Monday, March 02, 2015

chasing time

Time
Is more slippery
Than a six year old
Wearing socks
On a newly polished bamboo floor

packing snow

this snow doesn't pack
so I can't throw it away
nearly fast enough

Parenting is always in context

Jumping off a cliff never seems to make sense
So 
If you were to have walked in to my son's room this morning 
And
Seen my wife and I dressing a half awake six year old
While he flopped to and fro
Like the Ronald McDonald ballon 
On
A windy day 
In
The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade
I expect that you would have questioned our sanity
Even after you learned we were braving the hig winds
So that he could help his mom make coffee
But
I expect you would say the same about the man leaping off the cliff
If you did not see the stampeding herd of elephants

Friday, February 27, 2015

Radio Scraps

Maybe this thing just ain't meant for us
Yes
I do believe it's time for me to fly
Midnight you come pick me up
No headlights
But big ol' jet airliner
Don't carry me too far away
Just Take me into your loving arms
Because
The light in the window is a crack in the sky
And I'm
Standing still In a field of voices
And I
Believe in your song
On the real no lie
I don't know what it is but you're just my type
I need to be where you are
The lady then she covered me in roses

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Spilt Milk

When I first spied it
It was already listing to the  starboard side
Having been surreptitiously slipped out of its berth in the icebox 
Through the kitchen and the dining room and
Almost out onto the open  table
Almost and
Then as almost slipped away
I saw it come crashing back to the ground
It's white prow
Hitting first and
Bleeding
Gushing
Leaking white in all directions and
Calling out to the fully aware, alert, and prepared
To streak across across the sand 
Life preserver in hand
To save lives and 
Assign responsibility
To sound the alarm and
Begin the rescue operation
With a reluctant and ineffectual awareness
Of the limits of feasible deniability and 
The inevitable cleanup to follow


seasonal plea

I don't want to see
my breath in March so Mother
Nature do something

Global Warming

You think
Your neighbor owns a
Shiny
New
Mercedes
Although it is hard to tell
Since you only see it
When you happen to drive by
As he is taking empty cardboard boxes
Across his meticulously plowed driveway
To the curb
It's pretty darn clear
He must be doing well
He must be happy
We must be entering the next ice age
Of course
You aren't writing the checks


Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Sinkholes

Sinkhole swallows two people on Seoul sidewalk
Swiftly
Succinctly
Temporarily
In much the same way As I am swallowed up by my children's
Soliloquies and
Tantrums
The only real difference is that my
Sinkhole experiences are
Seldom
Succinct

Monday, February 23, 2015

snuggling for warmth

stuffed inside a box
snake, turtle, frog, and stop sign
keeping out the cold

The Rising Son

Hiding somewhere between the opening of his bedroom door
At six forty five in the morning and 
The opening of his eyes and mouth
Almost simultaneously
Just short of six forty six in the morning
Is a transition
Of the sort that
Most folks never get to see
From a reality shrouded in mystery to
One about which there is little that is mysterious
Unless you count his consumption of carbs
A transition
That is no less momentous
Than Mr/ Roger's shoe change
No more apparent
Than  the annual life cycle of your average pine tree and
No easier to capture
Than the moment that toast goes from just right to charcoal briquette and
On most mornings I pay as much attention to it as I do to
The dust that builds up on the bottom lip of the picture frames around the house but
Even I dust and
Every so often
I am aware of the opportunity I have
To witness a sunrise
Every single day of the year



A Pinch of Saffron


There is a moment 
Hiding between the opening of his door
At six forty five in the morning and 
The opening of his eyes and mouth
Less than a minute further on
That feels a lot like 
Opening that nearly empty 
Yet newly purchased glass jar of saffron and
Adding a pinch To some carefully coalesced combination of
Oil
Vegetables
Spices and
Meat
With no promise of 
Anything yet to come


checking out at the grocery store with a new hire

He moved fast
Like a tornado
Strawberries flying across the belt and onto the floor
Like cars being hoisted off the road and into homes and businesses
Bags spinning in the wrong direction
Like people being forced to seek shelter in the attic and
Stretching the the breaking point
Like the folks forced to shelter in the wrong attic
Each item scanned at least ten times in the span of twenty second
The little red phone getting more use than 911 and me
Standing there
As if I was watching
"When tornados strike"
On my television
Just after midnight
Not moving very fast at all



thermostat

inside the house it's
sweatshirt weather outside it's
thirty two below

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

hungry for spring

Today is cold and clear and
Cluttered
Like a recently emptied meat locker
The snow piled everywhere
Browning in the air
Like day old avocados
Most of the trees doing their best turkey carcass impressions
And
I'm hungry
For spring


Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Give Me a Smile

He shrugs his shoulders and
Flashes a wry smile
Not the one where he sticks his tongue out and closes his eyes but
The one that is more reminiscent of 
A contented male lion 
Resting under an acacia tree 
It is even followed by a roar and
It always leaves me hoping
That the smile is what it seems to be and
That I don't end up getting more than I asked for and
I suppose
Now
It would be
The moment for me
To shrug my shoulders

Random

I just want 
The only thing that could make a difference 
The new version 
I'm not sure if you have a lot of people who are not in my head 
You know how much I love you too 
I love you too 
I don't think that it would mean the world today 
You know 
You know what you want me to be 

seasonal itch

by February
I'm wondering whether God
needs Head and Shoulders

Modern Menopause

They now say
Menopause 
Is
Ten to 
Fourteen years of
Hot flashes and 
Night sweats
And
Basil
Is being grown 
In storage containers
In Boston
So
Ladies
You can think about 
The origin of the pesto you had for dinner
At three in the morning

I had a dream

Hippos were gliding
Like nuclear submarines
Just below the surface
Not even a nostril or
A periscope
Showing
Just a ripple
An unlikely hint
Of the breadth of the problem
Lurking just below the surface
Of my mind