It’s 101 in the shade of
the steakhouse veranda;
nobody’s goin’ out there
to dig into a sizzling rib eye.
He sits alone,
just a beater six string for company,
belting out Tejas-tinged blues.
Top down in the parking lot,
I stop for a tune or two.
He pays me no mind,
eyes closed, playing for those
who first shaped the music.
I start to roll and he looks over;
I give a thumbs up and
he smiles, jerks his chin,
starts into another tune.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Texas Rescue Dog
He weighs nine pounds,
stands ten inches tall
at the shoulder.
Tied to his star-studded collar
a tiny barrel holds
one good shot an’ a half
of Anejo tequila
an’ a Dixie cup.
When some poor sap gets
whupped upside the head
by a tornader, he will crawl
from the wreckage of his doublewide,
and as his eyes clear,
he’ll spot Bandito,
standing tall on a rubble heap
ready to quench his thirst and
make everything OK agin.
stands ten inches tall
at the shoulder.
Tied to his star-studded collar
a tiny barrel holds
one good shot an’ a half
of Anejo tequila
an’ a Dixie cup.
When some poor sap gets
whupped upside the head
by a tornader, he will crawl
from the wreckage of his doublewide,
and as his eyes clear,
he’ll spot Bandito,
standing tall on a rubble heap
ready to quench his thirst and
make everything OK agin.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Darwinism
Coffee cups that read
“Caution, contents are hot”
Boxes printed with,
“Do not turn box upside down,”
on the bottom.
Hand guns that note,
“Read manual before use.”
Fish hooks warn,
“Harmful if swallowed.”
Male enhancement pills marked,
“Do not use while pregnant or nursing.”
A hair dryer reads,
“Never use while sleeping,”
and a curler,
“Do not use in shower or bath.”
If this kind of mindless shit
really is necessary,
shouldn’t we just allow natural selection
to do its thing?
“Caution, contents are hot”
Boxes printed with,
“Do not turn box upside down,”
on the bottom.
Hand guns that note,
“Read manual before use.”
Fish hooks warn,
“Harmful if swallowed.”
Male enhancement pills marked,
“Do not use while pregnant or nursing.”
A hair dryer reads,
“Never use while sleeping,”
and a curler,
“Do not use in shower or bath.”
If this kind of mindless shit
really is necessary,
shouldn’t we just allow natural selection
to do its thing?
Saturday, June 05, 2010
Time Lapse
My eye caught the clock
just as the numbers changed.
I thought, what if
they just kept flipping?
Would it be the end of days,
a flashback,
or just a busted Sony?
If I roll back over,
surrender to sleep,
will I wake up older than time
with all I love
turned to dust?
It’s probably nothing that
coffee and a morning paper won’t cure;
in that instant between sleep and waking
it can give you pause.
just as the numbers changed.
I thought, what if
they just kept flipping?
Would it be the end of days,
a flashback,
or just a busted Sony?
If I roll back over,
surrender to sleep,
will I wake up older than time
with all I love
turned to dust?
It’s probably nothing that
coffee and a morning paper won’t cure;
in that instant between sleep and waking
it can give you pause.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
X Chromosomes
I have drifted through life assuming
that one got rid of furnishings
when they were worn out:
This is not true.
I have, over the years, perfected
the Belushi lear; one brow arched high
with the eye beneath squinting,
the effect one of incredulity defined.
When your spouse arrives
out of the blue
with a new couch,
there to replace your beloved nest,
you must never deploy
the Belushi eye.
You may, if you feel so moved,
try to save the rug, and
you might even win that fight;
but forget about the couch,
it’s already gone.
that one got rid of furnishings
when they were worn out:
This is not true.
I have, over the years, perfected
the Belushi lear; one brow arched high
with the eye beneath squinting,
the effect one of incredulity defined.
When your spouse arrives
out of the blue
with a new couch,
there to replace your beloved nest,
you must never deploy
the Belushi eye.
You may, if you feel so moved,
try to save the rug, and
you might even win that fight;
but forget about the couch,
it’s already gone.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
REM Sleep
In some kind of office building
walls and floors but no colors.
Big windows with lots of light but
I don’t see anything outside.
Someone called my huge cell phone
“cool” and “retro like an old Motorola,”
but I couldn’t bring up the last
number I dialed and the tape with
the names on it jammed and
wouldn’t wind back into the phone.
Walking down the halls I saw
several rooms that I hadn’t cleaned;
I wondered why, when he first brought
me here, he’d dropped me in the middle;
what about all those buildings up front,
shouldn’t I be cleaning those too?
I stole something crunchy and savory and
snuck into a secret place that lead to
all the other places to eat it.
Most people didn’t know I was there, so
I hid the food when somebody found me
to say I had a phone call.
I asked a pretty girl what the occasion was
for the big party downstairs;
she said there were several.
We walked side by side for a bit,
then she ran a few steps to
be away from me.
I tried to get on an elevator
with a person in a wheelchair
but they were gone and
then I couldn’t find it again.
I rode an impossibly steep escalator
up one floor wondering how the hell
I was sticking to it?
I got off through a metal gate and
went right when they went left;
the ceiling was low.
I ended up high alongside the rollercoaster
when the girl with one perfect nipple
came back from the left; she knew
I’d made a wrong turn.
She asked if I had good dope or good booze;
I nodded and she smiled and said
“It needs to be.”
She told me to go up to the roof and
get out there, “At a sort of disco,” and
then I woke up.
Does this shit really make sense
when I’m sleeping?
walls and floors but no colors.
Big windows with lots of light but
I don’t see anything outside.
Someone called my huge cell phone
“cool” and “retro like an old Motorola,”
but I couldn’t bring up the last
number I dialed and the tape with
the names on it jammed and
wouldn’t wind back into the phone.
Walking down the halls I saw
several rooms that I hadn’t cleaned;
I wondered why, when he first brought
me here, he’d dropped me in the middle;
what about all those buildings up front,
shouldn’t I be cleaning those too?
I stole something crunchy and savory and
snuck into a secret place that lead to
all the other places to eat it.
Most people didn’t know I was there, so
I hid the food when somebody found me
to say I had a phone call.
I asked a pretty girl what the occasion was
for the big party downstairs;
she said there were several.
We walked side by side for a bit,
then she ran a few steps to
be away from me.
I tried to get on an elevator
with a person in a wheelchair
but they were gone and
then I couldn’t find it again.
I rode an impossibly steep escalator
up one floor wondering how the hell
I was sticking to it?
I got off through a metal gate and
went right when they went left;
the ceiling was low.
I ended up high alongside the rollercoaster
when the girl with one perfect nipple
came back from the left; she knew
I’d made a wrong turn.
She asked if I had good dope or good booze;
I nodded and she smiled and said
“It needs to be.”
She told me to go up to the roof and
get out there, “At a sort of disco,” and
then I woke up.
Does this shit really make sense
when I’m sleeping?
Graphic Reminder
Every few months, I like to change my title at The Luthier Community. Most of the time, I do it just for the hell of it, maybe to try and be funny, with something like Chief Executive Floor Sweep.
This month I changed it to Finger Slicer Extraordinaire, with a picture of my left dialing finger. I did it not so much because it’s funny, but as a reminder to me at what seems to be a critical juncture in life, and maybe as a warning to others.
Said finger has a crisscrossing map of scars from way too many cuts. Looking at it right now, I can see 7 nasty ones, and those aren’t all. Most of these came from chisels, a few from knives. You’d think that the first time I had my left hand way up on the shaft of a neck in progress and still managed to cut the crap out of it with a chisel, I’d have become more cautious, but I didn’t. And if you sharpen like I do, well… Fellow woodworkers love my chisels, because the business ends of the blades are mirror bright and sharp as razors. I keep all my hand cutting tools like that. Real sharp tools do a better job and are a joy to work. They also cut the snot out of us when we drop our guard: A ¾” Buck Brothers crank neck has a big handle and a lot of steel; serious heft there; it will go to the bone in your finger in a heartbeat or less.
Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson the first time, nor the second, not the third. As a lifelong woodworker, I am used to cuts and scrapes and bruises, no big deal. But when the last two have left the tip of that finger without sensation from permanently damaged nerves, I kind of woke up. I wonder now what I was waiting for to finally get the picture, to lose a piece of the digit? Kinda like when friend spoke to me of multiple divorces; “Once, they say it could happen to anyone; twice, maybe even three times, you probably still get the benefit of the doubt. More than that, and there’s pretty much no doubt, you’re the problem.” So, when it comes to unsafe practices, yeah, I’m the problem.
All these power tools in my shop and I cut myself over and over with chisels and knives and scrapers. To me, that finally says, “I respect the power tools, but not the hand tools,” and that’s plain foolish. When I was a working cop, I feared a fight with edged weapons more than I did being shot, so why the hell would I think differently in the shop?
For me, after some soul searching and a lecture or two from Doc and Monica, I realize that 90%+ of my cuts were incurred while carving necks. That forced me to look at how I did it, and the glaring flaws in my technique came out. I was leaning into laminated layers of wood, including some real hard ones, and leaving my unguarded left hand up above the cut, ready to get sliced again. I have revisited how I carve and changed the ergonomics of that process so that I do not put my hands onto so much potential danger. And I bought a pair of cut proof gloves and use one on my left, at the very least, when I work now.
I turned 50 this year. I’d like to be building 30 years from now. I eat better than I used to, get exercise every day, take vitamins, don’t smoke, and drink less than I used to: All of that would add up to an opportunity to grow older with a missing finger or two had I not looked at the big picture, made an honest assessment, and changed a few other things too.
So how old are you this year?
This month I changed it to Finger Slicer Extraordinaire, with a picture of my left dialing finger. I did it not so much because it’s funny, but as a reminder to me at what seems to be a critical juncture in life, and maybe as a warning to others.
Said finger has a crisscrossing map of scars from way too many cuts. Looking at it right now, I can see 7 nasty ones, and those aren’t all. Most of these came from chisels, a few from knives. You’d think that the first time I had my left hand way up on the shaft of a neck in progress and still managed to cut the crap out of it with a chisel, I’d have become more cautious, but I didn’t. And if you sharpen like I do, well… Fellow woodworkers love my chisels, because the business ends of the blades are mirror bright and sharp as razors. I keep all my hand cutting tools like that. Real sharp tools do a better job and are a joy to work. They also cut the snot out of us when we drop our guard: A ¾” Buck Brothers crank neck has a big handle and a lot of steel; serious heft there; it will go to the bone in your finger in a heartbeat or less.
Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson the first time, nor the second, not the third. As a lifelong woodworker, I am used to cuts and scrapes and bruises, no big deal. But when the last two have left the tip of that finger without sensation from permanently damaged nerves, I kind of woke up. I wonder now what I was waiting for to finally get the picture, to lose a piece of the digit? Kinda like when friend spoke to me of multiple divorces; “Once, they say it could happen to anyone; twice, maybe even three times, you probably still get the benefit of the doubt. More than that, and there’s pretty much no doubt, you’re the problem.” So, when it comes to unsafe practices, yeah, I’m the problem.
All these power tools in my shop and I cut myself over and over with chisels and knives and scrapers. To me, that finally says, “I respect the power tools, but not the hand tools,” and that’s plain foolish. When I was a working cop, I feared a fight with edged weapons more than I did being shot, so why the hell would I think differently in the shop?
For me, after some soul searching and a lecture or two from Doc and Monica, I realize that 90%+ of my cuts were incurred while carving necks. That forced me to look at how I did it, and the glaring flaws in my technique came out. I was leaning into laminated layers of wood, including some real hard ones, and leaving my unguarded left hand up above the cut, ready to get sliced again. I have revisited how I carve and changed the ergonomics of that process so that I do not put my hands onto so much potential danger. And I bought a pair of cut proof gloves and use one on my left, at the very least, when I work now.
I turned 50 this year. I’d like to be building 30 years from now. I eat better than I used to, get exercise every day, take vitamins, don’t smoke, and drink less than I used to: All of that would add up to an opportunity to grow older with a missing finger or two had I not looked at the big picture, made an honest assessment, and changed a few other things too.
So how old are you this year?
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Day 28 - End of the Line
End of the Line
By the sound of things
it’s a bad place, but
not this time.
You know what they say,
get divorced once and
they’ll give you the benefit of
the doubt, but twice,
well…
And what are your chances
as a two time loser?
There I was, staring down
empty tracks at dust and
blowing tumbleweeds when
you walked out
of the heat-shimmer mirage.
Just like that
the end of days flipped and
life began.
Who knew?
By the sound of things
it’s a bad place, but
not this time.
You know what they say,
get divorced once and
they’ll give you the benefit of
the doubt, but twice,
well…
And what are your chances
as a two time loser?
There I was, staring down
empty tracks at dust and
blowing tumbleweeds when
you walked out
of the heat-shimmer mirage.
Just like that
the end of days flipped and
life began.
Who knew?
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Day 27 - Hopeful or Hopeless?
Appreciation of War
I posted a quote from a notorious
Louisiana tugboat Captain that read,
“I have no appreciation for war,
although it is a traditional human endeavor,
and I’m good at it.”
In response, a friend wrote,
“War – fascinating subject.
It’s primal as a spinal cord.
The old brain is good at it and
the new rejects it. A source of
conflict in most of us until
the old brain fades away?”
I wondered what Sherman and Grant
hunched over a camp fire with big
glasses of bourbon working would
have said to that?
I posted a quote from a notorious
Louisiana tugboat Captain that read,
“I have no appreciation for war,
although it is a traditional human endeavor,
and I’m good at it.”
In response, a friend wrote,
“War – fascinating subject.
It’s primal as a spinal cord.
The old brain is good at it and
the new rejects it. A source of
conflict in most of us until
the old brain fades away?”
I wondered what Sherman and Grant
hunched over a camp fire with big
glasses of bourbon working would
have said to that?
Day 26 - A Five Times Poem
Note - Any and all 'missing days' were stuff I reworked and had posted here before in some way, shape or form!
More Than Five Times
I have done really stupid things,
farted in public,
embarrassed the hell outta my wife,
made her laugh.
More Than Five Times a day
I hear somebody say
“did you know you’re out
of ______ roast coffee?”
More Than Five Times I have wondered
just what the hell that idiot driver
is thinking.
More Than Five Times a day
people I meet or greet,
or my critters
make me smile.
More Than Five Times an hour
our youngest would ask from
the back of the car,
“Are we there yet,” and every time
I would answer
“Just a little bit further.”
More Than Five Times
I have done really stupid things,
farted in public,
embarrassed the hell outta my wife,
made her laugh.
More Than Five Times a day
I hear somebody say
“did you know you’re out
of ______ roast coffee?”
More Than Five Times I have wondered
just what the hell that idiot driver
is thinking.
More Than Five Times a day
people I meet or greet,
or my critters
make me smile.
More Than Five Times an hour
our youngest would ask from
the back of the car,
“Are we there yet,” and every time
I would answer
“Just a little bit further.”
Friday, April 23, 2010
Day 23 - An exhausted poem
Shit Sandwich of a Day
It starts as soon as I walk
through the door;
“There’s no coffee lids,
we need to bake 12,000 cinnamon bagels
and there’s not enough
topping sugar; oh, and the AC
isn’t working in the north dining room.”
Non-stop, all day long;
“I need a swipe,” “There’s a
phone call for you,”
“Where’s my raise,” and
“Did you know you’re out of coffee?”
Fifteen hundred dollars in
catering on top of a
nine thousand dollar day
in house with all this bullshit
on top.
After ten hours of this I say,
“I am leaving. I am going home.
I am going to drink bourbon and
I am going to give the ice cubes
to my dog.”
As I do just that,
the doorbell rings;
it’s the Jehovah’s Witnesses:
Of course it is…
It starts as soon as I walk
through the door;
“There’s no coffee lids,
we need to bake 12,000 cinnamon bagels
and there’s not enough
topping sugar; oh, and the AC
isn’t working in the north dining room.”
Non-stop, all day long;
“I need a swipe,” “There’s a
phone call for you,”
“Where’s my raise,” and
“Did you know you’re out of coffee?”
Fifteen hundred dollars in
catering on top of a
nine thousand dollar day
in house with all this bullshit
on top.
After ten hours of this I say,
“I am leaving. I am going home.
I am going to drink bourbon and
I am going to give the ice cubes
to my dog.”
As I do just that,
the doorbell rings;
it’s the Jehovah’s Witnesses:
Of course it is…
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Day 22 - Earth piece
Hale’s Passage
I cross the beach with
boat and paddle
tucked under an arm;
years before theirs were
skin and bone.
Mine is fiberglass.
Dusk settles and storm rises;
south wind meets north current;
white water between beach and island,
windblown froth from
stacked wave tops.
I slip into the fray.
Ferrying out, a mistimed move
spills me; rolling upright I
shake like a dog.
Hurling downstream
an aqueous world,
no telling where ocean ends
and air begins.
Only when I turn back to
the beach do I see that
I have not moved at all.
I cross the beach with
boat and paddle
tucked under an arm;
years before theirs were
skin and bone.
Mine is fiberglass.
Dusk settles and storm rises;
south wind meets north current;
white water between beach and island,
windblown froth from
stacked wave tops.
I slip into the fray.
Ferrying out, a mistimed move
spills me; rolling upright I
shake like a dog.
Hurling downstream
an aqueous world,
no telling where ocean ends
and air begins.
Only when I turn back to
the beach do I see that
I have not moved at all.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Day 21 - According To...
Note: Some days I have used reworked older pieces that were previously published here, so I did not place them here again.
According to Hoyle
There’s a right way and
a wrong way, with
not a lot of leeway between.
But the world’s in Ektachrome,
not black and white, so…
Authority is, so
I guess we have to choose
who or what will be:
Casting a glance around
the present, I don’t see
any one chief doing
that great a job.
Politicians? Definitely not.
Pundits? Please…
Children of a lesser God?
Perhaps the premise begs
clarification: Are we speaking of
Sir Fred or Edmund?
Either way, it speaks to
simply doing the right thing.
According to Hoyle
There’s a right way and
a wrong way, with
not a lot of leeway between.
But the world’s in Ektachrome,
not black and white, so…
Authority is, so
I guess we have to choose
who or what will be:
Casting a glance around
the present, I don’t see
any one chief doing
that great a job.
Politicians? Definitely not.
Pundits? Please…
Children of a lesser God?
Perhaps the premise begs
clarification: Are we speaking of
Sir Fred or Edmund?
Either way, it speaks to
simply doing the right thing.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Day 18 - To...
To Ma
Maybe I haven’t taken this
seriously enough, or more likely
I haven’t wanted to confront the truth;
your health scares the hell out of me.
Pop, I knew was coming, had been
for years. But you’ve always been
the touchstone, the grounding rod
of this family.
I can’t really imagine how tough
this is for you; losing body is one
thing, losing mind a whole ‘nuther
ball game.
But honestly, let me tell you what
I see: Incredible guts, strength and
grace in the face of terrible adversity.
I see all the qualities that I pray
I’ve learned and earned.
I will cherish all the days and
when the time comes,
never forget all that you’ve
given me.
Maybe I haven’t taken this
seriously enough, or more likely
I haven’t wanted to confront the truth;
your health scares the hell out of me.
Pop, I knew was coming, had been
for years. But you’ve always been
the touchstone, the grounding rod
of this family.
I can’t really imagine how tough
this is for you; losing body is one
thing, losing mind a whole ‘nuther
ball game.
But honestly, let me tell you what
I see: Incredible guts, strength and
grace in the face of terrible adversity.
I see all the qualities that I pray
I’ve learned and earned.
I will cherish all the days and
when the time comes,
never forget all that you’ve
given me.
Day 17 - Science Poem
This is a revised version of an earlier work!
Edwin
Born in the Show Me state
the son of an insurance man.
Youthful interests were entirely terrestrial;
jock, fly fisherman, boxer.
In college bloomed a hint of calling;
a frat boy studying math,
astronomy and philosophy.
Among the first Rhodes scholars,
British dress and manners
stuck with him all his life.
Mount Wilson was his home,
the faint glow of omnipresent pipe
reflecting vast nebulae.
In his day, scholars knew one galaxy,
but he saw many.
From the Milky Way to
myriad spirals and ellipticals,
he expanded the universe.
The Hubble Constant revealed
silent stars rushing away at
terrible speed.
His Redshift Distance Law caused
Einstein to declare his galactic fudge factor
the biggest blunder of his life.
His star burned bright,
he was gone at sixty three.
There was no funeral and
His wife never revealed
what became of the body.
Edwin
Born in the Show Me state
the son of an insurance man.
Youthful interests were entirely terrestrial;
jock, fly fisherman, boxer.
In college bloomed a hint of calling;
a frat boy studying math,
astronomy and philosophy.
Among the first Rhodes scholars,
British dress and manners
stuck with him all his life.
Mount Wilson was his home,
the faint glow of omnipresent pipe
reflecting vast nebulae.
In his day, scholars knew one galaxy,
but he saw many.
From the Milky Way to
myriad spirals and ellipticals,
he expanded the universe.
The Hubble Constant revealed
silent stars rushing away at
terrible speed.
His Redshift Distance Law caused
Einstein to declare his galactic fudge factor
the biggest blunder of his life.
His star burned bright,
he was gone at sixty three.
There was no funeral and
His wife never revealed
what became of the body.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Day 16 - A Death Poem
Death came to my door
But I was in a terrible hurry;
“Listen man,” I barked as
I whizzed by, “Can’t you read?
No solicitors!”
He tried work next; “Look pal,”
I quipped, “I’m sure a lot of people are
coming for me, but not between
eleven and two, OK?”
“What the fuck!” I thundered
at his back door appearance
that night; “Look, find whatever
you threw over the fence and
get lost, I’m watchin’ baseball,
damnit!”
Finally he downed me with
subterfuge; my last words were
those of so many Texas men:
“Hey baby, watch this!”
But I was in a terrible hurry;
“Listen man,” I barked as
I whizzed by, “Can’t you read?
No solicitors!”
He tried work next; “Look pal,”
I quipped, “I’m sure a lot of people are
coming for me, but not between
eleven and two, OK?”
“What the fuck!” I thundered
at his back door appearance
that night; “Look, find whatever
you threw over the fence and
get lost, I’m watchin’ baseball,
damnit!”
Finally he downed me with
subterfuge; my last words were
those of so many Texas men:
“Hey baby, watch this!”
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Day 15 - Deadlines
Days Like This
They just wear on ya.
I mean, I gotta get up and
pour my own coffee!
Can you believe that?
When it’s time to hit
the easy chair with the paper,
is somebody there to
recline that thing for me?
No, I gotta do it myself…
Yet more frustration!
I hear birds, but I can’t see them
‘cause nobody filled the feeders;
guess I gotta do that too.
Yes, I will have to make my own brunch
if I’m gonna catch the mid-day ball game;
it’s just work, work, work!
Here’s the end all to be all;
I had to carry my own book
to the end table beside my recliner;
incredible!
And don’t even get me started on
all the cat and dog petting
I gotta do today…
They just wear on ya.
I mean, I gotta get up and
pour my own coffee!
Can you believe that?
When it’s time to hit
the easy chair with the paper,
is somebody there to
recline that thing for me?
No, I gotta do it myself…
Yet more frustration!
I hear birds, but I can’t see them
‘cause nobody filled the feeders;
guess I gotta do that too.
Yes, I will have to make my own brunch
if I’m gonna catch the mid-day ball game;
it’s just work, work, work!
Here’s the end all to be all;
I had to carry my own book
to the end table beside my recliner;
incredible!
And don’t even get me started on
all the cat and dog petting
I gotta do today…
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Day 14 - Island
Swan’s Island
Fog is a dimension unto itself;
fog horn is mournful because
it can’t beat through.
Generations of Lobstermen
haul bugs from the sea.
Once called “poverty fish,”
they cannot afford to eat them;
a hard life, harder still
in the worst of times.
Rock and tree sculpted by
wave and nor’easters.
Even in brief sunshine
sweater weather
everything crouches,
hunkered down
awaiting the next storm.
Fog is a dimension unto itself;
fog horn is mournful because
it can’t beat through.
Generations of Lobstermen
haul bugs from the sea.
Once called “poverty fish,”
they cannot afford to eat them;
a hard life, harder still
in the worst of times.
Rock and tree sculpted by
wave and nor’easters.
Even in brief sunshine
sweater weather
everything crouches,
hunkered down
awaiting the next storm.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Day 13 - Love and Anti Love
Feeding the Savage Heart
Rainy days won’t do it,
neither will good tunes
or home-ground coffee.
Wind across tall grass with
only bird song comes
very close.
Mountains, those with
snow year ‘round,
almost do it.
But without M, they’re just
places; with her, they’re
the right place.
Not Love
A long time ago a lover said
“Shouldn’t you be happy and
comfortable?”
I recall staring out a window and
leaving that as my answer.
Comfort and happiness
ain’t love.
Neither is lust or need,
success or failure,
power or social standing;
not a damn thing.
In it for the kids is
a recipe for disaster.
Convenience is a cop out.
In fact, if you have to ask
or tally some kind of score,
you, my friend, have
missed the boat.
Rainy days won’t do it,
neither will good tunes
or home-ground coffee.
Wind across tall grass with
only bird song comes
very close.
Mountains, those with
snow year ‘round,
almost do it.
But without M, they’re just
places; with her, they’re
the right place.
Not Love
A long time ago a lover said
“Shouldn’t you be happy and
comfortable?”
I recall staring out a window and
leaving that as my answer.
Comfort and happiness
ain’t love.
Neither is lust or need,
success or failure,
power or social standing;
not a damn thing.
In it for the kids is
a recipe for disaster.
Convenience is a cop out.
In fact, if you have to ask
or tally some kind of score,
you, my friend, have
missed the boat.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Day 12 - Pick Your City
Spokane
We came from Concord, Mass
from Harvard and MIT,
jazz musicians and killer parties to
paintings of cows and barns on
black velvet.
Driving in from the east, we first saw
the valley, wrecking yards and
The Snake Pit at State Line.
But the smell of warm pine and
blue skies grew on us and
before long we were hooked.
Sure, the Nutcracker with
the Moscow Ballet meant
Idaho, not Russia, but
the winters were sublime and
the summers scented with sage.
Forever in my memory I will
journey north through the Palouse
with the rustle of hard winter wheat
whispering in my ears.
We came from Concord, Mass
from Harvard and MIT,
jazz musicians and killer parties to
paintings of cows and barns on
black velvet.
Driving in from the east, we first saw
the valley, wrecking yards and
The Snake Pit at State Line.
But the smell of warm pine and
blue skies grew on us and
before long we were hooked.
Sure, the Nutcracker with
the Moscow Ballet meant
Idaho, not Russia, but
the winters were sublime and
the summers scented with sage.
Forever in my memory I will
journey north through the Palouse
with the rustle of hard winter wheat
whispering in my ears.
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