cutest couple

big light

through a narrow window,

cutest couple of the week

talking over coffee, one table away,

he, nerdy and handsome,

she, smartly dressed with black vinyl boots



I sit and read about the latest music

in a 2007 Paste magazine,

thinking of how

I sit alone

courage is not a lion

courage is not a lion…

but a hamster on a wheel,

running in place, never growing bored,

never not sure, one with what it feels,



patiently pecking at sunflower seeds

I've laced with raisins, other things it doesn’t need;

it runs and feeds and poops and runs

and pees and runs and runs then sleeps.



yes, the measure of courage

is not a hugeness of shape

nor beauty and grace

– it’s running in place,



not a roar or strength,

but persistence and faith,

a warm tousle of fur

against a child's face.

four poems

autumn cold,
I am not as old
as I sometimes feel


in mythic winter,
pink and blue aster bloom
from desert of silence


work is a blessing --
work is all of my messy moments
from past lives
bearing fruit
in present joy


thoughts weave
watery webs,
I fear to pass through,
not wanting to get wet

kasls in the sandh

it's nice to build castles in the sand,

yet the Earth shifts

by frenetic hand, does it not?

the sand, by science,

constantly undermined



we want what we wish,

may, at times, to degrees, accomplish it

but no amount of weeping,

wheedling or wondering why

will bring to fruition “a dream

that wants to die”.



with handkerchief in hand

I walk away from my castles,

let the sea and the wind

and the Earth do its work,

I head for home

to face the grieving

that will clear a space

for the fulfillment

all my striving could not attain.

fighting myself

fighting myself,
hardest fight
of my life,
like 8th grade,
when I first wrestled,
which was when I first lost a match,
the sweat, the stink of body odor,
his? mine? no difference, we were like
one being in conflict with itself

fighting myself,
the knock to the bone above the eye,
the lingering, the smarting following
the cold numb of ratcheting pain,
I am out of breath,
I grope, something deep within me
knows the rhythm of death's ocean,
I can't remember my name,
and then,
then the answer surfaces.

Note to Self

I've had enough
of these erudite,
witty word-plays,
idea-games,
tales with twisting tails,
subtle stories with subtler germs of a gist...

just say it.
just say
you either hate this life
or you love it,
in as simple words as you can,

and you can say both at once,
in fact, if you don't,
you're lying,
and you're not a poet,
you're a politician.

Ramble about seeing 2001:space odyssey sequel

I arrived at our storefront church last night with key in hand, armed with chips and honey-roasted peanuts. Made coffee quickly then got on a computer, put on the Phoenix Project's soundboard and speakers and checked e-mail while a U2 youtube video blared and I waited to see if anyone would show up.
I figured I'd be the only one this movie nite. El pastor was out of town @ another church's event and she and one other had been the only ones at last month's movie nite.
I left my e-mail on and popped in the video. I'd seen 2010 before, 20 years ago or so, at my parent's house, the same house I still dream of right before waking about 3 times a month.
I will divulge some here, but not enough of the movie so you won't want to see it. It is based on Arthur C. Clarke's sequel to 2001, and, in a deft way, answers all of the questions that Clarke, or maybe it was just Stanley Kubrick, left so wildly flailing in the space above Jupiter in the space odyssey. (if you haven't seen 2001 -- see it...now!)
I watched the first few minutes, as 2001 was cleverly and clearly summarized. Then I pulled out the peanuts, poured some coffee, and settled into a couch.
A few minutes later, my friend Andy showed up, walking in through the front door with his characteristic entrance -- think Lenny and/or Squiggy from Laverne and Shirley. (or think Kramer, if you like).
It was just the two of us that night.
The movie was seamless. Bright, interesting, sexy with no sex scenes. (did you ever think you'd want to make out with Helen Mirren? Just flashback thirty years or so).
The ending, some might call it corny, b/c as i said, all of the questions are answered. But hell, what good are mysteries if there's no answer? There will be enough mysteries in this life, don't worry.