The Lifeguard
Would a lifeguard ponder to himself
perched high upon his chair,
“Is he really worth the rescue,
that man who drowns out there?”
No lifeguard that I know of
would employ such cogitation.
A lifeguard’s duty is to save –
that is his task, his station.
Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Who is this me?
Who is this me?
Who I am I do not know.
My thoughts are teeming bees, and so
When time allows the chance,
I intervene, and try to slow
The frenzied motion of their dance.
For just as someplace in the hive
A queen sits – calm – but quite alive,
I too am there, though far below
The depths I’ve been content to dive.
Who is this me, a friend or foe?
This me who causes joy and woe,
This me within who run the show,
This me within. Who runs the show?
Who I am I do not know.
My thoughts are teeming bees, and so
When time allows the chance,
I intervene, and try to slow
The frenzied motion of their dance.
For just as someplace in the hive
A queen sits – calm – but quite alive,
I too am there, though far below
The depths I’ve been content to dive.
Who is this me, a friend or foe?
This me who causes joy and woe,
This me within who run the show,
This me within. Who runs the show?
Gas Station
Gas Station
Sweet tickling fumes,
Rain-soaked wheel dripping mud
on white sneakers.
Beeps the pump, “Pay pay pay!”
to the purring world of rain.
Sweet tickling fumes,
Rain-soaked wheel dripping mud
on white sneakers.
Beeps the pump, “Pay pay pay!”
to the purring world of rain.
Loneliness
Loneliness
When you have no one
I am there,
Stroking your heart with
cold, hollow fingers,
Whispering strains of a fading song
into your unwilling ears,
Breathing barbed memories
into your dull brain,
Flirting with your past,
Jilting your future …
When you have no one,
I am there
to comfort you.
When you have no one
I am there,
Stroking your heart with
cold, hollow fingers,
Whispering strains of a fading song
into your unwilling ears,
Breathing barbed memories
into your dull brain,
Flirting with your past,
Jilting your future …
When you have no one,
I am there
to comfort you.
How to Procrastinate
How to procrastinate
“Busy” is not enough, we’re all
too busy to sluff it, but
you’ve got to try
to think about your homework in advance,
consider doing it now,
you’ve got to
feel the throb of guilt
thump you again and again,
but ignore it, and choose
some worthless thing—
(Minesweeper is my favorite)
you’ve got to
play Nintendo, sofa-loaf
for Regis and Alex, take
Monday afternoon naps,
you’ve got to
forget that you remember,
let lazy whims and habits
override you, teach you
how to do nothing well.
There, this poem's enough.
“Busy” is not enough, we’re all
too busy to sluff it, but
you’ve got to try
to think about your homework in advance,
consider doing it now,
you’ve got to
feel the throb of guilt
thump you again and again,
but ignore it, and choose
some worthless thing—
(Minesweeper is my favorite)
you’ve got to
play Nintendo, sofa-loaf
for Regis and Alex, take
Monday afternoon naps,
you’ve got to
forget that you remember,
let lazy whims and habits
override you, teach you
how to do nothing well.
There, this poem's enough.
Wind
Wind
Oak leaves’ mad ruffling,
the fluster in a robin’s nest,
a coarse trunk creaking.
Rushing through leafy tunnels—
the howl of a thousand whispers.
Oak leaves’ mad ruffling,
the fluster in a robin’s nest,
a coarse trunk creaking.
Rushing through leafy tunnels—
the howl of a thousand whispers.
Winter haiku
Winter haiku
Cold blueberry sky
Mountain dipped in white chocolate
Marshmallow cream clouds
Cold blueberry sky
Mountain dipped in white chocolate
Marshmallow cream clouds
When your friend
When your friend
When doubts swirl like mist before you
And gloom robs color from your sight,
When your inward gaze finds blackness
And mirrors shove demons back at you,
Distorting truth, reflecting lies —
Borrow my eyes.
When fear hunts you like a midnight wraith
And comfort is a stranger never met,
When loneliness settles on you like a soggy shroud,
Sadness, depression your only friends,
When you and Love are leagues apart —
Borrow my heart.
When foreign guides would tell you where to roam
But all about you tries to make you stop,
When weakness drains the vigor from your step
And falsehoods shake the ground beneath your feet,
When faltering, you feel you cannot stand —
Take my hand.
If hell itself should try to get inside you
And you feel that all is coming to an end,
These eyes, these hands, this heart and I
Will be your constant friends.
When doubts swirl like mist before you
And gloom robs color from your sight,
When your inward gaze finds blackness
And mirrors shove demons back at you,
Distorting truth, reflecting lies —
Borrow my eyes.
When fear hunts you like a midnight wraith
And comfort is a stranger never met,
When loneliness settles on you like a soggy shroud,
Sadness, depression your only friends,
When you and Love are leagues apart —
Borrow my heart.
When foreign guides would tell you where to roam
But all about you tries to make you stop,
When weakness drains the vigor from your step
And falsehoods shake the ground beneath your feet,
When faltering, you feel you cannot stand —
Take my hand.
If hell itself should try to get inside you
And you feel that all is coming to an end,
These eyes, these hands, this heart and I
Will be your constant friends.
There is an old lie
There is an old lie
There is an old lie
So subtle, so sly:
“When I finally get
What I don’t quite have yet,
When I finally breach
The wall blocking my reach,
I’ll be happy, content —
My efforts well spent,
All my labors will cease
And I’ll rest, Rest In Peace.”
But let it be known
That upon the tombstone
Of all such enslaved
Will one day be engraved:
“For all of their fretting
It wasn’t the getting,
But only the wanting they craved.”
There is an old lie
So subtle, so sly:
“When I finally get
What I don’t quite have yet,
When I finally breach
The wall blocking my reach,
I’ll be happy, content —
My efforts well spent,
All my labors will cease
And I’ll rest, Rest In Peace.”
But let it be known
That upon the tombstone
Of all such enslaved
Will one day be engraved:
“For all of their fretting
It wasn’t the getting,
But only the wanting they craved.”
Traffic passing in the rain
Traffic passing in the rain
I sit and think, and traffic passes by...
‘til tires, lights and rain have all converged
this numbing of my brain, this wondering why
the drizzled, spinning wheels sound like a sigh.
Will these reigning thoughts be never purged?
I sit and think, and traffic passes by.
At first too bold, but afterward too shy,
hesitation’s hundred voices slowly urged
this numbing of my brain. This wondering why
the summer months without you were so dry,
and why I left you waiting, on the verge...
I sit. And think. And traffic passes by.
It rains and rains, and drowns your new goodbye--
‘til floods of freezing water have submerged
this numbing of my brain, this wondering why
my life has paused; the irony puddles high.
The lanes we travel now will never merge.
I sit and think, and traffic passes by
this numbing of my brain, this wondering: "Why?"
I sit and think, and traffic passes by...
‘til tires, lights and rain have all converged
this numbing of my brain, this wondering why
the drizzled, spinning wheels sound like a sigh.
Will these reigning thoughts be never purged?
I sit and think, and traffic passes by.
At first too bold, but afterward too shy,
hesitation’s hundred voices slowly urged
this numbing of my brain. This wondering why
the summer months without you were so dry,
and why I left you waiting, on the verge...
I sit. And think. And traffic passes by.
It rains and rains, and drowns your new goodbye--
‘til floods of freezing water have submerged
this numbing of my brain, this wondering why
my life has paused; the irony puddles high.
The lanes we travel now will never merge.
I sit and think, and traffic passes by
this numbing of my brain, this wondering: "Why?"
October Breakfast
October breakfast
The fitful October wind
lurches the trees awake —
shaking them like cardboard
‘til great crackled corn flakes
come
drifting
to
the
ground,
and shift uneasily
to think of the wet, new snow
that will follow tonight
like milk.
The fitful October wind
lurches the trees awake —
shaking them like cardboard
‘til great crackled corn flakes
come
drifting
to
the
ground,
and shift uneasily
to think of the wet, new snow
that will follow tonight
like milk.
This Old Projector
This Old Projector
It hums in the darkened room,
this old projector—
E.T.’s petrified head
and metal neck, hunched
over a stumpy body, warm
from its white-glowing heart
beaming, radiating
Information
like clear magic dust
scattered across the room,
filling the emptiness
with e=mc2 and vector products,
factors and formulas,
filling overstuffed heads
with ATP and lysozymes,
icons, letters, symbols
Information
about the world
and workings
of this galaxy,
reflected like
sunlight thrown skyward
from a horizontal mirror
and filtered out to students
who, like E.T.,
are strangers here
and long for nothing more
than home.
It hums in the darkened room,
this old projector—
E.T.’s petrified head
and metal neck, hunched
over a stumpy body, warm
from its white-glowing heart
beaming, radiating
Information
like clear magic dust
scattered across the room,
filling the emptiness
with e=mc2 and vector products,
factors and formulas,
filling overstuffed heads
with ATP and lysozymes,
icons, letters, symbols
Information
about the world
and workings
of this galaxy,
reflected like
sunlight thrown skyward
from a horizontal mirror
and filtered out to students
who, like E.T.,
are strangers here
and long for nothing more
than home.
Memories of Summer
Memories of Summer
Hands jammed deep into my jacket,
I walk home through the crispy wind
and watch a lonely, rusted leaf
scratch its way down the empty road.
Last time the wind was so cold
you and I huddled under a blanket
on a mountain peak at night.
The sky above was a dark mirror
reflecting city lights far below, where
The Great Salt Lake gleamed faintly at our feet.
Just days before, with rolled denim jeans,
wet and tight around my knees,
I followed you into that brine which
bit our legs, stung our noses, and salted our lips.
We splashed and sparred and dueled . . .
like our dueling forks had fought for
the muddy chocolate pie at Applebee’s.
They clinked and scraped, scraped and scratched . . .
scratching, like a lonely, rusted leaf
blowing down this empty road.
Hands jammed deep into my jacket,
I walk home through the crispy wind
and watch a lonely, rusted leaf
scratch its way down the empty road.
Last time the wind was so cold
you and I huddled under a blanket
on a mountain peak at night.
The sky above was a dark mirror
reflecting city lights far below, where
The Great Salt Lake gleamed faintly at our feet.
Just days before, with rolled denim jeans,
wet and tight around my knees,
I followed you into that brine which
bit our legs, stung our noses, and salted our lips.
We splashed and sparred and dueled . . .
like our dueling forks had fought for
the muddy chocolate pie at Applebee’s.
They clinked and scraped, scraped and scratched . . .
scratching, like a lonely, rusted leaf
blowing down this empty road.
Friday, February 20, 2009
These Ordinary Days
These Ordinary Days
Our days are no adventure.
We groan them into life
Each morning
When our little alarm clocks
Nudge open the door
(Too early!)
With the metallic whine
Of a slow-twisting knob.
We shuffle these days
Like newspaper pages
Seeing only life's headlines
Fly across our eyes
Atop a blur
Of black smudges
Before fading, folded up
To await recycling.
But there are days, when
waking,
I see you, like
A world transformed
By fresh-fallen snow.
And I open the door
Feel the flash of air
(Cold and clean!)
Close my eyes
And breathe
Thanks
For these ordinary days
Of love.
Our days are no adventure.
We groan them into life
Each morning
When our little alarm clocks
Nudge open the door
(Too early!)
With the metallic whine
Of a slow-twisting knob.
We shuffle these days
Like newspaper pages
Seeing only life's headlines
Fly across our eyes
Atop a blur
Of black smudges
Before fading, folded up
To await recycling.
But there are days, when
waking,
I see you, like
A world transformed
By fresh-fallen snow.
And I open the door
Feel the flash of air
(Cold and clean!)
Close my eyes
And breathe
Thanks
For these ordinary days
Of love.
Six-bachelor Kitchen Counter
Six-bachelor Kitchen Counter
Three bars of drooping butter,
one in a Rubbermaid dome, another bare,
the third with silver foil curling out
from lumpy gold, the way wadded-up paper
snakes away from a flame before shriveling in brilliance.
Two pitchers—one empty,
the green one half full and splattered
with blood-dark drops.
A black coffee mug,
its oversized handle a great, hollow ear.
Spilled corn flakes, some glued
around the trunk of a syrup bottle,
others drifting toward the counter cliff.
A white toaster oven, its foil-covered tray growing spores
of burnt cheese.
Three cups: olive green, burnt-orange, purple.
A green rag,
greasy butterknives,
a yellow sponge.
And under the faucet,
as if growing from the drain—
a houseplant.
Three bars of drooping butter,
one in a Rubbermaid dome, another bare,
the third with silver foil curling out
from lumpy gold, the way wadded-up paper
snakes away from a flame before shriveling in brilliance.
Two pitchers—one empty,
the green one half full and splattered
with blood-dark drops.
A black coffee mug,
its oversized handle a great, hollow ear.
Spilled corn flakes, some glued
around the trunk of a syrup bottle,
others drifting toward the counter cliff.
A white toaster oven, its foil-covered tray growing spores
of burnt cheese.
Three cups: olive green, burnt-orange, purple.
A green rag,
greasy butterknives,
a yellow sponge.
And under the faucet,
as if growing from the drain—
a houseplant.
Up Just Ahead
Up Just Ahead
Aimless, uncommanded feet
move me along the shore,
and take me closer to nowhere—
up just ahead, where more
saltwater waits to roll fizzing
up the beach among
my toes – to burble, sigh, leave—
licking my soles with its raspy
tongue.
Another fifty yards and
I pause to look around:
still somewhere, short of nowhere,
And forever nowhere-bound.
Looking back to see the footprints
of the places I’ve been wading,
I find that my past somewheres
are, slowly, to nowhere fading.
There’s no retreating to the past
I’ve passed. So I move on—squelching
over foot-sucking sand to the vast,
ominous future. It waits
up just ahead—grinning among
the somewheres—and teases, taunts, flirts …
licking my soul with its raspy
tongue.
Aimless, uncommanded feet
move me along the shore,
and take me closer to nowhere—
up just ahead, where more
saltwater waits to roll fizzing
up the beach among
my toes – to burble, sigh, leave—
licking my soles with its raspy
tongue.
Another fifty yards and
I pause to look around:
still somewhere, short of nowhere,
And forever nowhere-bound.
Looking back to see the footprints
of the places I’ve been wading,
I find that my past somewheres
are, slowly, to nowhere fading.
There’s no retreating to the past
I’ve passed. So I move on—squelching
over foot-sucking sand to the vast,
ominous future. It waits
up just ahead—grinning among
the somewheres—and teases, taunts, flirts …
licking my soul with its raspy
tongue.
Once
Once …
While wandering down the hallways of my mind,
I came across a rusted metal door —
And after pausing — finally designed
To grind it open, venture in, explore
The chamber waiting silently beyond
Its dusty threshold. With force I applied
My shoulder to its frame: it did not respond.
It was then above the doorway that I spied
The faded sign: “Attention all
Who enter! Be sound in mind and health.
Within lies that which brave men can appall —
For he who enters here must face himself.”
It has been a long time since the fateful day,
When I left that door behind and walked away.
While wandering down the hallways of my mind,
I came across a rusted metal door —
And after pausing — finally designed
To grind it open, venture in, explore
The chamber waiting silently beyond
Its dusty threshold. With force I applied
My shoulder to its frame: it did not respond.
It was then above the doorway that I spied
The faded sign: “Attention all
Who enter! Be sound in mind and health.
Within lies that which brave men can appall —
For he who enters here must face himself.”
It has been a long time since the fateful day,
When I left that door behind and walked away.
Haiku Poetry
A Few Haikus
Sky iced with gray,
crow perched in a bare aspen—
a silhouette scream.
This cold, iron pole
swingset on snowy asphalt,
chain’s clanking echo
Parched, rasped sidewalk
Smells of wet dust on the wind,
Dark, smudged horizon.
Black mountain mass
twitter of a morning robin—
silver-ribbon peaks.
Sky iced with gray,
crow perched in a bare aspen—
a silhouette scream.
This cold, iron pole
swingset on snowy asphalt,
chain’s clanking echo
Parched, rasped sidewalk
Smells of wet dust on the wind,
Dark, smudged horizon.
Black mountain mass
twitter of a morning robin—
silver-ribbon peaks.
Driving to Mexico
Driving to Mexico
With hot air blowing by,
The pillow case flap-flutters
To the hum of rubber tires.
A buzzing fly tickles,
Pink arms peel from hot vinyl,
Outside: pole…pole…pole...
Clear flames waver…rising
Over mercury pooling on the road,
As our car cuts through the desert.
With hot air blowing by,
The pillow case flap-flutters
To the hum of rubber tires.
A buzzing fly tickles,
Pink arms peel from hot vinyl,
Outside: pole…pole…pole...
Clear flames waver…rising
Over mercury pooling on the road,
As our car cuts through the desert.
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