March
Glue Trap
Two tiny pairs of black eyes
Helpless accusatory looks
Mixed with a sad state of
Resignation and a touch of
Indignation at me up above
The one who caused
Their current plight
The one who cursed
Them here tonight
The one who led them astray
With peanut butter in the tray
In the glue trap I set down there
Where they tend to roam
Where they eek out a living
Getting into my cupboards
And the bounty that lies within
Now I’m face to face with them
The nefarious culprits
Who somehow turned
Into the helpless and
Kinda cute creatures
Stuck immobile
Beyond saving
They will die
And it’s my fault
The shame sticks hard
And those eyes staring
Aren’t easily forgotten
But I’m beyond the ability
To have second thoughts here
So I bring them out into the night
Where the below cold will lull
And drift them off to sleep
One final time
And as I re-enter the house
I find myself wondering
What mice dream of
While trying to suppress
The awful feeling
At knowing what I had done
March 29, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
After finally catching the two mice who had been ransacking our cupboards, coming face-to-face with the culprits and their impending demise made me feel awful. I’m not going to use glue traps again.
April
The Numbers Before
The numbers before
Mean nothing at all
The numbers before
Are just that, numbers
How can you love
Unconditionally
When you’re concerned
With something so silly
Something with so much
Unimportance
As you and I stand
Hand in hand
As you and I stare
Eye in eye
Here in the present
Heart in heart
Looking to the future
With no one but each other
April 14, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
I always find it strange when people can’t get over their fixation with the past. It’s like come on, move on and live in the now.
May
Drowning In The Cloudy Twilight
Looking down on the
Lights down there
Lining the floor of the dark
I’m rising above it all
Sights fixating on the
Bright shiny future
Waiting somewhere out there
Just hanging around
Waiting to be found
So I’ll gladly watch
These lights extinguish
Drowning in the cloudy twilight
May 21, 2004
En route from Atlanta to Boston
Infection
Golden web with
Tendrils stretching
Outwardly reaching
From the glowing
Living breathing
Center of it all
Interspersed with
Pale blotchy squares
Perfect rows of
Tiny white light circles
With a tinier bright red
On one side
Of a small black box
Showing the sign
Showing the target
Of the infection
Popping up everywhere
At an alarming rate
As evidenced by
A different vantage point
And enhanced by the night
May 21, 2004
En route from Atlanta to Boston
Seeing a city from a plane at night is always neat. While looking down on some city, I got wondering what these perfect little blotchy areas were, and I finally figured out they were the Wal-Marts, Targets, and malls of the city.
June
Fresh Cut Grass
Walking home on the last day of May
From a friend of a friend’s party
It’s about 8:30
The sun set a while ago
And the street lamps
Are just turning on
But it’s still bright enough
To see just fine
I spy a slice of Americana
Over there, to the right
The house across the street
Enclosed porch well lit
From the inside with someone
Sitting and enjoying some pie
An American flag hanging
Over one of the windows
All the while the smell of
Fresh cut grass
Hangs lightly in the air
Yard work done hours ago
At one of these houses
I can’t pinpoint which one
Still though, it doesn’t matter
It’s the icing on the cake
And it completes the scene
This is the kind of night you read about
This is the kind of night we all live for
Perfect weather
Perfect surroundings
The kind of night where
Everything just clicks so right
And gives a person
A renewed appreciation of life
June 17, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
I wrote the bulk of this almost three weeks ago on my way home from a Memorial Day party at my brother’s friend’s family’s house.
Way Too Long
It’s been way too long
Since I’ve been here
Since I’ve done this
Letting the words
Free-form flow
Out of me like some
Bursting dam or a
Mouth that wouldn’t
Shut up, shut up
Or something in between
It’s been way too long
Since I’ve sat here
Free to write
Free to be
The English composer
Writing to see
What famous symphony
Will burst forth out of me
It’s been way too long
Since I’ve sat here
And written like this
God, how I’ve needed this
An essential part of who I am
I was wrong for subverting it
First poem in way too long
And I won’t let it happen again
June 17, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
I haven’t written anything in weeks and it’s been bugging me more than you can imagine.
Sapped
Mad at the TV
For taking my
Creativity away
Turned it on
Just for a minute
Two hours later
I awake from my
Cathode coma
Only to find
The inspiration
I had earlier
Along with
The drive and
The desire
Sapped
Drained
Dead
Gone
June 18, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
I wrote this one a week or two ago in my Palm and just finally made it into its own file. My problem is that I completely zone out when in the same room as a TV. It’s like I go into a mild catatonic state. When I do watch it, I’ll spend the entire night sitting there. That’s mostly why
I rarely allow myself to watch TV anymore.
July
Made So by the Moment
Lazy late weekend afternoon
Nothing pressing to do
Nowhere important to be
Sitting on the couch
Well, slouching is more like it
Slouching so much
I might as well have been lying down
TV on, remote out of reach
Cat snuggled, curled up here
On my chest, under my chin
Squishing himself on me
Soft unstoppable purring, his
Warmth radiating through me
Conspiring together
Succeeding and overtaking
Quietly lulling my eyes closed
Inadvertently matching his
Erasing my mind
Making me happily
Forget the TV
Forget everything
In the midst of a perfect day
Made so by the moment
I drift off and join the cat
In blissful happiness
July 17, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
A friend sent me an email with a suggestion for a poem. I told her I don’t do suggestions, but I couldn’t resist since her description painted a wonderful picture in my mind.
Swept Along By the Calendar
Been thinking a lot
About the man
About my father
Who he was
What he’s done
And what he’s become
Back on the date
In early March
He just stayed there
As the rest of us
Were swept along
By the calendar
All we can do is look back
And remember him
From way back then
Before the date he stopped
Before he changed suddenly
From my father to a memory
Never appreciated him
While he was here
Never got to tell him
That I was thankful
That I loved him
Until he was already gone
I just hope he heard me
Lying in the hospital
From the deep sleep
He’d never wake up from
I just hope he knows
How much I appreciate him
July 18, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
August
Contrast to the Crispness
It’s dark outside
And I’m opening the windows
Letting the fresh air
Letting the out there
Into my house
Letting the cool night air
Fill the room and surround me
After so many hot days
It feels so refreshing
It feels so invigorating
And slightly strange
To feel such a sharp edge
In the early August breeze
Almost like a preview
Of things to come
As if Autumn is announcing,
“Hey, I’m on my way
So unpack you coat
And don’t forget about me,”
But as I breathe in deeply
My favoritest of aromas
Something else entirely
Smacks me hard -
Fresh cut grass
From somewhere next door
The smell of summer
In sharp contrast to the crispness
Tells me that the current season
Isn’t ready to give up
Not without some strong words
And some stronger reminders
This is the kind of night I live for
The delirious mix of seasons
All vying for my attention
And I’m appreciating every moment
As I climb into bed
With the windows open
With the light padding
Of the cool night rain
As the backdrop
As the soundtrack
Completing the picture
Making the scene as I
Swaddle tight in the blankets
And fall asleep
So effortlessly
So wonderfully
For the first time in weeks
August 8, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
I had originally written this a few nights ago, but just as I was finishing it, my foot hit the loose power cord and everything went dark. I lost the poem, which was about half this length, but twice as good at capturing the moment. It got me thinking about something that’s been in the back of my mind for a while: If I write something one day, and then write about the same thing days, weeks, months later, will it turn out the same or similar, or will it be completely different? It was totally different.
The Greatest Poem Ever Written
If you’re looking for
The Greatest Poem Ever Written
Keep moving along
Because it’s not here
It’ll never be written by me
That I can promise you
Since I don’t deal with
Great and lofty things
Only the average
And the mundane
And all those things
That tend to pertain
To average people
Like you and I
So instead of slumming
For the approval of the snobby
And the pretentious
And trying to be someone else
And working hard to fit in
I’m content on being apart from it all
Since I am happy doing my own thing
Writing about life as seen through
My own observant eyes
And tell you what I see
In my own way
Because that’s what I do.
So sorry, no greatness here
August 14, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
The title of this came to me when I was in the shower this morning. I immediately thought “Heh, ‘The Greatest Poem Ever Written,’ I’ll never write any pretentious piece of crap like that.” But it got me thinking about how with poetry and the arts, there tends to be a certain snobbery and pretentiousness that comes with the scene, and how I’m not like that, nor would I ever want to fit in with them. I write as a way to express what’s on my mind and it just happens that people (who normally aren’t into poetry at all) like my stuff.
The World and Nothing Less
What a good idea
I like your thinking
Screw indecision
Eschew uncertainty
Let's live life
Like it was meant to be
Just you and me
Happier than we thought
Was ever possible
As we ignore the pleas
Of the informed others
Who think they know more
Than we could ever know
But they’re so wrong
On so many levels
So we choose to ignore
The words they give
Maybe my brain is a sieve
But I don’t think with that
For that’s what my heart is for
To make the important decisions
And this is one of them
So off we go in a new direction
One we never would have considered
Especially one with each other
But here we are, nonetheless
Expecting the world and nothing less
Because we’re here
We’re young
And our time is now
There’s absolutely no reason
For any further justification
None at all.
August 29, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
Never leave the decisions of any consequence to your mind because you will be wrong in the end and err on the side of caution…which brings nothing but regret.
September
Eclipsed
I look up into the night sky
At the eclipse that’s lasted
Months and years too long
That’s blocked out the light
That’s blocked out the life
The pulling of the tides
The beating of my heart
Letting all the stars outshine
I look up into the night sky
And see the darkened moon
Having forgotten its true beauty
Obstructed by demands
Frustrated by the expectations
That haven’t changed in years
Despite the miles and the tears
That separate now from then
I need to be who I am
I need to see who I can become
Despite the past
And need to live
Beyond the expectations of others
Need to grow and bloom
So please be still, please be quiet
Keep those thoughts to yourself
Stand aside and give me room
Since I’ve evolved so far beyond
How I know you’ve always seen me
Pay attention because someday soon
I will have gotten up and moved on
And then you’ll no longer recognize me
Please realize this is nothing against you
But instead everything in the world for me
Maybe you’re just not aware that
Life is constantly changing and moving
Like I have recently come to appreciate
With realization comes movement
With movement comes action
Which is why if you look up, up, up
You’ll see the moon that was always
Covered, obscured, hidden, eclipsed,
Has finally come unto its own
Refuses to stand behind anything
And now outshines everything up there
Letting the brightness of true beauty
Illuminate the world for everyone to see
September 11, 2004
Manchester, New Hampshire
Last Finger Fell
Here we are
Standing face to face
Holding each other
Tighter, tighter, tighter
Than the moment before
Feeling the material
Of your coat in my hand
Looking into the damp eyes
Looking back at me
Hearts beating so hard