless.
not cheap either
for free loaders
like me and my pals.
it was the end of free
love, end of the war,
end of an era. end of
Nixon, end of the beatles,
and all that came before.
now this.
carrot juice. good lord.
a woman i hardly like
I fall in love with a woman
I hardly
like.
it's a line I've stolen from
a bob Dylan song,
a line
that I like.
I want to put her in a wheel
barrel and
wheel her the street.
things have changed.
i'm a vegetarian now,
I've stopped eating meat.
not really.
but i'm in a rhyming mood.
next.
I hardly
like.
it's a line I've stolen from
a bob Dylan song,
a line
that I like.
I want to put her in a wheel
barrel and
wheel her the street.
things have changed.
i'm a vegetarian now,
I've stopped eating meat.
not really.
but i'm in a rhyming mood.
next.
a magical time of year
the mom in the van
flips me the finger as she speeds
through the light
gone red.
kids on board,
a dog, a cabin full of bags
and boxes.
she has those reindeer things
flopping on the roof,
and an evergreen tree tied
tight.
she's wearing a red hat
and smoking a cigarette,
holding a can of beer.
it's such a magical
time of the year.
flips me the finger as she speeds
through the light
gone red.
kids on board,
a dog, a cabin full of bags
and boxes.
she has those reindeer things
flopping on the roof,
and an evergreen tree tied
tight.
she's wearing a red hat
and smoking a cigarette,
holding a can of beer.
it's such a magical
time of the year.
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