A Thanksgiving Song
In November we started scrubbing deep
the kitchen, all the nooks and shelves to shine.
We moved our tables, sturdy wood to weep
a sparkling cider, red oh red sweet wine.
The silver borrowed, polished to a glean
and placed next to wares upon the line,
our first to cheer our found and held small peace,
to use this time to gather family grace.
We found ourselves with many crops to reap
that year, a year we loved our fields in time,
on Carriage Drive, our turkey cooked lean
with sweetened yams and cornbread dressing, fine.
Around the fire each hand was held to greet
and eat some baked squash massaged with thyme
and to the pies each family foot did race
around the counters topped with flowery lace.
Though hardships come and some traditions break,
our family fires our fed for feedings sake.
In November we started scrubbing deep
the kitchen, all the nooks and shelves to shine.
We moved our tables, sturdy wood to weep
a sparkling cider, red oh red sweet wine.
The silver borrowed, polished to a glean
and placed next to wares upon the line,
our first to cheer our found and held small peace,
to use this time to gather family grace.
We found ourselves with many crops to reap
that year, a year we loved our fields in time,
on Carriage Drive, our turkey cooked lean
with sweetened yams and cornbread dressing, fine.
Around the fire each hand was held to greet
and eat some baked squash massaged with thyme
and to the pies each family foot did race
around the counters topped with flowery lace.
Though hardships come and some traditions break,
our family fires our fed for feedings sake.
Fifteen Minute Rorschach Couplets
This is not a flitting ghost or a sleep
more of a promise that I must keep.
A time to share whether or not of sadness,
of gold times, or silver times, or of less.
Tell you my story so I can be read,
a story of virtue, values, and bed.
No longer to hide behind my titles,
follow my children from their cradles.
At this moment of freakish slumber
I have found myself more and more sober.
Welcome readers to the power of mine,
listen to the silence, this writers time.
Here it goes as if an awakening,
a soft rumble of my ego breaking.
So here cemented by sleepy eyes,
kept up at night by my babies soft cries.
Shrouded by ancient clay and wailing walls
yet also by melodic waterfalls.
This is not a flitting ghost or a sleep
more of a promise that I must keep.
A time to share whether or not of sadness,
of gold times, or silver times, or of less.
Tell you my story so I can be read,
a story of virtue, values, and bed.
No longer to hide behind my titles,
follow my children from their cradles.
At this moment of freakish slumber
I have found myself more and more sober.
Welcome readers to the power of mine,
listen to the silence, this writers time.
Here it goes as if an awakening,
a soft rumble of my ego breaking.
So here cemented by sleepy eyes,
kept up at night by my babies soft cries.
Shrouded by ancient clay and wailing walls
yet also by melodic waterfalls.
Cutting Wood
Axe
just sits
dulled, alone,
waiting to be
swung through tempered pine,
swung
hard,
to hit
history,
a source of fuel,
creator of flame,
air
cold,
morning,
barely sun,
me in slippers,
to toss the heavy
blade
make
the wood
stack in the stove
burst into flames
to bring our home
warmth.
Axe
just sits
dulled, alone,
waiting to be
swung through tempered pine,
swung
hard,
to hit
history,
a source of fuel,
creator of flame,
air
cold,
morning,
barely sun,
me in slippers,
to toss the heavy
blade
make
the wood
stack in the stove
burst into flames
to bring our home
warmth.
Another Day After Easter
I find myself upon my knees
here, I work the day after Easter
sorting single strands of fake grass.
I am picking remnants of Easter,
broken plastic egg shrapnel pieces,
as if magic, appear and dissappear.
Melted chocolate that is stuck to the couch,
hardened, to be found hidden next year,
a basket whose handle, a broken slouch.
A line of purple peeps staring at me,
each peep molded to be a perfect match,
I smile as I chip away this memory.
Hannah with her fancy pastel dress,
Sam, daper, in his yearly suit and tie,
another Easter Bunny success.
I find myself upon my knees
here, I work the day after Easter
sorting single strands of fake grass.
I am picking remnants of Easter,
broken plastic egg shrapnel pieces,
as if magic, appear and dissappear.
Melted chocolate that is stuck to the couch,
hardened, to be found hidden next year,
a basket whose handle, a broken slouch.
A line of purple peeps staring at me,
each peep molded to be a perfect match,
I smile as I chip away this memory.
Hannah with her fancy pastel dress,
Sam, daper, in his yearly suit and tie,
another Easter Bunny success.
The Octopus
I.
Hey you there octopus
longest shy tentacles
branching shy tentacles
Oh you there octopus
such shyness exhibited
tentacles fearfully
exposed from far away
this is just loving touch
spirit of far away
loved ones, friendships gone.
II.
Hey you there octopus
deep within coral reefs
hidden in deep low tide
having a strong desire
flock with the schooled ones
tentacles fearfully
exposed from far away
cover your shyness by
millions of octopus
chores in the dark cave world.
III.
Oh, you there octopus.
I.
Hey you there octopus
longest shy tentacles
branching shy tentacles
Oh you there octopus
such shyness exhibited
tentacles fearfully
exposed from far away
this is just loving touch
spirit of far away
loved ones, friendships gone.
II.
Hey you there octopus
deep within coral reefs
hidden in deep low tide
having a strong desire
flock with the schooled ones
tentacles fearfully
exposed from far away
cover your shyness by
millions of octopus
chores in the dark cave world.
III.
Oh, you there octopus.
Our Rear View Mirror
A month or so ago, my son did pull
the rear view mirror from a home above
our dash, a scar upon the glass, it fell
upon my seat, so pushed it with a shove
into my glove compartment, always full
of trash and trinkets treated without love.
From when we took you from the hospital
and strapped you in secure and safe and sound,
with every mile I glanced behind to call
your name and wished the time would come around
to see your smile when leaves begin to fall,
our journey started with each mile of ground.
The time had come for me to see your face
to carry conversation every mile,
but now a new addition took your place,
some old, some new, we longed for quite awhile
to see within this rear view mirror, grace,
not one but two young hearts to hold a smile.
This time a third did take your place in back,
you, son, you, daughter, facing towards the light
and son again to brighten up, no slack
in belt to hold him, children buckled tight
around each seat, the color plastic black,
to safely follow rules, this backward rite.
But now, this mirror broken won't reflect
your face to join the other two who ride,
no longer able with my gaze detect
and so to move without a backward tide
the future with no mirror to select,
we can only keep the move forward.
A month or so ago, my son did pull
the rear view mirror from a home above
our dash, a scar upon the glass, it fell
upon my seat, so pushed it with a shove
into my glove compartment, always full
of trash and trinkets treated without love.
From when we took you from the hospital
and strapped you in secure and safe and sound,
with every mile I glanced behind to call
your name and wished the time would come around
to see your smile when leaves begin to fall,
our journey started with each mile of ground.
The time had come for me to see your face
to carry conversation every mile,
but now a new addition took your place,
some old, some new, we longed for quite awhile
to see within this rear view mirror, grace,
not one but two young hearts to hold a smile.
This time a third did take your place in back,
you, son, you, daughter, facing towards the light
and son again to brighten up, no slack
in belt to hold him, children buckled tight
around each seat, the color plastic black,
to safely follow rules, this backward rite.
But now, this mirror broken won't reflect
your face to join the other two who ride,
no longer able with my gaze detect
and so to move without a backward tide
the future with no mirror to select,
we can only keep the move forward.
A Carol for my Father
The dance we danced, not quite a waltz, not quite
a dance at all. A stumble towards light.
My dad was a teacher,
taught me to be a drinker,
a drunken foot soldier,
to never have a dry well.
I vowed to treat mine better,
make things a little saner,
make them feel greater,
this is the story I will tell.
Today we finger painted paper
mache masks, like the painter
my son is, his laughter,
color and humour mixed well.
The dance we danced, not quite a waltz, not quite
a dance at all. A stumble towards light.
The dance we danced, not quite a waltz, not quite
a dance at all. A stumble towards light.
My dad was a teacher,
taught me to be a drinker,
a drunken foot soldier,
to never have a dry well.
I vowed to treat mine better,
make things a little saner,
make them feel greater,
this is the story I will tell.
Today we finger painted paper
mache masks, like the painter
my son is, his laughter,
color and humour mixed well.
The dance we danced, not quite a waltz, not quite
a dance at all. A stumble towards light.
An Elegy Written at a Mountain Cemetery
A day or two had past in darkened home,
our spirits soared with hope yet worn and thin,
with sleep upon our eyes we packed our bags
with gear to keep our children safe and warm,
to hike across the way to Callahan
and walk among the pine, among the twigs.
Elias slung on chest and Sam beside
my feet, with Hannah close behind, we fell
upon a trail through deep thick brush, a trail
that lead our step with lightened thoughtful stride,
behind we left America to sell
its memories tall in pine, behind our sail.
When Sam who ran ahead did call our names
and we did hasten up our step to see
that nestled deep within this pine was found
a plot of land where death had made a claim
upon this mountain scene, a silent plea
to rest forever lost in natures sound.
We sauntered past each stone to read the word
of families lost in time, each solemn verse
of dream, each buried deep within this soil.
I held my children close with each new chord
of song the birds above, solemn, rehearse
a memory of seasons filled with toil.
This old America, this wealth here in the trees,
to live each dollar step by step, to move
the family away to mansions in sky,
to provide peace and solace, families,
each generation in this plot, this grove
of silence set in front of our soft sigh.
Elias cried a little cry, while Sam
was knelt beside a mound, and Hannah slept
without a sound, a pillow made of grass.
With spirits lifted by this walk, this land,
with faith renewed in decisions we kept,
we gathered up our gear to walk the pass.
A day or two had past in darkened home,
our spirits soared with hope yet worn and thin,
with sleep upon our eyes we packed our bags
with gear to keep our children safe and warm,
to hike across the way to Callahan
and walk among the pine, among the twigs.
Elias slung on chest and Sam beside
my feet, with Hannah close behind, we fell
upon a trail through deep thick brush, a trail
that lead our step with lightened thoughtful stride,
behind we left America to sell
its memories tall in pine, behind our sail.
When Sam who ran ahead did call our names
and we did hasten up our step to see
that nestled deep within this pine was found
a plot of land where death had made a claim
upon this mountain scene, a silent plea
to rest forever lost in natures sound.
We sauntered past each stone to read the word
of families lost in time, each solemn verse
of dream, each buried deep within this soil.
I held my children close with each new chord
of song the birds above, solemn, rehearse
a memory of seasons filled with toil.
This old America, this wealth here in the trees,
to live each dollar step by step, to move
the family away to mansions in sky,
to provide peace and solace, families,
each generation in this plot, this grove
of silence set in front of our soft sigh.
Elias cried a little cry, while Sam
was knelt beside a mound, and Hannah slept
without a sound, a pillow made of grass.
With spirits lifted by this walk, this land,
with faith renewed in decisions we kept,
we gathered up our gear to walk the pass.
Old Rabbit Cages
The older frame of rusted chicken wire
wraps round a red and rotten wooden frame
surrounded by some ragged yellowed pine
where rocks and time eroded by the rain
now hold the slightly colder springtime air
where once the rabbits waited for the fair.
When I was young I painted a still life
of common objects found around the home
submitted it along with other craft,
on both sides pets and animals well known
in pedigree, on grounds no longer seen,
a ribbon time eroded in the rain.
The older frame of rusted chicken wire
wraps round a red and rotten wooden frame
surrounded by some ragged yellowed pine
where rocks and time eroded by the rain
now hold the slightly colder springtime air
where once the rabbits waited for the fair.
When I was young I painted a still life
of common objects found around the home
submitted it along with other craft,
on both sides pets and animals well known
in pedigree, on grounds no longer seen,
a ribbon time eroded in the rain.
The Swimming Hole
Out by where the warehouses are, behind the greyest building
the Truckee River ends itself in muck and grimy current.
Beyond a cover of river brush, beyond the sticky mud
free living Protozoa swim with their protoplasmic flow.
I the Anorma multiniga came near the hole swimming
through the thick fresh water algae, behind which swung flagellate
towards a small patch of light, illuminating a path of crud,
old mattress, home to the Rhizoclonium Hookeri show.
Here I found Ephelato gemmipora, where shallowing
water fell upon mud, he held tightly to his jail time spent,
and Anorma brevis drunk on wine wailing for the dead,
her two sons fighting to stay alive under the undertow.
Here I found Squaloraphyra stenostyla not caring
for the product of her binary fission, she was all spent,
it took all her energy, her spirit lost it all in flood
of change, sacrificed her simple soul to see her loves bud grow
among the commensal and the parasitic here flailing
to rise above the muck, to believe in luck, against there want
to use fragile cillia and swim away from fallen reed,
empty bottles, bags of dirty clothes, and other signs of low.
Out by where the warehouses are, behind the greyest building
the Truckee River ends itself in muck and grimy current.
Beyond a cover of river brush, beyond the sticky mud
free living Protozoa swim with their protoplasmic flow.
I the Anorma multiniga came near the hole swimming
through the thick fresh water algae, behind which swung flagellate
towards a small patch of light, illuminating a path of crud,
old mattress, home to the Rhizoclonium Hookeri show.
Here I found Ephelato gemmipora, where shallowing
water fell upon mud, he held tightly to his jail time spent,
and Anorma brevis drunk on wine wailing for the dead,
her two sons fighting to stay alive under the undertow.
Here I found Squaloraphyra stenostyla not caring
for the product of her binary fission, she was all spent,
it took all her energy, her spirit lost it all in flood
of change, sacrificed her simple soul to see her loves bud grow
among the commensal and the parasitic here flailing
to rise above the muck, to believe in luck, against there want
to use fragile cillia and swim away from fallen reed,
empty bottles, bags of dirty clothes, and other signs of low.
A CLEAN HARDWOOD FLOOR
Our tattered, temple of kitchen
"wheat-hued, wood" weathered,
scratched scars, deep scars
Grand Canyon, gouged crevices.
Saturate, scented oils
deep down, deep down,
cleanliness cradled, cork shine
veritable varnish, of Visqueen,
goodbye bare, bare wood,
a fabric free, gentle footfall,
a labor of love, to truly love
a region to roam, roam and roam.
Our tattered, temple of kitchen
"wheat-hued, wood" weathered,
scratched scars, deep scars
Grand Canyon, gouged crevices.
Saturate, scented oils
deep down, deep down,
cleanliness cradled, cork shine
veritable varnish, of Visqueen,
goodbye bare, bare wood,
a fabric free, gentle footfall,
a labor of love, to truly love
a region to roam, roam and roam.
Westward Expansion
I sit crosslegged
underneath this blooming sage
at an overlook
of valleys expansive stage
to watch the sun set
at horizon of canyon
once again with thoughts
on current lives companion,
where does family go
around this western daydream
does the horizon
end with this brilliant sunbeam
shall I pick up kids
pile them into pickup truck
keep westward movement
my hand at some Steinbeck luck.
I sit crosslegged
underneath this blooming sage
at an overlook
of valleys expansive stage
to watch the sun set
at horizon of canyon
once again with thoughts
on current lives companion,
where does family go
around this western daydream
does the horizon
end with this brilliant sunbeam
shall I pick up kids
pile them into pickup truck
keep westward movement
my hand at some Steinbeck luck.
Cumin, Coriander, and Cayenne
Oregano, mixed with a mist, tumeric,
basil, cumin, chopped to dry alone,
A red pepper, garlic, garlic powder,
cooked with butter and duple verses.
The balsamic vinegar, and again sweet smells,
peppercorn, with salt crystals, flavor full
to touch, coriander seed, a mustard,
Mediterranean with cayenne to spice.
Oregano, mixed with a mist, tumeric,
basil, cumin, chopped to dry alone,
A red pepper, garlic, garlic powder,
cooked with butter and duple verses.
The balsamic vinegar, and again sweet smells,
peppercorn, with salt crystals, flavor full
to touch, coriander seed, a mustard,
Mediterranean with cayenne to spice.