The newest poems are on top.
The oldest ones are on the bottom.
Continuous additions over time.
Get Around to It
Perhaps next summer we will do that road trip,
Stop at all the parks,
Take some less travelled roads and see some ghost towns.
Perhaps I will get around to It.
I have plans to finish that book on my night stand.
Once that is done, I will finish writing that family recipe book.
Then I can finally be
I have plans to get around to it.
Someday I will start running and shed this extra weight.
Then I can start lifting those weights,
Show up to my reunion looking better than ever.
Someday I will get around to it.
I will stop by the local theatre and audition.
I will travel around the country with my troop.
I will earn the part with the witty comebacks.
I will get around to it.
I know that I will marry a beuatiful woman
and buy land out in the fly-over's
and we will raise three beautiful children.
I know that I will get around to it.
Or, maybe I won't.
For now this block of cheese fulfills me.
How to Awaken
Afraid to die, or afraid to be alive?
Shouldn't we live without guilt of living more?
Did we chose 'not' because we fear injury?
Shouldn't avoiding harm be mentally rewarded?
Do we become free when we embrace chances?
Shouldn't playing it safe be mentally rewarded?
Will we suffer if we choose nothing?
Shouldn't consistency be mentally rewarded?
Why do we have guilt for not being bold?
Shouldn't safety be mentally rewarded?
Courageousness and Pride are cousins?
Shouldn't contentment be mentally rewarded?
Perhaps ask less questions.
Perhaps awaken to your choices.
Beers Taste Better
Beers taste better when you drink them at a bar
where the men don't read poems.
They avoid rhyming
avoid syncopation
and avoid anything to do with the written word.
Screens take over,
leaning back is the posture,
and heads slouch toward laps
they pull out green bills
figure out wht to leave for a tip.
The old men scoff at news
they sneer at emotions
and mock the youth.
Tales revolve around "remember when"
and everyone looks when the door opens
and fresh air pushes through
A good defatult when the bartender asks...
"what're yah drinkin"
whatever you're trying to get rid of" is my response.
The bubles rise, the glasses are cold,
and old men clear their throats more than
the average human.
perhaps it is their experienced bitterness that adds
to the citrus flavors in this local ale.
My freiends will be here soon,
for now, the bar is quiet, well let
and the company is experienced.
Juice of Age
Vinegar is the juice
Jars are the fuse
Time is how you induce the flavor.
Perhaps I haven't fermented enough
to know what other juices i could be using.
The pursuit of pickles shall continue.
Have I already found the flavor I am after?
i
Leave your facts in your mouth
My mind already has the answers.
Stubborn is a word with 1400's origins:
presumably came from a man
presumably used to describe a leader
presumably needed sooner than its adoption
My father was this.
My mother was this.
Yet they called each other so and not themselves.
"You know how he is."
"You know how she is."
presumably mule-like.
Run
If you don't know what to do
go outside at midnight
dazzling stars
shoes on
tied tight
and run.
exert yourself.
Run until you can't.
Run until you can't.
Run until you can't.
Until it hurts,
until it kills,
then walk
breathe
breathe
breathe
then again
then again
then again
Resist the urge to stop
unimpeded galloping
mixed with thwapping shoes
only the breeze and your thoughts in your ears
Exhaustion builds dreams
Run.
Sit Down, Eyes Up, Ears Open
The problem with schools
Is not the teachers
Is not the resources
Is not the administration
Is not the parents
Is not the culture
Is not the buildings
Is not the bus drivers
Is not the content
Is not the technology
It is that it is imparted on those
who can't sit still.
Dualing Pens
Let me tell you a tale
Of a writer who lived by a well
He lived in the woods
And knew that he could
Write a poem if he just had a dime.
His rival lived in the town
Where noise and drink were around
Distractions were too many
And his mind filled plenty
If only he could make some time.
These men had a plight
Writing poems was a fight
One lacked inspiration
the other needed separation
Whilst poems unwritten are a crime.
Sheer
Sheer necessity
Turns into sheer determination
Turns into sheer willpower
Turns into sheer struggle
Turns into sheer victories
Turns into sheer podiums
Turns into sheer reputation
Turns into sheer memories
Turns into a coffin.
Disingenuous
CEO told me I was too qaulified
Admissions said they were not a good enough school
Coach told me that the team was beneath me
Young man said he wasn't handsome enough
Parents told me I parented them
Perhaps it is all true
Or is my ass full of disingenuous smoke?
Breakfast
Is the syrup sweet enough?
Does the fruit have whip cream fluff?
Does the bacon have the crisp?
Bloody Mary with a twist?
Pancakes stacked to the sky?
Or waffles pilled waist high?
Always eat breakfast to excess,
If you want to experience happiness.
The girl sat in the meadow
Pull a pedal and make a wish
She asked about his love
She demanded his devotion
She hoped for his admiration
She dreamed of his handsome smile
As she ages
Her bosoms will sag
Her face will fill with crags
She will think about herself as a girl
Sitting alone in a flower field.
She knows now
that her fruitless hopes
should have been more focused
on his ability to stay interested
and built upon that interest.
Party Pastries
I have a busy family
That is difficult to explain to most.
My youngest brother is a baker
My sister is a serial killer
My father and mother used to steal dogs
And my other brother is a loan shark.
I have fallen in love with a woman
She is the leader of a cult
And they are planning a flag-burning event.
Can I ask my youngest brother to bake for the guests?
Lipstick Santa
I was wearing a Santa suit
walking through the mall
gliding like a sleigh at night
where is the return section?
What was I trying to return
the box feels weightless while I clutch my pillow.
A woman approaches flirtatiously
convinces me to abandon my quest
and we end up in a Chinese bingo-hall restaurant.
I sit with my box and stare at the peoples
they voraciously mark their boards
a man mumbles into a microphone
she approaches again
grabs my beardless face
kisses me
and leaves lipstick prints.
Safe Travels
Inviting words
this pamphlet urges
take a moment
familiarize yourself
with safety info
The odds of death
via air
ar slim to none
yet we listen to protocol
A woman ignores her child 1st
then assists 2nd
defying her instincts
Perhaps the only time
women ever will
she has never been asked
to help herself 1st
it's her new flight mode
A mode to live
A mode to embrace impact
A mode to travel.
Bird Book
I have a bird book
the time it took
to handcraft its look
had my eyes a hooked
and ready to buy.
The price was fair
its contents I shan't share
the birds in the air
fight today's sunny glare.
Pens
All the pens are dried up
The ink has run out
A struggle to write anything down
Has taken over the earth.
People have resorted back to pencils.
Perhaps this neanderthal scratching device
will suffice for my thoughts.
Or perhaps I'll break the led
and have nothing to write with today.
I Fear
Slow sling sludge
Bellows below
Mountain tops.
The rain races
Down and Dirt
Assembles an onslaught
Of momentum
My campground is
Nicely nestled next
To a collecting pond.
As this rain remains
My feat inflames
For this cabin could succumb
To the sludge.
I'll wait a while
With high hopes and hunger
But the mud may mangle
My woodland oasis.
Solitude
Sometimes I sit in my car
and listen to the rain
beat down around me.
I wish I had the money
to afford a skylight
or have an encased patio space.
Soon the noreaster will pass
I'll burn some gas
and perhaps chase the clouds
and catch up with the rain.
The drops bleat out
the ringing in my ears.
Earth's white noise machine
brings life to my garden
and peace to my solitude.
Hopefully these clouds
stay longer
so I may have this moment.
Day on the Sidewalk
Matching scarf and socks approach
"Oh my."
"I love these."
Sarah, come look."
No sale.
A truck sits idle as I wait
for my first customer to pull the trigger.
Will I ever make money today?
Pistons pointless turn while
a man's brain gears choose a piece.
The car goes nowhere as does
the hope of a purchase.
Perhaps this woman?
Nope.
Rich mn with a glimmering watch?
Too busy to glance.
So far only a bee
is interested in what I am selling.
His presence has transformed into a
buzzing companionship.
He lands on my pant cuff and breathes
in the sunlight.
A breeze knocks over a small frame
while a goth girl avoids eye contact.
If I describe a drawing to a blind man
do you think he will want to buy one?
"We'll think about it."
"I'm afraid of you,
but if I should be,
let me know."
Keys
She never made a copy
for the key to her heart.
Everyone seems to have
different keys to success.
Someday I will travel to
the Florida keys.
And go to a restaurant
that boasts their key lime pie.
She talked about how her father
was given the key to the city.
Yet here I am searching,
for my keys, so I won't get to work late.
P TO THE SKY
p to the Sky.
/
/
I will Ladder, U
I know one day, we all w
ill
F
A
L
L.
FLOOR.
A floor is a place for forgotten c r u mb s.
SPREAD OUT & SCATTERED.
But it is fine to be among the boards.
While D
O
W
N, we can eat and clean like the mice we always were.
New Kicks
"So, what would you like today?"
"Not really sure. Why you ask?"
"You’re the one sitting in my chair sir…"
He grumph'ed back and uncrossed his legs.
His brown leather shoes looked lived.
"How’s your premium?"
"The best. 6 dollars."
The gentleman slid
Bills into my jar.
Cars roll by.
The breeze feels like
businessmen at the airport.
Pure movement.
Nose breathes wake up the eyes.
My customer has fallen asleep.
Pedestrians smile in passing.
I fixed the hole in the roof first.
Almost fell through the rotten wood.
Swept, then repainted.
I turned it into a business the next day.
[real places]
Three-dollar shoe shines.
One-dollar cold water.
Dawings next to the door.
Simple business = sex appeal.
"How’s your premium?"
"The best. 6 dollars."
Thank You For The Letter
I wasn’t able to fully read my name.
The enough’ly way you put pen to paper
Filled me. My face aglow.
After reading the first letter
I am enough’ly filled with enough’ly’ness.
Your lines comprised
A compliment or four...
"Take your smile"
Did you leave a teardrop stain?
If I tried to write your name
With enough’ly similars penmanship;
I doubt I thy same.
My reflections would be scribblins’
And now we finally know, that’s enough’ly.
Writing Mission
10-4 cap'i'tan
Chin up, head straight, think.
Accomplish your mental preparation
as you accentuate your alliteration
and let your mind's eye create with no hesitation.
The artist should judge not...
The artist should remember...
Bullocks.
This deultory advice and converting
is for the swine
and is propigated by persimists.
Talent is not gained, rather
manifested through characters
assured personalities,
and is translated and absorbed by the confidence
which the pen is pressend into the paper
It is high time for writeers
to admit
that translations are muck
that interpretations are admissions of flattery
and that a poem
is only a poem
unless declared
not a poem.
Who Built It?
The stone masons didn't
just lay the stone
the painters didn't
just create the murals
the stainglass artisans didnt
just cut the colors.
For the women brought
them drinks to cooldown
in the shot sun
the butcher brought beed
and the baker brought bread
the town delivered a
capacity to collaborate
for two generations straight.
American before the White Man
America before the whine man was better or worse?
No polluted waters
No polluted air.
There were no card games
and no guns.
The smell of swine was negligible
and natives had their
rolling's hills.
Sadly American soil is void
of the the practice of child weddings
and the long
and underappreciated practice of
warrior scalping is missing.
If only we could go back in time
and never let the white man crash the shores.
The war tribes could still continue to raid
and lacrosse would still be played
to the death
and with severed heads.
A Couple
I’m sorry your day was miserable. I wish you, had the most amazing day, which is what I did. Sadly, we can not trade. For you would wish you had mine. Preemptive sorry. Despite YOUR 'new sadness', I must tell you about my amazing day. So I was walking by that...
Why Did I Say Yes?
I am in a garbage can rolling down a hill. I am young. My hands frantically press up against the sides as I tumble over big rocks that pock at the soft plastic shell. I was a ceaseless cyclone of dizzying confusion on camera. Brothers and sisters laughed. Thankfully garbage cans have a tilt shape/design so that they can stack within each other. This tilt helped me drift left. I would give the engineer a handshake for unintendedly making my journey down the hill shorter than we all intended. But I wish it tilted right. Because left was into a marshy ditch with snapping turtles.
Observations
These city dwelling authors
and writers and journalists
spend their time worrying
and complaining about god knows what.
While my family in the woods
and the scribes in the small towns
pend their time in contemplation
whilst the crickets chirp.
Must
I must be musting more
as the river musts down the
musting meadow with a quick
flow, it musts the rocks
and the fish must for home.
The fighter musts his fists
and must overcome his tired muscles
in order to must
when the bell musts
for danger musts
when we forget that
musting is must.
Doors Open
They bought the larger scissors they could find.
They invited all that could sing their praises.
And the doors swung open for day one.
What a joy.
Six months later, the business stands vacant.
If only they realized that sometimes
plans functions flawlessly if...
customers didn't have opinions.
Sorrowful Storm
There is something fantastic
About a man walking down the street
Rain-pressed and determined.
Everything is taught on his skin.
Regrets and admittance beat down
Not just from the sky above.
I saw him and knew a change is a’comin.
Top of Your Head
It’s not hard to be witty at a party.
Newborn laughs are a dime a dozen.
Yet, your wit can run dry.
When you’re searching for words,
like pearls in the sea,
understand that stumblin’ and sweat
shouldn’t exacerbate your discomforts.
Rather,
ignore all the listening eyes.
I only have respect for a human,
who speaks from the top of their head.
Anger and cowardice
helps my mouth seem to shine,
Let the dams crack and leak.
Mirrored Wings
A butterfly
like an arrow
slices through the sky
as i eat peanut butter bagels
no flappingno up and down
no random chaos left to right.
Pure and uniterupted
this butterfly
with eagle hunting style
flight
like a knife through the wind
passed by.
I never knew
that these creatures
could fly straight
with wings mimicking
decorative everything bagels.
Where was it heading?
Late for a meeting?
To save a friend
trappen in a venus trap?
Straight through the air
no hesitancy
no drunken flapping
I hope to mirror
its trajectory
Will my wings
though shy
untrained
and less flamboyant
be capable of a path
like an arrow?
I shutter
in disbelief
as this tiny thing
has more directional
purpose
has more
determined guidance
has more ability
and that a tiny thing
made in god's image
could be so headstrong.
Perhaps if I held
up a mirror
to this bug,
it would flap
with pride
and cast aside self doubt
then continue
forth
with flight
so pure and so straight.
Work Before Work
Hot oatmeal warms his stomach.
Does stomach heat transfer to his hands?
Knee-high snow has a heft to it.
He starts with the steps.
The cold grapples at his jacket’s openings.
Biting breezes scratch at his skin.
By six o’clock,
The driveway became a small black carpet.
For the star of his life to walk down.
Instead of cameras flashing,
It is the glitter of illuminated fresh snow
From the soon rising sun.
He brute*d > to her car,
> the end of the driveway.
Ice scraper in hand.
The car waits > warm.
She walks down a salted path
with warm coffee in hand.
He receives just a kiss.
“Have a good day.”
He opens her door.
Door closes.
His wife drives toward work.
All My Questions
Does anyone really know what’s next?
My nihilism makes me question substance.
Simple questions can create regrettable ghosts.
We move forward,
All the while our brains stretch back.
I sit next to a grandfather to 5 now.
Will I gray early like him?
Will my forehead crease like his?
I’m truly scared of my future child,
Because they will ask me questions.
My mind grew alongside their height.
My father told me that the only true answer,
Is that we don’t have all the answers.
Invisible Word
The microscopic haunts me
germs on table tops
99.9% is not enough disinfectant
a sneeze on a commuter bus
takes my fear and adds kerosene
for each breath is a chance to inherit.
The ghosts of bodies past
crawl out and from under
and rearrange my bookshelf
whilst the hand that controls
lives in a dimension beyond my
mortal eyes.
These cells reproduce
and muscles grow
but a single mutated cell can make
any organ implode
fall to its knees
like a worm in a pear
burrows deeper waiting
eggs nested for duplication
and the spread manifests farther.
For there is too much
I see that distracts me
from an invisible word that waits to kill me.
My Affair
She was beautiful.
So, I told her she was beautiful.
The beautiful woman smiled.
We kiss in a coat-littered mudroom.
We trip over children’s shoes.
We strip off our clothing going up the stairs.
Is she noticing the five-dollar frames filled with my wife and kids?
Did she notice the action figures battling in the upstairs hallway?
Does she know I fell out of love with my wife shortly after our third child?
Her pear-shaped body pressed my naked ass into the mattress.
I was clumsy with her curly brown hair.
She closed her eyes and breathed heavily.
This was a vocational thrill.
To escape the life, we have.
Or at least, I have.
Morning:
She glances around the manifestly domestic home.
She grins knowing that I would miss never seeing her again.
My Meal You Ask?
My waitress has a laugh.
Its excess is prominent
more so
than the smell of steak and eggs.
~Does she receive more
or less tips because of it?
~Is it he reason why her ring finger
is bare?
A father and son sit in silence
wincing in unison as she cackles at a woman
sitting in a booth with a glass of OJ.
Jazz is the background.
Light chatter fills the remaining silence.
~She blares at decibals beyond all combined
from behind the kitchen.
Perhaps it isn't a show for just customers.
Wax Buldge
A firey flicker
Subtle eromas
and post-coital sweat.
We lay on our backs and watch
a candle burn.
Despite its design
Despite its efforts
The wick forces the flame farther to one side.
A lean begins
A morphing goiter has sprouted from the cylinder.
"Look at the candle,"
she says to me,
"it has a belly."
Hot wax pushes outward.
It attempts to break the retaining wall.
I roll over and kiss her neck
and wonder when my wife's water will break.
Q's for God's Son
Peter opens the gate
step through the light
stones of gold
a path built via faith
I float forward.
"Welcome" says the robbed one
his bear is oiled
and his smile is charmed by stars
and history.
"Fuck you" I reply.
"Why did you take my nephew's eyes?"
My heavenly behavior
is not so heavenly
the lamb of all is not surprised
by my question and fire inside
as if he knew
that for years
I have been waiting to got through the gates
and have been eager to question the power
my captive faith
and strapped
because a blind baby
who did nothing
deserves my more of my love
more of my praise
than a man in the sky.
Ideas
Just when I planned to make a video on how to properly make a smoked salmon bagle
it already exists.
Just when I thought I wanted to open a breakfast place on my side of town,
I found one that I never knew about.
Does this poem already exist?
When does the pursuit become negligible because there are no new ideas?
If I write more, does it make this poem more original?
More authentic?
Did Ginsburg howl in anger at the idea that someone might have already penned his gore'ish style?
Is that why it is so long? The more he wrote, the less likely someone could claim he copied?
Females
Too hot, too cold, just right.
Pleasing a woman is always fight.
Folk tales don't know,
If the frog will turn,
Let down your hair,
Watch the prince climb and yearn.
Magazine wisdom tries to impart.
With just ten things to earn her heart.
Yet all of the lists,
say different things,
True passions should consist,
With a fat diamond ring.
Yet they don't want gifts.
And they don't want your thrift.
They say open ears,
A charming clean smile,
Handkerchief for tears,
And just patience a mile.
All we know,
I have written below:
You should...
And never...
Remeber to...
And they will love you till death do you part.
My Affair
Achievement has been on the tongues
Of everyone.
Are you on the right track
Yet sitting still?
Did you invest correctly
leaving room for the thrill?
The rat race is a addictive
Like porn and caffeine.
Did I do enough today
Or will I die empty?
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