The Best Decision I Made Today

I stare
pen poised,
waiting
to shape this pain,
this suffering
into art.

Hours pass.

I surrender the pen
and decide to play
"Blood on the Tracks"
and enjoy
Bob Dylan's pain
and suffering
for awhile.

[Congratulations to Bob Dylan for winning the Nobel Prize in Literature. Posted for #MeetingTheBar at dversepoets.com - a poetic oasis.]

Balance

Balance
is an illusion,
only because we think
we need to achieve
equilibrium
to achieve peace.

Remembering
to breathe
completely in
and then
completely out,
forgetting the past
and the future
resets everything,
wipes the slate clean.

It is as easy
as it sounds
and
it is not as easy
as it sounds.

Now go,
and
become balanced.

[re-Posted for http://dversepoets.com/2015/05/14/meeting-the-bar-antithesis/  ]

Over Latte and Scones

He said
“you told me you Loved me.”

She said
“no, I never said That.
What I meant was
‘I love you.’”

“Yeah, but…”

“What?”

and then
a swarm of
ellipses and
question marks
hovered over their
latte and scones.

Return to Sender (For Brian Miller)

The blonde cheerleader
tracked me down,
a schlumpy, Mexican freshman,
to retrieve
the carnation and note
intended for
her boyfriend, the quarterback,
who just happened
to share my name.

With eyes averted,
I handed her
the torn-open envelope
which contained
her delicate cursive:

“I want to suck
your big brown machine.”

Welcome to high school.

[Written for #MeetingTheBar at dversepoets.com - it's Brian's birthday, so write him a present!]

Male Socialization (for Roy Levosh)

Don’t oversleep
don’t curse the alarm clock
don’t wake up the others

don’t go to work without shaving
don’t wear that tie with those pants
don’t leave without kissing her goodbye

don’t drive like a maniac
don’t get in an accident
don’t be late to the office

don’t be unproductive
don’t go to non-work-related websites
don’t daydream about sex

don’t skip lunch
don’t eat any trans fats
don’t talk to any other guys at the urinal

don’t be unprepared for your meeting
don’t tell your boss what you really think
don’t leave until after the boss does

don’t forget to call and ask if she needs anything
don’t bring your work home with you
don’t ignore the kids

don’t take it out on the kids
don’t fight it if she wants to take a walk after dinner
don’t hog the remote

don’t go to bed without taking a shower
don’t forget she needs foreplay
don’t knead her breasts like dough

don’t come too soon
don’t come before she does
don’t roll over and fall asleep as soon as you’re finished

don’t fall asleep if she wants to talk
don’t leave the tv on all night
don’t forget to say your prayers.

[Posted for #MeetingTheBar - List Poetry @www.dversepoets.com - where poetlove floweth freely!]

Balboa Island Sky

She sang beautiful
and promising words,

ocean blue,

cool and foamy

under that bright

Balboa Island sky.

He reached up,

caught her melody

in mid-flight,

and rubbed it

deep into his skin--

it smelled

bruising sweet

like coconut-scented

suntan oil.  

He swooned,

and for a moment,

he forgot

that he looked

the same way

sulphury, rotten eggs

smelled.

Years later

he found her

on Amazon.com,

having published

a children’s book

in Austria,

and he wanted

to contact her,

to show her

who she’d dismissed

decades ago,

but remembering

that he’d only gotten

fatter,

and that the songs

of his youth

-even the ones

he’d written her-

now sounded

like cheap wine

gone sour,

he thought

better of contacting

her

and decided to

write this instead.

[Written for #meetingthebar at www.dversepoets.com - c'mon, c'mon c'mon!]

Print Me Out

Print me out
and hold me in
your tender hand
because even though
I was made on
a computer
I was born of a person
and his soul
is embedded
between the blank space
and the letters.

Print me out
and carry me
in your back pocket
as you climb high into
your secret tree
where you write
your poetry and
daydream ‘til dusk
and then
when you come home
unfold me
and set me beside
your bowl of soup
to remind you
that I am here.

Print me out
and fold me
into an airplane
and send me sailing
to a bored classmate
across the room.

Print me out
and tack me up
with a magnet
on your refrigerator
and when you’re
reaching for the milk
tomorrow morning
know that I have
been here
waiting for you.

Print me out
to remind yourself
that I am more than
just paper and words,
I am real.

I am flesh and bone
sadness and glory,
but when you read me
I am no longer alone.

Print me out
and save my life.

[Posted for #Meetingthebar at www.dversepoets.com - my pals in verse out in the universe]

Click (Never Forget)

Click.

Look at all those bodies

in that pile,

they’re practically skeletons,

and watch this-

they just bulldoze them

into a giant grave,

those goddamned Nazis.

Click.

Watch when Ruby

steps in

to shoot Oswald.

Back up,

now freeze it -

look at that face.

Click.

This is video

of the last helicopters

leaving Saigon,

look at how they’re

holding on

trying to fly out of there.

Click.

You remember this one:

the famous video

of the second plane

hitting the Twin Towers,

and now listen 

to the panic.

Click.

This is Hurricane Katrina,

look at that poor guy

in a rowboat

with his handmade sign.

Click.

And this is

from last summer

in Aurora, Colorado.

Click.

And there’s

Hurricane Sandy.

Click.

And the

Sandy Hook massacre.

Click

And the Boston marathon.

Click.

Click.

Click.

I don’t have all these

sites bookmarked for

some perverse thrill.

I keep them

so I will

never forget.

Yeah, I know,

I sound desensitized,

but I’m not:

I’m just overwhelmed.

[Posted for #meetingthebar at http://dversepoets.com/2013/04/18/meeting-the-bar-the-unfathomable/ - come along and mourn with me.]

Head Down, Keep Punching

Never, never, never

title the work before

it’s done,

it’ll doom you.

I just start

wherever I am

and go

but I don’t

look at the screen.

I look at the keys

and I keep typing.

If I look up

I’ll immediately get stuck

on the errors,

and the whether

it looks like

a poem.

Sometimes it’s a rant,

or a deathbed confession,

or an impossible seduction

but I don’t think about it.

Just keep that head down

and keep punching those keys.

To the outside world

it probably looks

like I’m having

brutal and angry

computer sex,

but I don’t care.

I just keep following,

giving the ideas free rein

because I know

they’ll take me

somewhere.

If I keep my mind

and my hands busy,

then my thoughts

can get out of the way

and I can keep dancing

and singing,

looking for the spotlight,

or maybe that cliff

to fling myself from

and then marvel

as I glide down

like a beautiful flying squirrel.

Finally

when I lose my steam,

I stop,

and look up

and wonder

what the hell

I was saying.

Now,

comes the rewrite.

[Written for #MeetingTheBar for www.dversepoets.com a warm place in the cold, cold internet.]