Driving Through the Fog (for Sarah)

All fog
does not come in
on little cat feet,
resting on silent haunches
over dark, picturesque harbors.

Some fog is
unforgiving, maddening,
dangerous and dense.

When driving through
such fog,
slow down.

So much
unintentional damage
can be done
with one wrong reflex,
to one unseen victim,
especially to yourself.

If you can’t witness
the fog
safely and serenely
from a distance,
pull over
and let it pass.

No,
all fog does not
come in
on little cat feet.

Sometimes
it masquerades
as anger
or depression
or relentless pain.

Don’t let it
drive you
into the side
of a mountain.

Roar/Shock

Serious business,
this Christianity.

Willingly,
I traded
my skepticism
for the Holy Trinity,
and gambled
that I'd find
something that
I could not find
any
other
way.

I was new,
hungry 
to find my answer,
my place
in this family.

Flash forward
nine years:

I read the entire bible
(took seven years),
countless tracts,
books, blogs
trying to
untie the mystery.

The mystery
still exists, but
this I believe:

God is neither
frightening
nor boring
nor grim.

God is a metaphor,
(or perhaps an
extended allegory),
not intended for
literal interpretation,
pointing the way
to something,
someplace
wordless and inspiring.

Like the movie
"Eraserhead",
or a Jackson Pollack
action painting,
or any breathtaking art,
God is a Rorschach test,

a outward projection
of our inner selves:

So, then
my God must be
beautiful,
funky,
explosive,
funny,
creative,
loving,
forgiving
and alive.

Nines

I look for
nines
everywhere.

My birth month,
my birth date
a multiple thereof,
my year in the century,
yet another multiple
of nine.

The highest digit
to stand on its own.

Perfect multiples
18, 1+8;
27, 2+7,
36, 3+6,
you get it.

Even 9 times 564,821=5,083,389,
which breaks down to
5+0+8+3+3+8+9=36
36 becomes 3+6,
it's damned near magic.

Just before
the odometer
clicks over
into a milestone,
the nine holds on
for just
one
more
moment.

The whole nine yards.
Picking up
a nine-pin spare.
Lennon's #9 Dream.

Thesis, antithesis, synthesis
(count the syllables).

Is there any number
better than nine?

Nein!

[Written for http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2016/03/kerry-says-lets-count-on-our-fingers.html ]

Holy Communion

Everywhere I look
I see the flock
lost in their prayers:

young and old
rich and poor
Jew and Gentile.

Each in holy communion
huddled around
their electronic beads,
their mutant rosaries.

Speaking in tongues
to unseen companions,

each believer
in holy solitude
connected
to something greater
than themselves.

In gratitude
they offer
the abstract sacrifice
of their time.

At last,
the world is of one accord.

Bridging the gap
between human loneliness
and cosmic emptiness
is this
God With a Hundred Names:

Verizon.
AT&T.
T-Mobile.
Sprint.

[Posted for http://dversepoets.com/2016/03/03/open-link-night-167/ ]

On the Slick, Black Rock at Monterey Haibun (May 2002)

In the gray fog of dawn, on the rocks at Monterey, I thought of the woman I left, with all the blood and messy entanglements of heartbreak. I also thought about the woman with whom I’d recently fallen in love.  When this newly-found romance tried to bloom, pangs of guilt kept my joy confined. Lost in this misty, damp morning, the fog enveloped me, forgave me, encouraged me. Then and there, on the slick black rock, I decided to start a new chapter, the best chapter, of my life.

The view through the bars
might appear discouraging;
it was never locked.

Reality TV Emotional Epiphanies, Explained

It's all
in the
editing.

The Hypochondriac Speaks

How I hate to visit
Urgent Care,
as unseen germs float
in virulent air,
and nothing I can do
will quell my despair,
just find a safe spot
and try not to stare.

I know you can't control it,
but try covering your sneeze.
By the look of your symptoms,
no one wants your disease.
On my left, he's burning up
On my right, she's in the freeze.
Hurry, doctor, hurry,
I'm feeling weaker by degrees.

My chest is feeling tighter,
Please make this wait more fast.
Finally, they called my name,
Thank God, some care, at last!
Check my vitals, ask a few things,
It's worse than thought, alas!
What I thought was a myocardial infarction,
turned out to be only gas.

Polished Dancing Shoes

Still yourself
until you feel
the vibration.

Sharpen your senses
until you can hear
the thrumming,
pulsing life
in every living
being.

Listen to the world
turning on
its weary, aged axis
and attune your breathing
appropriately.

It may feel like
a night lasting a year,
but it is only
darkness,

and just when
you’ve adjusted
to it,
a flash will blind you
for a moment,

and out of the glare
a meadow will bloom,
the ocean will sing,
and your heart will know
the music
of the spheres,

this planet
whirling in
its blue-black space,
within a larger galaxy,
twirling within
this infinite cosmos,

and when that happens
you’ll be ready
to put those
polished dancing shoes
to good use.

[Inspired by Belinda's post at http://busymindthinking.com .]

Finding 1974

Climbing

over the mountain

of memories,

it looks more like

the city dump,

everything tossed

about,

no rhyme,

no reason,

no hope

of ever

finding 1974

and the

innocent skin,

the naive eyes

I once possessed

before the erections,

insecurities,

and self-abnegation

took me hostage

for the next

few decades

and refused

to let go.

One Week Shy of 26 Years

I am the sexy line of
Long Island Ice Teas
and the salacious,
intoxicated solicitations
that never happened.

I am the morning
Bloody Mary
with raw egg and Tabasco
as a cure for the hangover
that never came.

I am the frosty can of
ice cold beer
waiting in the 90 degree
afternoon heat
that I never opened.

I am the nondescript
bargain whiskey
on self-pitying lonely
and moonless nights
that never left the bottle.

I am
one week shy of
26 years of sobriety,
but on days
like today,
I want her so badly
that I can only
define who I am
but what
I don’t drink.

Raincloud Haibun

She tried to process what he'd just said, but all she kept thinking was "it's not good having a 4 o'clock meeting on a Friday afternoon with your boss."  Breaking her reverie, she looked up and heard him say "I have to flatten the organizational tree in higher administration." What the hell does that mean?He proudly championed his commitment to diversity, but here he was telling here that in the upcoming reorg, there was no room for a woman of color who has been with the organization 28 years.  He spoke some more, but her shock left her temporarily numb and mentally elsewhere. Gathering her thoughts and her dignity, she waited for a break in his monologue, and said "I think we're done here," and walked back to her office.

Rain can fall or storm,
ultimately, it brings growth;
the clouds never stay.





[First #haibun attempt, photo by BusyMindThinking (many thanks as it inspired this writing).

Nightmare (Twelve Problems)

I awaken
in darkness
alone in my bed
(problem #1),
and I hear someone,
something,
slamming against
the front door
(problem #2).

The alarm wails
(problem #3)
and before
I can panic,
the familiar
beep-beep-beep-beep
of the code
is entered
which quells
the alarm
(problem #4).

I call out
"who is it?"
and there is
no response
(problem #5)
save for the sound
of breathing
and the opening
and closing
of kitchen drawers
(problem #6).

I attempt
"Who's there?"
but my voice
suddenly strained,
is whisper quiet,
(problem #7),
and I hear
the familiar squeak
of the knife drawer
(problem #8).

I try to kick off
the blankets,
but I'm inexplicably,
inextricably,
tucked in
(problem #9),
as heavy footsteps
plod up the stairs
to my room
(problem #10).

In the moonlight
I see the glint
of the blade
in the hand
of the approaching intruder
(problem #11),
as my body,
frozen in fear,
eyes closed hard,
awaits the plunge
(problem #12).

The Un-Commented Upon Post

Inspiration wafted by
and grabbed imagination
by the collar
and they wrestled
and rode each other
naked and sweaty
until conception
was complete.

During gestation,
the second draft
brought needed
revisions
until finally,
this child,
their beautiful offspring
was ready.

Press “Publish”
and wait.

Every baby
in this nursery appears,
more or less,
the same,
and a hundred more
were born
since you started
reading this.

What did you expect?
It’s just a blog post.

It’s not like
you cured cancer.

[Written for http://dversepoets.com/2016/01/28/image-ine-dverse-meeting-the-bar/, inspired by your Hostess, Victoria C. Slotto]

The Night Watchmen

The night watchmen
see it all.

They slip into midnight,
their natural hue,
and witness the hunger,
the desperation
of those who live
and scurry by night,
but don’t do
or say anything about it.

Their slick black
trench coats
make each one
indistinguishable
from the other.

Last night,
they witnessed
a break-in
at the printers,
a break-up
after the bar closed,
and a breakout
from the county prison.

They betray no one,
they have no code.

In the dawn
they gather
in their murder,
but there is
no conspiracy,

each crow
searching the morning’s
detritus,
stray fast food wrappers,
uncovered garbage cans,
just looking for
something to eat.

The Unacceptable Weirdos

Give me
the unacceptable weirdos,
those artists
sweaty, passionate
and forever
misunderstood.

I don't believe artists
who look like
movie stars
or fashion models,
because they always had
other options.

An artist
so ugly that
all they have
is their talent,
their lifetime isolation,
and their pulsating pain;
I find
in these outcasts,
succor
and understanding.

This is the story
I tell myself:
I'm not a pretty boy.
I'm an ugly,
unacceptable weirdo,
so therefore,
I must be talented.

Anyone else
see the flaw
in my logic?

Lifetime Movie Haiku

Perfect male misanthropes,
doe-eyed, speaking mannequins;
I can't look away.

Room Service Banana Split Sundae (for Anita)

The only way
to improve upon
a room-service delivered
banana split sundae
is to slowly lick it off
the naked backside
of a freshly
blooming
paramour
in a furtive,
anonymous hotel room
in a city
far, far away.

[Written for http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2016/01/poets-united-midweek-motif-food.html ]

Little Napoleon

Little Napoleon
ruled his world,
with an iron appendage
taking whoever he wanted,
whenever he wanted.

Although a stump
of a man,
a troll with bad breath,
a lazy eye
and a crooked nose
with oversized
nostrils,
word got around
that he was blessed,
gifted, as it were,
and the women swore
the rumors were
true.

For years,
it was an endless,
breathless
orgy of sweaty,
fleshy excitement
with an ever changing retinue
of hungry femininity,
who wanted nothing
to do with him
once they collected
as many orgasms
as they could carry.

Little Napoleon
didn’t care.

He’d rather read a book
than talk to 99 percent
of the population anyway,
but still,
there were some cravings
that a book would never satisfy,
like
who was staring back at him
in the motel bathroom mirror?

The end crept in,
covertly,
manifesting itself
in ever diminishing
performances,
softer and softer,
gentle like his
grandmother’s
skin.

In desperation,
he tried pills,
shots,
prosthetics,
even resorting
to cognitive-behavioral therapy.

Though he was found
in a most undignified
position,

hanging from a shower rod,
bathrobe sash around his neck,
extension cord wrapped tightly
around his engorged
junk,

he would’ve been
mighty proud of this
erection.

De-Christmasing

Before the
new year arrives,
I de-Christmas
the house.

Fold the festive linen,

exile those ceramic
snowman to their
cardboard Siberia
in the garage,

fade out all those
wall to wall
yule tunes.

The lights,
the music,
the handmade ornaments
from the children,
these things
stay the same
year to year.

We change.

I change.

As I re-seal
the yellowed boxes,
I relive
the blur of memories
attached to each
thing,
before I store it
away
with a blessing
and a wish:

"see you next year,
God willing."

One year,
I won't be so lucky,
and these things
will outlast me,

and I hope
I am part
of someone else's
Christmas memories,

remembered,
at least,
for a season.

New Year's Resolution (for Sarah)

Just on the other side
of the dawn
a new year waits.

It is
merely potential,
now,

waiting for something
or someone
to set it into motion.

Be that activity!
Be that energy!
Be that spark that starts
who you are to be!

It might take
a long time
to find your light,

but when you do,

nurture it,
feed it,
and then
set it on fire!

The world is waiting
for you.

It is incomplete
without you;
the day is incomplete
without you.

Bring who you are
to the party
that starts right now
and never ends.