Wednesday, August 30, 2017

I think it has something to do with fishin',
I hope, or basketball,
'Cause fishin' has noodlin' and crappyin', and all those
Weird bait names.
But basketball is where I hear the term,
And it always makes me fret just a little,
So won't someone go ahead and tell me,
What's a nuttin' butt net?

If you start the day with achin' and begs,
Some bitterness must remain.
Your quarrel is within you,
As is your kingdom.
Better to take a vow of silence
And chastity,
And eat and be satisfied.

Then take a bow at the end of the day,
Only after you've reached your destination.
Know that something has been done
Out of not doing,
Not saying.

Then sleep and dream
Of bacon and eggs in the morning.


Monday, August 28, 2017

I think of you and me
As opposite hands on one body.
And when I spin with arms out wide, I see
My hands make a circle in the sky.
Right is left and left is right.

And now I stop.
I bring my arms up straight above my head
And clasp my hands together.
And they realize
How happy they are
To be one.

I come to the airport at noon.
There's not a cloud in the sky over here,
But somewhere rain has canceled your flight,
And like the heavy jumbo jets,
My heart, too, is on standby.


Saturday, August 19, 2017

A man in a motorized shopping cart
Stopped me on my second pass by.
He thanked me, because he said
He was just sitting there feeling sorry for himself,
Watching the rest of the world go by him on two feet,
When he saw me go past
With my shorts up my crack,
And he thought to himself
That at least he would not be caught
Walking around walmart with a wedgie.

Glad to be of service, Sir.......


Wednesday, August 16, 2017

No is almost the opposite of one
If we can only
Considers the letters.
On is the opposite of no
And also that of under.
So if it is beneath you
To negate a few of life's possibilities,
Will it behest you to behold
None of your dreams coming true?

If good is the enemy of the best
And the opposite of bad,
How important will it be to be had
Yet never purchased?
And how lovely to bequeath
Some innocent blunder
As the inheritor of the request.

In other words,
Serendipity provides
Beautiful answers
To those who are open to see them.
Clear your schedule
And wait for me,
And I will see you later,
Yet sooner than you can imagine.


Wednesday, August 9, 2017

If you study anatomy,
You will know the amazing mechanical way
The tendons wrap.
You will see the foramen left
For vessels to pass through bone.
Or maybe they are screwholes
For some great invisible hinge
To hang us in our place at night
To open us to dreams.
And maybe the dreams download
Some great mysterious program
That lies there dormant in our brains
Until our spirit wakes
And reaches into the spirit world
With both hands to take
The beautiful living things
Promised there
And bring them
And plant them
Into the gardens of hope
That might still be.

And as we walk the rows of green,
Barefoot, and discerning
Between the peanuts and the careless weeds,
Hoeing out unwanted things
And making room for our dreams to grow,
We feel the pull on our mechanical tendons,
The whir of stress on ligaments.
Gears grind,
And we wonder if we robots
Can have a soul ?
Or if the downloads of these dreams
Are merely carrots out ahead of us
To get us up to hoe those peanuts
One more extra day ?


The sum of peeps and chirps and howls,
Quacks and honks and mews and moos,
Grunts and whinnies and snorts and chortles
And every other sound the animals make
Can be translated to just two things:
"Mother," and "straight."
One is a cry for food and protection,
The other, a prayer to know the fastest, safest way to their daily destiny.


Thursday, August 3, 2017

Locust are subject to plagues of their own.
Hordes of them lie dead in the street, or dying.
Instead of the sky, they've pressed their buzzing wings to the road,
Upside down, on their backs.

Maybe an invisible angel of death
Came and leafed through them.
Maybe it just picked out the first hatched.
Maybe it carefully took one of every ten,
Carefully moving the decimal point over each time
On the way to the tally of decimation.

It makes me wonder what unique trait
The firstborn have to make them
Such easy prey for premature pickins.
Is it that they are more pressured to be perfect,
Or that they see a world of adults
Before other children are born,
And the confusion of what to be--
Grown or childlike, makes them resort
To extreme measures, while earthly pressures
Make them quite willing to take the bait?
Or maybe it's something we just can't see,
Something pure and innocent and weak
Lying around in their junk DNA?


Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Meet me down by the mailbox.
Someone else has made the bed.
There's a mud puddle there
So you can wash your head and face,
Flutter your wings,
Get the sand and water in between
All the little places where your feathers connect.
Then maybe we can get a little sleep,
Get a good start, begin again
In the morning.
We'll bound up out of our mattresses twin,
Just like Ricky and Lucy Robin
Or Dick van Dyck and Mary Tyler Moore.


The burro lays down in the shade by the fence.
His narrow eyes evade expression.
Maybe his mind winds along a trail from another time.
No one can know.
No one can say what he would do
If that fence had never been built.

I cook breakfast on a faulty burner.
I have three others that work just fine,
But I think the bacon cooks better
Lunch can cook on a normal fast one.
Supper is stewing in the crock pot.
But my son and I are thankful for my faulty burner
And the delicious, "most important meals of the day" it cooks.

Is it bad that you judge me
When you don't know anything about me?
Is it worse that, after so long,
You don't know anything
About yourself?
Take a breath and return to your own heart.
See how it looks in there.
Then, see if you still have any words
To waste on me.

When the waves had churned me up
And away from the present company excluded,
When the big waves washed me up
On the shore with the other trash,
A lone beach comber came along
And saw something shiny,
Saw something worth collecting in me,
Brought me to a nice shelf in a nice home over the hearth.
The waves had polished me.