Poetry

2008-11-12T17:17:00.000-08:00

Chasing Sunsets

The sun faded in front of him as he headed west.

No matter how fast he drove,

The golden goal eluded him nightly,

Hiding carefully on the back side of the world.

And he ignored everything trying to catch the sun:

The vast cornfields of Iowa, the orange waters of the Colorado River

Flowing through canyons of ancient clay, and the sounds,

The sights, his wife.

“When I get to the shore,

You’ll be waiting for me,” he chided his nemesis.

And so he chased that sun until he got to the Golden coast,

Where the sun did, in fact, wait. Then laughed.

Then faded out of his sight.

July, 2008

Power Outage

2008-11-12T17:16:00.001-08:00

Power Outage
The heat from this – the hottest day of the year –
Caused the electricity in the entire town to go out,
Presumably from everyone in the area
Turning on their air-conditioners at the same time.
(What good it did them … and the rest of the town)

With not much food in the refrigerator to go bad,
I placed the beer in a large cooler,
Went to the store for a couple bags of ice,
bought another 6-pack in case I run out,
returned home and took the cooler by the pool.

I imagined thousands of people lying on their couches,
Probably with a fan going,
Even more likely with a cell phone in hand,
Calling the electric company complaining of the problem,
And keeping one eye always on the blank clock above the stove.

I sat alone by the pool with a book in complete silence.
The pool’s filter was not running, the hum of the water treatment
Plant made no sound, nor was there a radio,
Loudly playing from neighbor’s yards,
Music I rarely liked to listen to myself.

The only sounds were page flips, and prose bouncing off my brain,
directly into my heart when a stanza rang true.
The birds, too, hiding from the heat in shade, sporadically chirped,
As if they also read a line that touched them so deeply enough
That they wanted to share in my delight.

As sun sank lower behind the trees that line my yard,
the words slowly faded from my sight, and, without
a light to turn on, my reading for the day was done.
How much misery people must be enduring, I thought,
of having to talk and listen without the aid of music or television.

All day long, non-readers were forced to suffer constant conversation.
Hearing stories they wished not to hear,
Telling tales to others, who reciprocated their disinterest.
Silence broke when the hum of electricity elicited a cheer from bored lovers.
It is truly sad how far away we’ve traveled from each other.

Summer

2008-11-12T17:14:00.000-08:00

Song of Summer’s End

And so summer sank down to autumn,

Like Sunday into a Monday morning.

Aware of the metaphor like the new

Breeze that blows this time of year.

Everything begins earlier: the streets clearing,

The light illuminating front porches,

Retreating to the pillow to finish that chapter,

The moons tug-of-war with the sun.

Our eyes adjust to the dark, like our

Body’s clock to our new schedule,

Our clothes to our clientele,

Trading our choice of books for theirs.

The morning cup of coffee seems more

Imperative now than ever, clear-headed

Lazy mornings will now be spent stressing

Looking for keys or a matching sock.

Give me my August back, with campfires

And summer flames roaring at peak heat.

Give me my August, with blue horizons over

Mountaintops, and the lilacs still blooming with hope.

Auden said, “Time will say nothing but I told you so,”

Yet we still cheat on logic with our faith.

August 2008

Newest

2008-07-09T15:45:00.000-07:00

Almost Ten O’clock in New Delhi

Almost ten o’clock in New Delhi,
But there’s green everywhere around me at home.
The traffic light on the library wall, the young girls tank top,
The stretch of lawn like someone painted a parking lot.

Thoughts overwhelm silence
And yawning is contagious
Enlightenment followed by sleep is best
Or is it vice versa?

The stopped clock gives new meaning to
“where did the time go?”
What is considered a greater loss of our lives,
In play or in study?

The smoke follows the tree to Earth
A summer spent inside
Glasses on and an unshaven face
I am impressing no one.

July, 2008

A Young Girl in the Library

A ball of nervousness in front of me,
Foot tapping the ground incessantly,
Switching legs each minute,
Fist to her chin, studying something I probably
Don’t understand.
An unopened dictionary sits on her bag,
She’s switching from pen to pencil, pencil to pen,
Erasing mistakes then writing new ones and
Adjusting her glasses from time to time.
Scratching her head like from underneath her eyebrows
Will fall the answers.
And at what point do I tell her to relax?
It’s only a test.

July, 2008

Por Ejemplo

Does a man’s library say more about his intellect or his arrogance?

Why do we use the term “fighting for peace”?

Why do we cry over the wrong things?

Have you ever criticized someone you didn’t know personally to make yourself seem better?

Why do we require kids to go to school, but don’t require them to do any of the work?

How come we keep looking an answer to all of our problems when we know there’s not just one?

How can I drink more bottled water in one day than some people do in an entire lifetime?

Does my dog think she’s smarter than me? Is she right?

Why don’t newspapers publish poetry anymore?

If Paris Hilton can get a book deal and I can’t, does that mean she’s a better writer than I am?

Why have we made living in the ghetto seem cool?

If our technology has improved, why hasn’t our intellect?

Why am I sometimes more concerned with calling myself a writer than I am producing writing?

Is the pen mightier than the sword because it’s the pens that send the swords to war?

How come I can praise God if I win something, but not curse him if I lose something?

Why doesn’t Redman just join the Wu-Tang Clan?

How in the world did the Patriots lose the Super Bowl?

If alcoholism skips a generation and both of my grandfathers were alcoholics, am I screwed?

Whatever happened to the idea that swearing is not acceptable around women and little kids?

When did we, as a country, lose our morals?

Whatever happened to the bounce pass in basketball?

How come Vermont keeps letting child molesters out of prison?

Why did my parents always say, “this hurts me more than it hurts you?” I’m pretty sure that wasn’t true.

Why won’t someone create a third major political party?

How much does a man’s spirit have to break before he wishes to hold a gun over a pencil?

Why do we wish for our days to end then arrogantly think that our last one is far away?

Why are the dreams we have at night taken more seriously than the ones we have during the day?

Who decided which words are feminine and which are masculine? Did the words have their say?

Do two waves on distant shores ever crash at the same time?

Does any sound have a twin?

What came first, voice or thought? Who decided to combine the two? And how come we haven’t perfected that yet?

What has more influence over the advancement of human kind, good or evil?

The Morning Paper

2008-07-02T08:10:00.000-07:00

On the front page, the headline reads,
TOT FALLS FROM 2ND FLOOR
and below it, an article about an angry man
who released his vicious dog into a backyard
of swimming children.
I flip the paper over and remove my glasses.
On the porch in my parents yard,
the sun is emerging behind me,
the sparrows and robins are competing
for the award in best song.
How lucky I am to have this life.

My Wonderful, Thoughtful, Rational, and Diplomatic Girlfriend

2008-06-28T06:33:00.000-07:00

“You never ask about my day”
She admonished.
She was fingering the points
On her fork. For dexterity, I assumed.

“You always stop me mid-story
Because I reminded you
Of something that happened to you
Earlier today or last week.

“Maybe it is my fault,
Or maybe it is society’s fault.
We look to self-gratification first
Or, rather, we subconsciously try to prove our self-importance.”

I thought of paraphrasing Thoreau
But I bit my tongue.
Then I lifted my wine glass to my lips
And finished the last swallow of cabernet

Mirroring my actions
She did the same
And the diatribe continued about how
It could just be that she cared
More about others than herself.

“Much unlike you,” she said conclusively.
I nodded as if what she said
Was as legitimate a fact as
The sun rising in the east.

“You’re not even listening anymore,” she said.
She lifted her empty glass, annoyed.
“I need more wine,
What the fuck was our waitresses name again?”

April 2008

Not titled yet

2008-06-28T06:31:00.000-07:00

She has become my muse,
My literary property
The greatest play
Yet to be written

Valued by nature’s first gold
Rivaled only by lightning flashing
Over mountains in a raven-colored sky:
Terrifying but beautiful to behold

And so I gaze on from afar
Silently longing and watching
The stars in the sky solemnly
Dropping into the palms of her hands

November, 2007

Lunch at picnic table in Utah

2008-04-06T11:52:00.000-07:00

We were startled and frightened
by the sign warning of rattlesnakes.
A white sign faded by sunlight
and covered in dust,
a rattlesnake in red agitated only in theory.
Cautious laughter upon seeing this
led to wandering eyes and commentary
Overhearing this, the old lady
walked away laughing.
It's like that here.

More Old Stuff

2008-03-15T08:46:00.000-07:00

Blues go so well

The smoke unfurls from a cigarette
Like mist rising off the grass
A perfect companion to coffee
Like blue eyes and a subtle tan

Unattainable, I think, as we exchange glances in the same mirror
She comes and speaks to me
Dressed down in shorts and an old top
Like she doesn’t even need to try to shine in my eyes

My eyes focused on hers, hers in mine
Blues go so well together, I think silently
“Smile,” she says, “You’re always smiling.”
This one I have right now belongs to her

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, fumbling with her keys.
“I’m thinking it may be a nice day for a walk.”
Hesitating, I missed my window
Tonight, this oh-so-clear night, I will not be let inside

March, 2005

Let me sleep in

Sprinkle my dreams with your smile
And let me sleep in

Kiss me on my head, whisper my name
That way let all of my days begin

Arguments make us say things we don’t mean
But unfortunately cannot take back

Let the understanding of mutual trust and love
Be what get always back on track

Let me fly away encouraging you to join
Refuse my request

Let us eventually find our love like the kisses we once stole
Or memories in a picture, forget we lest

But for now just sprinkle my dreams with your smile
I beg you to let me sleep in.

July, 2005

Jealousy

I’m jealous of the cars traveling west as I drive away from you;
If not for any other reason than they’re closer to you than I am.

July, 2005

So this is California (4:32 on a Wednesday)

Wind gushed through the window
As I sped down the freeway 5
Shoes removed made me irritated
At the sand on my floorboard

Palm trees raced behind me
And the sun consciously
Kept his distance like a
Jabbing pugilist

So this is California
4:32 on a Wednesday afternoon
The dolphins stay closer to shore
In the temperate Pacific sun

Waves crash into the shore
As if they’re mad at the grains of sand
Pelicans swoop for a closer look
Contemplating theft of the fisherman’s bounty

The desert sands blow fiery over
The crabgrass and the cacti
The fires scorched this land just
One or two summers ago.

November, 2004

Old Country Wife

The old country road told
Stories of a lonely house
Scarcely visited by friends
Or shade from the sun

A wife once cooked there
Looking west at the vulgar mountains
Maliciously laughing at her from afar
Taunting ruthlessly of missed adventure

Her days ticked by washing clean dishes
Waiting for someone she didn’t know
To come plowing down that country road
To tell her someone cares.

November, 2006

Old Poetry

2008-03-11T16:25:00.000-07:00

Disappearing cities

this proud highway I ride moves recklessly towards the bright city ahead
like a runaway raindrop on the window
the city lights appear on the horizon,
disappearing

- opportunity to stop lost –

much faster than they come

January 2006

What is needed

to have what you want, he told me
is to know what you want

but all the money in the world, he advised,
is a generic answer, this it is discounted

life fulfilled only by riches
is wasted time on earth

I want a room full of Da Vinci painting
and Botticelli sculptures

Volumes of poetry and lyrics
by Shakespeare and Nas

I want a tiny beachfront home
with a porch caressed by loving sand

Where I can sit with my girl, coffee, and dog
watching the sun awaken the east coast

making my own conclusions as to where
the birds are actually flying

I want a pen and a pad
and a million fresh ideas

explain through poetry the water crashing the sand
like an old man breathing deep breaths

I want to look upon my life and smile
not because I have mountains of fortune

but because I have what I want

Summer, 2005

Seaside

I can still see your sweatshirt
stretched over your hands
bitten by the chill of the ocean
in that seaside town, desolate from summers fall

your arm entangled with mine shivering
but walking slower than ever
feet shuffling, saying nothing
as curfew approached

smiling at you through foggy glasses
the mystery of your other life
far from this small cape
waiting for you when your plane leaves

September, 2005

The Woods Out My Window

the news of winter is broadcast in the first gust of solitary chill
the weather man telling us to put extra sheets on our beds
ice decorating the morning grass
replacing dew with frost

the river smiles at its good fortune and newfound momentum
a final resting spot for the limbs and leaves
no longer providing shade,
but opening a window to the entire forest

many travelers have crunched these sticks
long gone, not forgotten by either party
but the foundation remains unchanged
telling new generations old stories

January, 2006

Seventh dinner guest

The seventh dinner guest is
always paid the most attention
like the most suspicious looking package
looming at the airport

The other six,
all paired off, deeply in love
laugh like I joke, but seriously state
That I hate being alone on nights like this

like a starving poet reading others best
knowing he is up to par with them.

January, 2006

Magic

Surrounded by hurry
Arm in arm was casually
stroll through the winters’ first snow

As people shuffle passed
I could look at you forever
Sipping coffee, before which you
Had to remove the scarf from your lower face

Hands cupped around your coffee
Bringing it slowly to your face
Gently blowing as if your tiny breath
Could magically alter the hottest temperatures.

November, 2005

I’ll Be

I'll be your gentle green of grass
or the southern smoke smothering the mountains of your Tennessee

I'll be the whispering waves walloping your Atlantic
while a one hundred year old sea captain
rehashes a century of exaggerations

August, 2005

Carolina

For J.B.

Funny, how it meant nothing at the time
but how fondly I remember you
leaping into my arms as the spiders
hid from the sunlight

For two days we toasted with wine
to good company and summer
We tasted salt coming off the shore
as surfers bobbed, awaiting their ride

We used my visit as an excuse
to dress up and spend money we didn't have
We slept a little closer together that night
After we heard of Wilmington's ghostly past

Strangers we met provided drunken laughter
Martinis and wine sealed the deal
We stumbled along cobblestone streets
As poets performed for only us

I played you jazz on that old ladies porch
in that perfect Carolina night
The piano and the summer wind created a perfect soundtrack
for a kiss that never happened

December, 2005

In a day

I like to stay up late
No TV, just me outside with the crickets
all alone in the California night

Watch the lights in every apartment
flicker off for the evenings final time

Feeling the inescapable finality
of the world calling it a day

Tomorrow brings new sun
but the same tired routine

So i stay up late watching, waiting,
wishing, as today turns to tomorrow

Why do we wish for the end of a day
and arrogantly think our last is far, far away?
If we keep rushing, it'll come quicker than we want

We spend most of our time lost in translation,
not wanting our day to being, then begging for it to end

Most of us don’t really live our days
as evidenced by hitting the snooze button a dozen times
And hitting the pillow immediately following the days charted course.

August, 2005

The wording of forever

The words I write you may never read
The thoughts I think may never be spoken
I hide from my introverted self
And speak too loudly emotion

The pull of tomorrow, it draws us away
and adds numbers to the pages full of words
to read back on yesterdays thoughts though
brings pain of pleasurable memories and fruitless complaints

Life presents daily challenge
which we handle with convenience
We leave people we never thought we could
and haunt ourselves with broken opportunity

Inspiration is mostly spontaneous
sights, sounds, and people forever shifting
capturing the present
can promote longing for the past

The sun sets subtly over the blue horizon
allowing the moon to illuminate bedrooms with lovers
time spent entwined with another goes by too fast
and sometimes forever doesn’t seem long enough

Words written one hundred years hence
can describe so aptly
the sting of summer love or winters whispers
so that those things are peculiarly present

I can write how I feel right now
And remember you this way forever

February, 2005

Writers

Although we are writing about our troubles
the unpaid bills...
a crummy boss...
our tiresome job we're too good for...
the girl we're not good enough for...

When we're writing
None of these things really exist

April, 2005

Remember Mexico?

Do you remember Mexico?
We got drunk and stole kisses on the bars' balcony

We held hands and laughed
When vendors tried to sell us their crap and called us "honeymooners"

I was unemployed and poor
working for $40 freelance stories

You took the day off
and insisted I drive

Remember I got frightened
when you took too long in the restroom?

We sat in traffic for an hour
while our buzz slowly wore off

Another country away
just me and you

You blocked the sun with your discount sunglasses
and scored us a shady shot of tequila

A moment didn't pass without a statement of compassion
or without physical confirmation of it

Remember Mexico? We only stayed for a few hours
But we got drunk and stole kisses from the bars' balcony

We shared cigarettes
and chased shots with Mexican cerveza

Whistles blew and the music was way too loud
you hold yours hand on my leg from across the table

Your dimple was showing because you laughed at everything I said
I was hilarious that day

But that was in Mexico
and we're not there anymore

July, 2005

Stolen Away

She left
And it made me bitter

I came home from work and
She had picked up and left

Took her clothes and music
and my curiosity with her

I could not sleep for days
as if part of me was missing

She didn't return my letters
or my calls

For six months diligently
I checked my post office box and answering machine

It seemed as if she had disappeared
my friends urged me to get over her

They vowed to have me attack the bottle
and get me laid

What happened was
I eventually told them

She left halfway finished
when she went

And in the process
she stole my favorite book

I cursed and took a sip
I want it back.

July, 2006

Standing by the bridge at noon

Standing by the bridge at noon
there was an old couple holding hands
fifty years of memories encompassed
in aging interlocking fingers

Sparrows made faces at me as they breezed past
And flowers taunted me with their spot
Forever in the glow of the sun
tasting mist off the waterfall

An absence of common noise is a peculiar sound
The wild is felt, the stream whistles inaudible melody
The scribe tries to recreate
All that can fit on paper

Reflections show in layers like a vintage portrait
one eyes sees on thing, the other something different
It mirrors life idyllically
Like we don’t want to believe otherwise

So I stood by the bridge at noon
with no poetic intention
I laughed at the notion because
I never come here without them

May, 2005

Where are you?

Too far away to hold
I close my eyes to see
To find what I am looking for
I search the back of my eyelids
And travel on the back of my dreams
like and old African proverb
encouraging the enslaved to fly home

Failing to see what I do
The perfection of the future
Envisioned as we create it
Regardless of what our past suggests
Every day starts anew
Nights erasing days
and allowing us to dream awake

July, 2005

Bird

Are the birds really singing
or doing as humans do?

Different sounds mimicking
confronting
bragging
complaining
reminiscing
walking on cloud nine after a night of passion
or kicking the sand after yesterdays disappointment

or is it
like i said

that they're just singing
all the time

May, 2005

Haiku's

#1
Every now and then
A random memory comes
Always me and you

#2
If I have learned one thing
Its that people aren't that smart
That's not changing soon

#3
You were gorgeous
Blonde hair, long legs, fire blue eyes
You had to talk, huh?

September, 2006

Lexington Autumn

Head aching
Arms stretched to the side
The rain smashing my cheeks eliminating
The suns idle threats

The clouds of smoke torn apart
From the wind and rain alike
The cold burning like a match
flickering towards its end

The end of a cigarette
Illuminates the dashboard
And the radio plays
Songs we already heard tonight

Lexington sleeps under September skies
The narrow roads lined in oak
Up the hill, right before the store
The dirt road like coming home

Writing to live this time twice
in the moment
Then in retrospect
The luck is ours to share

Searching the lines
Hidden with meaning
Underlined with regrets
And reflections of past triumphs

October, 2006

Missing Her Daughter

She graciously smiles at everyone she recognizes,
half the faces she knows strictly from well-wishing.
She embraces strangers she never met,
and tightens that grip on the familiar because, by now, she's so used to being admired and pitied at the same time.

She'll favor number eight for the rest of her life, and consider it lucky until the day she joins her beloved butterfly. What is this world without faith?

October, 2006

Imaginary escape

He speaks like a piano, with depth and articulation
But esoterically sometimes so that
the cultured and sophisticated can understand
The beauty of his conversation

Lovers quarrel while leaves of brown escape the limbs of trees
fluttering toward the freedom
of just a few seconds until it hits the ground
like a runaway slave sniped at the Ohio border

He looks toward the west in an unavoidable December
Over the fence to an imaginary escape
Falling in love before the sandman comes
Every night another reminder of solitude

August, 2006

Optimistic Negativity

The long absences wear on me
like a romantic dry spell
Yours is a face I cannot bear to see leave

Caught in a flytrap, the cob webs
at a stand still
with the sun screaming at midnight

To live another day
with the streets swept clean
but the earth stands lonely and still

Hearts palpitate quickly in lovers view
stopped stone still at the breathing
that happened flawlessly, consistently

Emotions fluctuated high, low high low
faces mashed together once again
Alone in front of the world

January, 2006

Missing the point altogether

Missing the point altogether
in a houses crowded with noise
watching behind closed doors
avoiding familiar strangers

An empty barroom floor
a twisted view of the cold
mysterious shadows blend in with the scenery
emerging to frighten children

The phone in the hall
with you on the other end
serious conversations are left to the politicians
short, yellow hair and skirt

The silence of a scribbling madman
An artist paints with his thoughts
Delivering sermons of angels and demons
A thousand shades of blue and red

Color shapes the feel of a room
Tells us whom not to speak to
Shyness envelopes two people with everything in common
Both of whom unwilling to engage

While the parade follows the annual path
The clown is jettisoned
Coy and rejected toward a tiny car
Hiding from the relentless view of the people

Tiny words meant for no one to see
Re-read before thrown into a campfire
forgotten as such
who know the book would sell so well

October, 2005

So Much Arrives Unannounced

Somewhere in town lies an empty street
Too cold for a trip to the store
A year seems so long ago
From the vantage point of this same setting

Familiar surroundings seem to change
The noises, the faces, the winds
The houses change colors with the leaves
So much arrives unannounced

Smells remain the same
A roasting turkey or the seasons change
The wind pushing us around like feathers
God and the Devil laughing next to hospital beds waiting to collect their rent

Weary glances from behind coffee cups
Each time the stranger sits
Inlaws and death
Remain the most unwelcome dinner guests

December, 2006