Poem #18-2010 Age

That old man
sporting a flop-tilted cowboy hat,
trenchcoat belt hanging,
leaning on his ancient cane-yielding wife
with one gnarly hand
and his own wood-worn cane in the other,
making his wobbly way across
the wet Gardiner bricks

Why, is he that same
little boy who ran and ran from
school’s out to suppertime, with
no thoughts of feeble dependence
on others, on the contraptions of age?

I wonder:
Does he run in his fitful dreams?

Poem #17-2010

I know who I used to be
I know I'm not that
and I'm happy about it
I also know who I want to be
I know I'm not that either
and I'm not happy about it
What I do know is not as important
as what I want to know
and what I want to know
is how to be who I want to be
without forgetting who I am
in the process

But this is all "why" stuff
and not "what" stuff
Analysis and questioning
not living the answers

Poem #16-2010

I vary
from dream vapors
to crystal revelations
from warm glasses of lousy beer
to expensive Irish whiskey on the rocks
from reading Hemingway
to Sunday morning cartoons
from liberal leanings
to conservative crassness
from intellectual inquiry
to barroom bawdiness
from narcissism
to unworthy depression
from ecological sensitivity
to wanton wastefulness
from youthful vigor
to tired senility
from jacket and tie
to jeans and T-shirt

I can do all of this
in the space of a day
and sometimes even an hour
or a minute

No police come to my door
no notice appears in the newspaper
chiding me for my inconsistencies

At best a lover, friend, or worse
will point it out
giving me pause to see if I can
remember the person I was
when I opined oppositely

Most of the time, I figure
it won't matter a hundred years from now
and so I turn to more pressing matters
like whether to write a poem
or commit suicide

Poem #15-2010

I ain't got a poem in me today
but I got a hard fire burning
and a cold shoulder to lean into it

I got too many lures
dangling off my pole
and a wide open lake calling for justice

I got inside information
no one wants
and a bony wreath made out of newspapers

I got high end merchandise
to sell the natives
and two fingers crossed behind my back

I got interminable busies
floating on borrowed time
and a broken watch to prove it

I got harsh words a plenty
for them that hurt little children
and a big knife to show 'em I mean it

I got a whopper of a story to tell
woven out of mustard seeds
and stuck between two false teeth

No, I ain't got a poem in me today
but tomorrow may be worse:
I may have to birth one



This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.
Follow them on Twitter @dVersePoets.

Poem #14-2010

Listen to the voices, child
inside your muppet head
they're telling you to
try and try and try
until you're cold and dead

Listen to the colors, child
that swirl inside your mind
they're telling you to
paint and paint and paint
until you're old and blind

Listen to the whirling, child
that buzzes 'round your face
it's telling you to
sing and sing and sing
before you lose your way

Don't listen to the noises, child
that walk about your bed
they're telling you to
pray and pray and pray
until Amen is said

Don't listen to the adults, child
who strut and throw their chests
they're telling you to
hide and hide and hide
what is your very best

Don't listen to the poem, child
that tries to set your steps
it's telling you to
lie and lie and lie
'bout you that's coming next

Poem #13-2010

Water is patient
drip       drip       drip
I am not
desire       desire       desire

Be water, my friend
said Bruce Lee
But he never mentioned patience--
only
formlessness
shapelessness
becoming
flowing
and crashing

My small point is made
within the point
Water has no need
for any of these states
If none ever manifest
a drop will stay frozen
until the end of time
and never desire differently

Poem #12-2010

I opened the door
and a day poem greeted me
Singing a familiar song
and lifting my spirit
in a swirl of anticipation
Easy, easy - it is all too much!
Pockets of lazy grass tease me
tempted to wake up
but I know it's still early

There's a certain spring smell:
Wetness. Life. Promise.

May my soul remember its own
transformative power
amidst this mad awakening

May it grow like grass
and give soft landing for
what is to come