Or barely, know
Who all-too-freely
Clap you on the back
And call you “buddy”
Are the saddest people ever.
When the façade is down
And they’re at home
The truth becomes apparent
That they’re all alone.
February 3, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
We all know people like this.
Everything Grows
Plants grow, stretch, yearn, and bloom
You wouldn’t say to a plant,
“Hey there! Stop growing!
You’ve exceeded the boundaries
Of how I feel you should be!”
So, why would you impose
Your beliefs on another person?
We should encourage and foster growth
Instead of dedicating so much to regression
February 3, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
Followers
Followers
In name only
Never in deed
Care only about
Appearances
True adherence
To His teachings
Could never happen
In our society
You can’t reach
That far low
While sitting so high
In you Escalade
Voting for war
When you should turn the other cheek
Closing the door
When you should help the meek
Your inflated sense of superiority
Is layered thick
Like your hypocrisy
February 2, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
Microscope
When looking through the microscope
Comprised of an extremely constricted
And limited worldview
See the thing contained
And affix a definition of love
It can’t be done
Because it’s impossible
You can’t see how big love is
When you narrow your eyes
Go outside and see from
Horizon to horizon
It’s better, but still not even
Half the picture
To get a full-view
Of how big love is
Leave your town
Leave your comfort zone
Go up, up, up, up
See from a new perspective
See everything
Take it all in
And from your new view
You’ll get a better picture
Of love
February 8, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
Today, my cousin wrote this on Facebook:
__
I have a yellow house. You do not. I am therefore attacking the sanctity of the color of your house. I am attacking your freedom to choose your own house color by choosing mine. There should be a law.
“It sounds that stupid when you talk about marriage, too.”
__
It got me thinking and I ended up writing this.
Small Talk
Small talk
Is an art form
Popularized by people
Uncomfortable with silence
Unable to deal with their own thoughts
They spew inane ramblings
Like verbal pollution
Wilting my will
Killing my time
Lots of talking
While not saying
Much of anything
Stuff it
Save it
For someone else
I don’t dabble in that medium
February 13, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
Literary Inadequacy
Half a century ago
Most sci-fi books
Were thin and trim
Succinctly telling their stories.
These days they are
Overheavy, bloated blocks
Adhering to a hyper-inflated page count
Instead of the natural course of the story
What happened?
Why are things this way?
Back then people likened
Sci-fi to pulp fiction
So the publishers,
Suffering from literary inadequacy
Pumped up the page numbers
Because of the fallacy
The thicker the book
The better the story
The smarter you are
When will they learn what we already know?
Quantity does not equal quality
February 13, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
Last summer I went to a literary-focused science fiction convention called Readercon. One of the panels I saw discussed the interesting subject of book inflation and covered the ideas in this poem.
Returning to the Past
The memories
Burn brightly
The smiles, the laughs,
The good times
But when you return
To the physical location
You discover
It now holds nothing for you
Like time, it has moved on
Leaving nothing but
The memories in your mind
And an ache in your heart
Instead of revisiting the past
Cling to and embrace the present
With as much love and appreciation
As you can muster
February 13, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
Chained Down
Chains give us familiarity,
Local stores: originality
For now, you have a choice
Buy local, support local
Otherwise the money leaves town
And you find yourself chained down
With nothing neat, new, or local
Only franchised landmarks
From sea to shining sea
February 24, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
Too Many Twos
At work
Standing at my window
While people on the other side
Sign and date stupid government forms
I have heard
Half a dozen
Grown adults
Look at the date,
Look worried and say,
“There are too many twos.”
????????????????????????
How many is too many?
Is it painful to write twos?
If it’s bad now
Do they know
It’ll be the same again
In December?
Will they say the same
About threes next year?
I don’t know
Maybe threes don’t hurt as much
2/22/2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
MARCH
Slips Like Socks
Like a late bloomer
Infringing on the next season
Like a late riser
Getting up in time for dinner
Winter was nowhere to be seen
Leaving an awkward hole
Between November and now
Stretching, yawning, and looking
At the alarm clock that never went off
Jumping out of bed
Hurrying, scurrying
Trying to catch up
Tossing a foot or so down
Wet, white, and fluffy
Covering the trees and the ground
I try to get my car
Out of the driveway
But the wheels spin
And it slips like socks
Ensuring I can’t be distracted
By my daily duties
And can, instead
Appreciate the beauty
And bask in the late, and last,
Surge of the season
March 1, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
It snowed!
A Night Brighter With Snow
On a night brighter with snow
Thoughts turn to things
The reasonable among us
Would shun, shut down, and hide
Lacking sense
Lacking purpose
Twirling on the leading edge
Of the considerations not taken
Backtracking in time
Clawing back down the one-way streets
Just to see what the other paths held
Millions of roads
Leading to billions of avenues
A life’s past map laid out
The eyes trace each route
And watch them dead end
The terrible things, at the time,
Led to opportunities previously unrealized
A smile cracks the face
At seeing that everything
Turned out just how it should’ve
The mind slides down a chute
Back to now
Snow swirling around
Feet striding confidently
Crunching it down
The past forgotten
Eyes focused up ahead
Moving onward
March 3, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
Last night we saw a Talking Heads cover band called, Start Making Sense. When we got out of the club at 1am, I was taken aback by how bright it was outside with the town’s light reflecting off the low white snow clouds. As we walked back to our car, I remembered the singer saying, “Here is our last song, ‘Persimmon’,” which I know isn’t a song, so I had really misheard what he said. I thought that Persimmon would make a great title for a nonsense poem, so I started writing…and it went from my intended direction, to something a lot more concrete, so I just went with it.
Better In Here Than Out There
Pushing the cart
Laden with my weekly provisions
Needing to stop
Quickly, halting my momentum
Waiting for her
To decide which way to the Tums
Trying to move
She’s oblivious of my presence
Maneuvering my things
Around, only for her near miss
Swearing to myself
About how people are oblivious
March 11, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
I went to the Stop & Shop to do the weekly grocery shopping. It seems every time I go, I spend most of my time avoiding completely oblivious people who don’t give a single thought to how what they’re doing impacts others. It’s better that they act like clueless idiots while pushing carts in a supermarket as opposed to doing it while driving their cars on the street…but I know if they do it in the store, they’re just as apt to do it while driving.
When I Was Younger
An old woman approached me
Wrinkled and wizened beyond her years
The wafting stench of the decades
Of ashy addiction crinkled my nose
Her drooping face spoke through
The tangled mop of dirty gray and white
Asking if I felt old
I replied “No,” and added
“I feel younger than I look.”
She nodded a toothless smile and said
“When I was younger, I felt older.”
March 12, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
An actual conversation I had today.
The Edge of Mean
Lately, I’ve noticed a trend
Among some of the blogs I read
Even though they’re usually funny
There is an unsettling tone
That’s uncomfortable
That clings to my brain
Like a hardening layer of pond scum
I couldn’t place why
They made me feel like this
Until my wife pointed it out
In their quest to hone their snarky wit
They instead balance steadfastly
On the edge of mean.
With this realization in hand
I clicked and unsubscribed.
March 12, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
There are a few blogs in my Google Reader that I like, because they’re kind of funny, but it always felt like there was a subconscious trade off that left me feeling uncomfortable at the same time. Kari felt it too and after some thought, she realized they were “on the edge of mean.” Like those blogs had to wield an undercurrent of meanness in order to be funny. That was it. I’ve since unsubscribed from those blogs.
Have A Great Day
“Have a good day,” I said.
“Have a great day,” she replied, and left
Leaving her words
Hanging in the air
Sticking in my mind.
With only four words
She upped the ante
And cheapened my rote expression
Causing me to examine
The casual things we say
March 12, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
This also happened today.
Actually, Roman
The old man with the Irish last name
Asked me for the date
“March 15,” I replied
His red, watery eyes lit up like stars
“Oh! It’s St. Patrick’s Day!”
I corrected him,
“No, that’s Saturday.”
His face squished inwards
As if his red cheeks getting closer
Would put him deep in thought
With effort, he managed,
“What’s today? I know it’s sumptin’.”
“The Ides of March,” I informed.
He nodded, a shaky finger pointing,
“See, I knew it was sumptin’ Irish.”
“Actually, Roman,” I said
And thought to remind him
About Julius Caesar
But was stopped by his laugh
That conveyed he didn’t know
Nor did he even care
March 15, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
A real exchange I had today.
Focused
Young man
Dirty shirt
Face stained with
An uncaring indifference.
The stale ashtray
Smell wafted about.
A fresh cigarette
Dangled precariously from
His chapped lips.
His mind focused
On one thing:
Getting outside
And
Lighting up
March 20, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
I saw a guy today and I felt the need to paint a verbal picture of him. The guy was standing in a hospital and was so ruled by cigarettes that he walked around with an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. As I wrote, I, for some reason, tried to confine it to three words a line with the exception of the beginning and end of the poem.
Mid-Morning On A Sunday
Mid-morning on a Sunday
Sitting at the local coin-op
Waiting on my laundry
Two women walked in
One middle-age
One’s in college
Their voices barged and bullying
Tamping down the normal sounds
The gentle whirring and gurgling
Of the machines in motion
Instead they filled the room with
Overinflated self-importance
Speaking in humble brags
Talking loudly for the benefit of
Anyone not lucky enough to be them
Their shrill laughs agitated the ears
Of course it was their washers
&nb
sp; Which sat finished and full for forty minutes
It’s not surprising their heavy perfume
Tumbled pungently and spread
Assaulting the senses
Blocking out the clean smells
Of detergent and hot dryers
Without meaning, they stood
Directly in everyone’s way
And were slow to move when asked
They were much too busy
Overemphasizing their I’s
While nonchalantly regaling
Each other the exotic places
They’ve lived and been
Trying to out-do each other
Trying to seem most unimpressed
I cared the least
So I put on my headphones
Blocked out their sounds
And folded my clothes in peace
March 26, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
This happened at the laundry yesterday. When I turned on my iPod, “The Sound Of Silence” started playing.
Killed Him With Kindness
A surly old man
Approached my window
At the place where
I trade my time for money
He made demands
In a curt, rude manner
He bossed me around
With an air of arrogance
He talked down to me
Like an ill-behaved pet.
I smiled,
Ignored his comments,
Looked past his attitude, and
Killed him with kindness.
I’m not a better person
Just one who chooses
To live more positively
And focus on a brighter future
Safe on the assumption
The he’s gonna kick it soon
March 30, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
Yikes! I can’t believe I wrote those two last lines! That’s awful.
APRIL
Thanks To Facebook
High school reunions are used to
Catering to the curious
Calling and culling those who
Want to see what happened
Want to know what’s become
Of friends and acquaintances
They knew in their childhood
Who has changed
Who’s stayed the same
Who’s made something of themselves
Who are the ones that never left
Thanks to Facebook
We already know
What’s become of everyone
The mystery has been removed
Speculations are moot
Guesses are gone
There are no surprises
Just facts and info
And pictures on profiles
Many are saving themselves