When You Give, You Don't Hold Back

At least half a dozen movies claim
"Chicks dig scars"
But I gotta say
They're only halfway to the truth
It isn't the scars that turn me on
It's what they say about you
 
It actually makes me want to cry
When I look at your shredded shoulder
And the busted knee that makes you limp
Is a sight I wish I could get over
 
But sometimes I look anyways
And I can't but swell with pride
For the sacrifices that you've made
You're a good man, and you're mine
 
For your scars all have stories
Most of which I've never fully heard
Just bits and pieces of the truth
Like the shrapnel they had to cut out of you
 
But I know there was a rescue mission
I heard mortars were involved
I know rank has its privileges
But you were the last one out
 
Mike in Jersey's always said
That it shoulda been him instead
Funny thing is, I hear the same claims
From Austin and Cheyenne, too.
 
I'll probably never learn the whole story
It's 'classified', so I won't ask
But the thing that shines through
When I look at you
Is how when you give,
You don't hold back.

Behind Again....

So, once again, I'm behind in posting.  Really behind, it seems this time.  (Read: 8 days!  Oh my!)  But, since no one seems to be paying attention anyway, I'm just going to drop off some poetry, back date it, and pretend the whole week and a day of not posting never happened. 

You don't mind, do you?

Oh, and by the way... these poems put me over the halfway mark for the one a day for a year goal.  Whoohoo!

Yeah, I'm just not feeling that too much at the moment.  What can I say, it's 11:38 pm, I've been writing and posting poems for over three and a half hours, and I'm just a touch on the exhausted side.  Tired enough that I'm going to go ahead and post those two totally lame limericks for the last two days I need to fill in, because I can't even muster the energy to feel ashamed of them anymore.

Limerick 2

One night, a telemarketer called.
For several minutes I stalled,
Then I called my son Clive,
Who was only five,
And Boy! Did he leave her enthralled.

Limerick 1

Once in an African hospital
I cried for the tears of a girl —still so small—
Her Mama had AIDS
And she was afraid
Soon Mama wouldn’t be there at all

Twin Bed

Twin bed
Thin bed
All by myself

Sometimes
As the moon climbs
I wish it weren't so

Most times I'm content
Not so in the lonely glow
Moonlight on my pillow
Has me reaching out, you know

Reaching for someone to hold
Wishing there was someone there
Reaching into empty space
Wishing it wasn't bare

And while I want someone
There's no one particular I desire
My longing itself is empty
Wanting heat without a fire

But it doesn't really matter:
There isn't room for two
Some days, there's not even room for one
In this corner of my room

Here in this thin bed
My twin bed
As I struggle with sheets,
Toss pillows out,
Dangle over the edges.

Looks Like A Fool

Bobbing his head,
Bouncing as he walks,
Jamming out to an itty bitty Ipod.
Invisible earbuds put him in his own little world--
He doesn’t know
He looks like a fool.
 
Dancing in a mini,
Pressing up against him,
Showing off her skin in an itty bitty tube top.
All she wants is to think he really loves her--
She doesn’t know
She looks like a fool.
 
Bandana round his bedhead
Showing off his colors
Slumping around with jeans falling off his butt
Cig behind his ears ‘cause he can’t stand the taste
He doesn’t know
He looks like a fool.

Speeding through traffic
Cellphone in her hand
Trying to put her lipstick on and steer with a knee
Trades it for a latte grande just to wake her up
She doesn’t know
She looks like a fool.

Moonglow

I awake in the dark

not sure why I’m trembling

arise to look at the beautiful night

filled with soft glow of moon and star light

looking up is strangely humbling

I find peace in my heart

Only

Only in winter, the spring
Only in darkness do we see the stars' light
Only from the valley
Do we see the mountains' height
Only in the heat of a summer's day
Do we miss the coolness of an autumn night
 
Only in silence, a melody
Only blank canvas for creativity's flight
 
Only after traditions are forgone
Do we value the ancient rite
Only in recognizing our blindness
Do we expand the range of our sight
Only deepest emotions
Are offended by the trite
 
Only in peace,
Do we see why we fight
Only in our love.
Do we feel the deepest fright
Only by confronting the wrongs
Do we truly value the right
 
Only through sacrifice is treasure obtained
Only through obedience is freedom gained
 
Only through an end is the story given worth
Endlessly enduring would strip life of its mirth
A moment that lasts forever
Could neither be anticipated nor remembered
A present without a thank you
Diminishes its splendor
In the end, each fleeting beauty fades into another
For beginnings and endings are both twilight

Halfway Home

I've trudged this street enough times
That I know exactly when
I'm halfway home again

Part of me always feels strangely glad
Thinks it's all downhill from here
Even as my feet start their steep upward climb

Life's like that too.
I spent my childhood trying to get here
To where being an adult meant having the final say
But now that I'm here,
I realize what I feel isn't real
And I may be halfway home
But there's still a long way to climb

Once Upon A Time

"Once upon a time"
Four words
Four simple words
Capable of conjuring
Warm feelings
Childhood memories
A dozen tales known by heart
 
"Once upon a time"
Four words
Four simple words
Capable of re-instilling
Childlike wonder
Or creating it anew
By passing the words,
The stories
On to the next generation.

Solo Renga

For those of you who are unfamiliar with  the Japanese type of poem known as renga, it is usually done by more than one person in collaboration, and alternates stanzas of 5-7-5 with 7-7's.  Each stanza is written by a different person (or by alternating people, in a group), and should be connected to the stanza before and after it, but not the other stanzas.  Also, each stanza is supposed to introduce a twist from the previous stanza....

Here is my first attempt at a renga, in the solo form variation (that is, I wrote all of it).

sweltering sunlight

oppressive humidity
withering drought plants
 
coolness hidden underground
life is peeking through the blinds
 
forgotten neighbor
watching through binoculars
reading his books

Haiku: Fresh Green Smell

This is a short-form haiku, with syllables in the 3-5-3  pattern rather than the 5-7-5 many are familiar with.  I find it rather challenging to be this concise with my images, so this is good practice.

fresh green smell
wafting on the breeze
new mint growth

I Would Not Want to Live Forever

I would not want to live forever
If all my friends were gone
If none were left to understand my allusions
If none could get my inside jokes
 
I would not want to live forever
If the world had all gone on
A relic speaking a forgotten tongue
With none of the skills of the young
 
I would not want to live forever
And see all I've ever known change
You can't step in the same river twice,
But there comes a time
When the adventurer longs
Just to return to a familiar stream,
Cross it again and reenter
The welcoming of home
 
But if my home is washed away in the river of time,
I would not wish to eternally endure.
No.  I would not want to live forever.

Tanka: Rushing

Still trying out some new poetic forms.  Here's my first attempt at a tanka:

Rush, rush, rush.  Cars buzz

faster than email, faster
than the racing thoughts
whirling through my tired brain
refusing to calm for sleep

Send the Rain

Experimenting with a new type of poem: the ghazal.

My tomato plants wither; I feel their pain

But as I water them, I pray, "Send the rain!"
                        
The cornfields are short, and the wheat short on grain,
Golden in drought, not in harvest-- send the rain.
 
My brother came east, and when landed his plane
Skies opened above him; come here, bring the rain!
 
I paint; thoughts evaporate from my brain
Writer's block for the artist-- please, send the rain!   
 
My soul longs for the presence of God again
Send Your Spirit, O Lord; O Lord, send the rain!

I Dreamt a Dream

I dreamt a dream, and it seemed to me
The dream was more fair than I could ever be
 
I dreamt a dream of sparkling stars
The heavens alight and aglow
The Milky Way a glittering pennant
And the full moon rising below
 
I dreamt a dream of dancing trees
Their branches blown by the breeze
The whole forest alive with the music
Of cracking branches and whispering leaves
 
I dreamt a dream of still waters
Reflecting the stars, the moon
Rippling gently under my touch
Before I surrender to its cocoon
 
The dream was wondrous; all its parts beauty
More fair by far than a sparrow like me
Yet something can be said for veracity
It does not fade, like the night I dreamt a dream...

365 Poems

It's becoming a bore
And also a chore
And I always swore
I wouldn't do this

I wouldn't write
For someone else's sight
But however trite
It'd be self-expression

But I feel inane
To quit in this way
So I think that I'll stay
Prove to myself I can hack it.

Haiku: Splinter

Splinter in my brain
Worms its way ever deeper
Infecting all thoughts

Quinzaine 2

In death, who really dies
The one who leaves
Or the one who is left behind?

Swing Song, aka "Flying"

This one was also made up for Valerie-- on the spur of the moment when I was pushing her on the swings at the park one day.  Apparently, if you sing the same song over and over all afternoon, you still remember it years later.

Tune: variation on “Turn That Frown Upside Down”

Way up high

In the sky
I am flying
Flying

Way up high
In the sky
I am flying
Flying

Look at me go
Soaring so
Oh so high
I go

Way up high
In the sky
I am flying
Flying
Flying on my swing

Turn That Frown Upside Down

So, this one I made up for my niece, Valerie, when she was very young....

Turn that frown
Upside down
And be happy
Be happy
 
Turn that frown
Upside down
And be happy
Be happy
 
Look at me
Smiling at you
If you won’t smile
I’ll have to tickle you
 
Turn that frown
Upside down
And be happy
Be happy
Be happy and smile please

Do You Know the Pond Animals?

So, I've decided to include some of the silly preschool songs I've made up over the years-- mostly just putting new lyrics to familiar tunes.  And lyrics are poetry, right?


Tune: “Do You Know the Muffin Man”

 Do you know the little green frog,

The little green frog, the little green frog,
Do you know the little green frog
That lives down by the pond?

Do you know the purple dragonfly….
That lives down by the pond?

Do you see the little brown toad….
That lives down by the pond?

Do you know the big yellow duck….
That lives down by the pond?

Do you know the big gray goose….
That lives down by the pond?

Do you know the salamander….
That lives down by the pond?

Do you know the colorful fish….
That live down in the pond?

Do you know the silly little kid….
That plays down in the pond?

Not Paying Attention

Another oldie... this one dates 12-18-08.

Checking out books again

She checks the cart for my holds
Then comments on the theme
I always think it’s funny
When the librarians can guess
What’s next at preschool
 
She asks how I’m doing,
Asks me by name
And I say good, even though
I’m overwhelmed by guilt
That this woman with blond curly hair
And searching blue eyes
Knows my name, my preschoolers
And I don’t know about her
I don’t even know if she usually works
In the reference section or the children’s
Or with the movie collection
I don’t even know if this is
Her normal day to work
 

Because I haven’t been paying attention

 
And yet in my hometown
I know the librarian—Helen
She has an enormous apple tree
And gives the apples out for free
She has a son who’s grown and gone
She grew up with my mom
She doesn’t work weekends, and
She usually leaves by five

No Alternate Me

Sometimes, I feel like I’m not me

I’ve got someone else’s personality

Living in some alternate reality

Who is this bad girl, and how does she get free?

I don’t know, not sure I really want to

Just wish I could get rid of her

Take her out of my life forever

But is she really me?

‘Cause I know the me I like

Isn’t really me at all

It’s Jesus living in my life

And picking me up when I fall

So how can I exorcise her

 And really be set free?

Every time I think she’s dead

She comes back to haunt me.

Makes me feel like I’m not me

Changes me into her bad self

Til I don’t know who I am

All I want is just one personality;

No alternate me.

                                                                                                    

Northern Lights

Northern Lights
Flash, run together, sparkle
Shiver tonight
 
Wrap stars in
A sparkling cape for the moon
Hot silky cloud
 
Sun’s fingers
Fire in all rainbow colors
Tickle the Earth
 
Looking up,
It seems they never end, but
They just don’t last.
 
In some ways, this poem is a variation on a haiku: there's a set syllable pattern of  3-7-4 in each stanza.  This poem is unique in that it can be read without the middle line of each triad, giving the poem a slightly different flavor.  Try reading it both ways; which way do you like better?
 
Northern Lights
Shiver tonight
 
Wrap stars in
Hot silky cloud
 
Sun’s fingers
Tickle the Earth
 
Looking up,
They just don’t last.

Our Legacy: Arroyo of Life

This is old... dates back to high school or early college.

footprints in dry earth
left by a long ago people
the earth was muddy then;
now it is parched
an arroyo lies nearby
it used to be a freshet,
filled with life
now it is all dried up, cause there was
too much taking, and not enough giving
too much using, and not enough caring
too much thinking it would be there forever
now it is gone for good

just like our loved ones,
going on before us,
we take what they give, but we give nothing in return
we use them up, heedless of the cost
we think that they'll always be there
to get back from the nursing home
how little we understand
soon their lives will be dried up: part of our lives gone

Infinite One

You want proofThat One exists
Beyond understanding?

You want proof
That One created, creates
Every other thing?

Look now, and you shall see:
Patterns created,
Repeating, large and small
By One to whom size matters not

Dusky swirls of color
Reaching inwards, outwards
In the crab nebula
And in the iris of a human eye

Soma surrounded by
Brilliant axions of light
Connecting one spark to another
In the galaxies of the universe
And in the neurons of a brain

Brightened center, brightened ends
Connected by thin filaments
Drawing the symbol of infinity
In the birth of a cell
And in the death of a star

Who can design
Things invisible to the naked eye
And things so large
We cannot comprehend their measure?

Only One
One who is unlimited
By time and space and matter
One who is beyond
All our rules of nature
The infinite One

When I Think of Food

For my Mom, in honor of her birthday.  May you enjoy your celebration, and I hope you have all the fresh asparagus, broasted chicken, and peach pie (made by Grandma) that you could wish for.  Love you!

When I think of food,
I think of my Mom.
 
My mom is the best cook in the world.
 
She made us macaroni and cheese
With hot dogs cut up in it
Even though she couldn't stand
The taste of it herself.
 
She made us eggbutter
(Without any butter or eggs)
And had us break our own bread
Before eating our comfort food together
 
She made us salmon patties
And Brussels sprouts
And I'll always remember those
Two nights, two meals
Where we didn't have to clean our plates
Because she didn't like it either
 
She made us Christmas cookies
And then let us decorate them
With eight or ten colors of frosting
That she also whipped right up
She didn't even complain
When the frosting was thicker than the cookie
And the red-hots weren't just Rudolph's nose
But his fancy harness, too.
 
One time, my mom even made
Creampuffs for my play
And afterwards we ate the props
So there I stood, in a paper apron,
White chef's hat, and tennis shoes
Schoolmates laughing around me
And telling me how good they were--
The creampuffs that she made.
 
Now whether it's creampuffs,
Snow on the mountain cookies,
Homemade beef stew in the crockpot,
Cinnamon sunrise bread,
Rice (that's not burned black),
Eggbutter, or even just a BLT...
When I see or smell or think of food,
I think about my Mom,
And what she means to me.

Declaration

236 years ago
56 men declared
That they were no longer
Subjects of a king;
They would be
Independent
Of his misrule.
 
They never said
It was bad to depend on others.
They never claimed
That one should do everything
Under one's own power.
 
Quite the contrary:
They said that it is
The right and the duty
Of all mankind
To work together
For the common good;
To serve one another
And ensure each others' rights.
 
Their declaration
Against the tyrant
Was predicated on the idea
That where injustice exists,
No one is free.
 
Would that we still
Felt, thought, wrote, acted upon
The idea that those with
Power to make men free
Have that responsibility.

Independence

Sorry this is late getting up... migraine on the actual 4th kept me from posting on time, so I'm going with a quick haiku a day late and then will post again for today (the 5th).

Independence is
not all it's cracked up to be
everyone needs help

haiku en español

sin Cristo, no hay
nada de importancia
solamente muerte

When I See the Children

I laugh to see the children,
Joy personified.                                              
Always playing, having fun,              
They’re asking me for a ride.             

I weep to see the children,                 
Lonely and abused.                                        
Neglected and rejected,                                 
They don’t even make the news.       

I smile to see the children,                 
Doing their very best.                        
They recite, perform, and sing,          
And I know that I am blest.              

I rage to see the children,                   
Starving, sick, and poor.                                
I want to fill their tummies,               
Give them toys and clothes and more.                      

I love to see the children,                   
Wherever they may be--                                 
For in each one I see God,                 
And my heart swells to bursting.

The Welcoming Committee

Organizing’s not my style
Can’t do it no matter what
But in college they called me
The hospitality director           
Because you were always
Welcome in my room
Help yourself to my food
Or I’ll drop by, talk with you
Give helpful hints, help you unpack, too
The welcoming committee
 
So I may not know what
Jesus looks like
Or the day He’s coming back
But I’ve spent my life
Reading His love letters
And talking to Him each night
Now all I need’s for old Gabriel
To get on his horn and blow
And I’ll be right on my way
Can't wait to see Him
Just want to be part of
The welcoming committee