Thursday, February 28, 2008

Ginormous

Ginormous

Ginormous yesterday’s urge –
no hyperbole or gross exaggeration
this surge. The newness of this nooner
was ginormous; came sooner than expected
like a spirit resurrected or a wakened,
long-neglected sleeping giant.
Ginormous a word not often heard-
a coinage, a portmanteau that seems absurd
to exaggerate the flight of extraordinary birds
when “gigantic” or “enormous” nicely fits.
I must admit it was a hit when she cried
“that’s it” hollering like a miner striking
the mother lode with a bit. Not “Eureka”
that I heard, but that strange new word; “Oh
Daddy tis ginormous”!

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

The Surge

The Surge

For fat politicians mired
in smelly muck like overfed
hogs wallowing in Washington waste,
“The Surge” is working.
A solipsism that anything outside
of the pigpen exists- no faces
behind the soldiers, or hearts beating
within families or children lost in
loneliness or wives woefully neglected
or Christmases forever past or arms, legs,
minds and lives eternally shattered.
I’m certain that if Dante were alive today,
he would reserve a special ring in the hellish fire
of his Inferno for these fat fuckers to roast
on a surging spit in their own juices.
Damn the politicians! Curse the lies!
Denounce the porkers! Send their sons
and daughters to Baghdad! We all can share
in the supreme sacrifice of “The Surge”.
Any volunteers? (Silence exits stage left}.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

The Final flight

The Final Flight

Gus the yellow lab
has been dreaming in
dog heaven
for a while now
of wild geese
that will not
land there
but fly by with
outlandish honkings
northward to
where white clouds
swirl around
a flyway pond.
This is bird heaven. The
flight ends here
just beyond
the lusty eyes
of dogs and hunters
dozing in their blinds.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

A Morning Moment

A Morning Moment

This morning as the sun begins to raise its brow
clear thoughts appear for a second and it seems like
there has been something greater than I ever thought
possible
greater than anything I’ve considered before
not mysterious nor silent not even brighter
than the rays themselves that awakened me today
with every blink and stayed with me silently
something that gave me serenity solace at this hour
of a day an entity without a face or name
a single ray crystallized in that moment arising
disappearing leaving a gift for my gratitude

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

You'll Miss Me When I'm Gone

You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone

Seems like we never learn.
We only give in to love
When someone’s dead or gone.
Always we fear being smothered
By an overbearing family; freedom
stifled in a ground squirrel-gray
cell of our own making. We find
reasons not to call or excuses for
not stopping by or pathetic pretexts
for our neglect. Only after the leaving
does love rear it’s lovely head and shed
its callous, cold cocoon.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Hard Lessons

Hard Lessons

He was a child who was never satisfied.
You hear what I’m saying. Something
about him yearned to eat the big
enchilada, so he created his own world.

Before too long, he chose
to wrestle a giant.
He knew he couldn’t win, but once
the match began, it was too late.

It’s alright to take on the impossible.
It takes time to negotiate a labyrinth,
To freefall from a bad dream or to learn
The lessons shared by the elders.

People will usually listen.
They’re like the still water,
but one must dive-in head first.
Perhaps it was those silly untruths.

Maybe the broken promises
never honored. Tomorrows
that never came. As the
saying goes “It floats”!

and that’s it. He surfaces
gasps for air and yells
for the rescue boat. “It’s
about time,” his father answers.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

The Train Station

The Train Station

Trees are swaying
In silent hills
Where wild deer graze
Seeking solace.

The silent lives
That mimic us-
These lives we want
But do not share-

Walk in the woods
So gently
And disappear,
So gently…

And the sun sets
Leaves letting black
Shadows hover
Dark treetops, dark treetops

We carry on
We carry on
Like brave soldiers
On night missions

Or like armies
In dusty fields
Cold and tired,
Waiting, waiting.

Thinking of Granddad

Thinking of Granddad

Known for his oatmeal cookies,
Bohemian phrases,

extra-sharp wit and snowplow
blades, Gramps- the county blacksmith

shod his final horse, sharpened
his last edge, plowed his way

back to the old anvil, the hearth
that molded his soul’s metal,

where shaped tongues sang out,
forged by heating and hammering

in frigid Montana winter.
Furnace coals- fading embers

of a fearless life in frozen snow

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Wednesday Lottery

Wednesday Lottery

Green dreams in the dry desert,
imaginings of emerald
rivers roaring in my ears

Waiting for Wednesday’s
Megabucks Millions-my
chance perchance to dance

the music of my musings,
to escape this escarpment-
the protective embankment

that keeps me here, lifeless as
a parched perch out of water
shriveling in radiant sun.

Insipid the inspiration,
hollow the hope, trite the theory
of a simple stub, a ticket

of chance to enhance my life.
When today’s numbers are drawn
my green dreams will go on and on.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

If Badder was a Real Word

If Badder was a Real Word

Sometimes we just lead very bad lives,
like bad teeth, they hurt bad. We have
bad backs, bad knees or bad hearts.
We get caught in bad storms, eat bad meat,
and our bad luck, like a bad penny
catches us off guard.
Occasionally we want something so bad
we can taste it.
We make bad choices of friends and movies.
Smoking is bad for us and we breathe bad air.
We make bad impressions with our bad attitudes
and habits. We get bad report cards and bad reviews
at school and work. Bad news comes in bunches
like bad headaches. We have bad dreams and
our pay is bad. Even our light is bad for reading.
It is the middle of the night
and all the bad ghosts
are eerily circling my dreams
and getting badder and badder
and badder.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Demise of a Brew Station

Demise of a Brew Station

I am waiting for the coffee to finish.
I sit and listen, eyes closed
for the gurgling sound of water
and the aroma of fresh grounds
to waft through my senses.
Hurry up I say inside,
because I badly need a morning fix.
I sit and wait, and wait and wait –
nothing. No music, no sweet aroma,
no signal ritualizing daily expectation.
I get up and like a doctor with a tongue
blade, stick my finger in the throat
of the Hamilton Beach Brew Station.
Ugh! Cold water like congealed blood.
No pulse. Heart has stopped. Patient
Is dead. Gotta get to Wal-Mart.
Morning tea is for Englishman and
Chinese merchants.

Monday, February 04, 2008

Doubts

Doubts

Always on her guard, wary
is my love. “maybe you can
find someone better than me”,
she reflects, although she’s like
like an appendage to me, an arm
or a leg, or a stream that brings

fresh krill to feed a hungry fish.
I feel her uncertainties: things change,
people die, mountains get blown away
by volcanoes. But the bad is that the
past always seem s to repeat itself,
broken relations so easily discarded

somewhat justify her insecurity and bolster
thoughts of impermanence. “Hi daddy”
she sings as she comes through the door.
“I’m here”. One learns that
dread of future catastrophe
is a suffocating carefulness that

spells doom and gloom. “Listen, my
mistrustful one, it’s too late to undo
what’s been done. Instead let’s make
breakfast-some bacon and eggs, and chat
of things that make us smile and laugh.
then go back to bed and cuddle”.

Saturday, February 02, 2008

Envy

Envy
Why should the young have all the great fun,
The dances, romances and musical treats,
The playing and happiness, beach days in the sun?
Why should the young have all the great fun?
Do they deserve to have the best of the run,
While creaky old souls rock in their seats?
Why should the young have all the great fun,
The dances, romances and musical treats?

Friday, February 01, 2008

Reflection

Reflection

That face reflected in the wine,
the look of love arranged by candlelight.
She cannot know her heart is mine
that face reflected in the wine,
so soft, so fair, so genuine.
Hers are the gifts that light the night:
that face reflected in the wine,
the look of love arranged by candlelight. .