Scenic Frosting

It is here at the waterfall where lovers unite and embrace,
and smile and pose, shrouded in hazy vignette.
Behind, the white column divides the cliff,
suggesting symmetry where none exists.
The balance is beautiful from below,
from a distance—

The white tongue laps up the same water it’s poured,
flinging glittering droplets into the air,
saturating the moment of romance,
which is beautiful from below,
from a distance.

However,

The real swell-in-the-chest euphoria
is to abandon what is safe and climb,
to look from above, from behind,
to peer down the mountain at
beauty born, lovely and new
So I climbed.

The stream it at peace with its fate as it accelerates to the edge
but I am unsettled and I follow the flow, chasing it
to its terminus, where the known unknown
draws me closer, closer to the edge.
I swell with energy and advance
toward the roar, to the edge
until I am looking down
over the edge
into the mist.

When there is no continuing on and the river drops
a settled soul might sigh and retreat
and descend safely to
postcard moments.
Scenic frosting.

But today, the river carries me
over the edge and I am
falling, falling, falling,
waiting to disappear
into the mist.

Afraid to Face the Light

HERE I EXIST IN THE SPACE BETWEEN STARS
AT THE FRINGE OF A SPOTLIGHT’S BEAM.
THE DARKNESS OF DUSK IS A BLANKET UNFOLDING
SPREADING TO COVER ME.

THEN THE SHUTTERS CLOSE
THE WINDOWS GLOW
AND THE MUSIC SPARKS THE NIGHT.
THEN THE DARKNESS TURNS
THE PIANO BURNS A SONG THAT SETS THE MOON ON FIRE.

BUT THEN THE MOONLIGHT FADES
THE SPOTLIGHT DIMS
THE STREETLAMPS TURN TO FROST.
THEN THE DAYLIGHT BREAKS
DREAMS DISSIPATE.
EVERY STAIN AND SCAR IS SEEN.

 DOES THE SONG GO ON
WHEN THE BEAT HAS STOPPED?
DOES IT LINGER THROUGH THE DAWN?
OR DO WE LOSE IT ALL
WHEN THE CURTAINS FALL?
DOES IT VANISH LIKE A DREAM?

I’M AFRAID TO FACE THE LIGHT
I HATE TO SAY GOODNIGHT
EVERY SHOW MUST HAVE ITS END
AND SO WILL MINE, MY FRIENDS.

 

I Am Fated to Meet Her One Day

I am fated to meet her one day
and as she awaits me,
weaving her stories as great authors do
and preserving evidence of her existence
on the flax paper of a burgeoning scrapbook,
I do my best to avoid her as I craft my own story
that at the moment seems to be going nowhere.

Nothing I invent rivals the vast arcs and clever ironies
the sadness and humor
the suspense and tranquility of her epic creation.
She is omnipresent
through my mundane tasks and mindless activities
through my successes and failures, which seem minuscule in the grand scheme.
What stories could this character inspire?
I never evade her pursuit because she is one step ahead,
always knowing where I’m going.

I am fated to meet her one day
whether I greet her at the front door
or let her sneak in through a pried window.
Fate will find her way in
and we’ll sit together
reminiscing on our story replete with pivotal moments and plot twists I’d missed,
all the clues neatly placed as in a perfectly unfolding novel that I didn’t quite get
until the very end.

Sleep

Sleep makes no promises

it is the riskiest moment of a day

a journey through an unknown passage

to an uncertain world

but certainly a fast-forward toward death

Sleep is the mercurial half-brother of consciousness

a blessing

a curse

elusive for those who crave a release from today

or avoided because it pulls closer the dread of tomorrow

Sleep is messy with savage dreams

that tease with hope

or terrorize with threat

Sleep has no language

It knows no peace

It is exhausting

It takes no rest

The Shells

Feel the crunching of the shells-
Helpless shells!
What a world of broken homes this grind foretells!
How they glitter, glitter, glitter
on the crowded beach tonight!
Gone are displaced crawling critters,
replaced now by piles of litter.
Stereos boom, boom, boom
and drunken parties loom.
Oh, how I long to hear
the ocean swells
from the shells, shells, shells, shells,
shells, shells, shells –
From the murmurs and the echoes of the shells.

Find those perfect, hollowed shells
Ocean shells!
What a barren world their scarcity foretells!
Their tenants ran, consumed with fright.
Plastic ice-chests they could not fight.
Their homes are in ruin,
and in shattered pieces float
On shallow water of a sandcastle’s moat.
On this dune
is not a single well-formed shell.
I begin to feel frustration swell.
Children yell.
Vendors sell
what will be trash! – hear me tell
Consumer greed they do compel.
We’re given things and dreams
but no shells, shells, shells.
But no shells, shells, shells, shells,
Shells, shells, shells –
Lost is the finding and collecting of the shells!

Ah, see the perfect ivory shells,
Pretty shells!
See them! See those shells that Sally sells!
Her booth was hidden by the night.
That big one’s mine– the price is right!
Cash, credit card, or even check
I buy and wear it around my neck.
The time is late.
Except for the few around a midnight fire
the crowds have gone
and to my desire
waves have risen higher, higher, higher.
The ocean is a choir.
I’ll sit here forever and ever
On broken shells or whatever.
Under the light of a brand new moon
On the shells, shells, shells!
On the shells, shells, shells, shells
Shells, shells, shells –
I’m wearing and I’m crushing all the shells.

shells

 

Mister

(He is well-known so I won’t reveal his name)

I met him when I was young.

He lurked in an unmarked van near the school

and once moved into the vacant house next door.

He was a foreigner –

an intruder to our land.

As I aged

I realized

every night

he entered my home through the screen

and I watched him with suspicious eyes.

I erected walls,

secured locks,

but like a stubborn itch

he always reappeared.

He sat next to me on the airplane

as I quivered in my seat.

He tracked me through the wires,

threatening to steal my life,

and I spent my nights

awaiting the midnight tapping at the door.

 

Eventually

I would surrender to him.

He was my protector,

the one keeping me safe at night.

 

Until the drunken dinner

when I carved him up

soaked him in butter

and ate him

brushing off the parsley and chives

relishing every bite

postponing the certainty

this would later make me sick.

 

And now I am dying

of this terminal disease

called life.

 

Why was he always near?

And who was so cruel

to introduce me to fear.

Mister2

Teetering

Every night it’s easy to escape

Through midnight tunnels

And return with the stretch of an eyelid

But to run away with mind and body

Takes a great deal of courage

To trade pain for loneliness

Which is not a good trade when there’s no

Hell worse than being alone

Unless you can’t bear the heat of the flame

Which is why we teeter on the window ledge

Or dance between gas and brake

Depending on the moment at hand

And whether the greater fight is hanging on

Or letting go

IMG_0109

The Rant of a Monster’s Protégé

This guy walks into a bar

That guy is me

That guy doesn’t know what to say to this girl

So someone suggests with sincerity—

BE YOURSELF

Of all the hollow, uninspired, lame excrements of human thought

This advice is the worst

And might as well read

BE

because tell me, wise man,

Who is the “myself” I’m to be to you?

Myself is accustomed to customs

And I can never really be free to be me

 

Otherwise I’d

Scratch my ass, lick my plate, kiss the dog, sing off key

Run through halls, slap the queen (it’s just a game) but I’d slap your back just the same;

I’d say you’re fat (it’s likely true); thumb my nose at the men in blue.

Is this the me you want me to be?

Or is how I am determined by you?

I don’t know the many MEs of ME so how can you tell ME what to be?

Be myself

Is that really it?

Don’t you know you’re full of—

Wait!

Would the me you know say that?

You say no

Who’s this dude who speaks so crude

Maybe I am myself right now but you don’t know because

The you that’s me you thought you knew was just an imposter through and through. Maybe you want me to be a yester me

Simply because it favors you

 

When there’s so much MohammeDalaiLamaKrishnApostlePeterPandaExpressChineseFortuneCookieMonster wisdom

How can anyone know how to be?

Maybe it isn’t at all about “be this or be that.”

There is only

C

Which is for cookie

That’s good enough for me.

Dodgeballery

(A sensical poem inspired by Jabberwocky)

‘Twas bleak and my slimy foes
Did gain throughout the game
So flimsy were my teammates’ throws
At last, only I remained.

“Beware the dodgeballs and run!
Don’t lose your fight and make the catch!
Watch out for Eric Anderson—
He’ll try to finish out the match!”

I took the red ball in hand
One against five I fought.
And while my ousted teammates cheered
One—two—three balls I caught.

One against two is how it stood
And Anderson with eyes of flame
Came charging over the shiny wood
And snarled, hissed, and aimed.

One-two, one-two I ducked and threw—
My red ball made a smack.
I had hit his head so hard and firm
He landed squarely on his back.

Finally, it was one on one
And my teammates cheered with joy:
“Way to play!  Hooray Hooray!
You’re the miracle dodgeball boy”

‘Twas bleak yet my slimy foes
Did fall before my aim.
But so flimsy was my final throw
It was caught —I’d lost the game.

You and I

(a Valentine’s poem for the apple of my eye)

You are the center of my cyber universe

You make me free.

Now I can work in the car, at dinner, on a boat in the lake, at the cybercafé with my virtual friends, or in bed with my wife

(that I don’t have because I don’t have time for that life)

But now I am free to take my work on my vacation

To talk to friends and friends and thousands of friends

(How exactly do I know all of them?)

Together we fought.

Yes we fought for this freedom in the digital revolution

I sport wounds of carpal tunnel and hazy vision

And atrophied muscles and burns from this fluorescent dimension.

And now

I stand at attention for your beckon.

You save me so much time

Time I can use to spend with you!

I don’t care that you’re dead

Almost all of the time

Time means nothing

When we can stop, pause, rewind.

I don’t care

that you ring, or you beep, or you chime.

Let freedom ring.

Ring, freedom

You were my dream

And now my reality

In a virtual world

Where we can dream of escapes

We can make together.

You and I.