At once amused and dismayed

She sat so nicely in the shopping cart
Singing and reaching for produce
Naming whatever objects she could and
Parroting back the final word of sentences she heard
"Man?" "Store?" "Mama?"
And then the whining began

"What do you want, Big Girl?"
"eieio?"
"Daddy? Please? eieio?"
And so I sang to her
There in the store
"And on that farm he had a..."
And I swear the word that came out of her mouth sounded like "republican."
I almost asked her what a Republican says.
But I was pretty sure she wouldn't know
And unfortunately I already did know.

With the singing cut short by laughter and her patience wearing thin,
Shea asked for "Down"
She wanted to walk.
She wanted to run.
And she did.
Down the aisle
Looking back once over her shoulder as she turned the corner
As if she was going to stop
Perhaps come back
But turning a corner
Quickly out of sight
And giggling with gleeful excitement
while I panic slightly
And chase her down.

Republican.
Girl, you're funny.

From NH with Love

I want you to come back
If only to tell me lies again.
It's always been love/hate with you.
I'm not the only guy to have said so.
I know you.
Close my eyes and see your sunshine smile, your awkward gait.
Hear the drizzle of banter about the second graders you visited yesterday,
Predict the moment you'll rock onto tiptoes
Voice crackling like sheet lightning
And say something to make milk come out my nose.

For as long as I can remember,
It's been hit and miss,
Hot, and cold with you.
No, I didn’t mean it like that.
The highs always bring that knowing smile,
But it was the lowest lows that made me hopeful
The way blizzards quietly promise a snow day.
Your voice, Scratchy, familiar, and welcome.
The first I heard in the morning,
Gave me a reason to open my eyes each day.
And peer through the summer haze.

I still really can't trust you. No one ever could
You're like the others, only with better delivery.
The reason I love / hate you.
I stopped counting the days
You woke me up with a downpour of lies.
Not every day, sometimes just a sprinkling,
We both know you tried.

When you were wrong, and I believed you –
It really was more your fault.
I always thought I would be the one to leave.
But it’s you.
You saw red skies in the morning,
A barometer showing the change that had come and gone without you overnight.
Were you tired of the same old schtick, or was it getting too comfortable?

It’s no more personal than the changing of seasons.
You hardly know I exist, and soon I won’t know you either.
I’ve insulted you;
I’ve defended your honor, but I’m done defending you.
I won’t need to anymore.
The sun rose today on a generation that will grow up in your absence.
After so long, you're moving on, without me.
Wanted, but no longer needed
If it’s any consolation you won’t be replaced.
Not by any smooth talker, chesty bimbo, or scrolling ticker on the bottom of my TV screen.
Just gone.
Like memories of the Old Man, another icon that will fade.
I want you to come back, weather man
If only to tell me lies again.
And forecast HIGH pressure, on channel 50,
Just one more time, Al Kaprelian.

My Buzz

My Buzz
Starts on Sunday afternoon
Just after I buy more papers
I get euphoric at the thought of rolling a few fat catalinas
I've been perfecting my craft
You'd be amazed at what you can learn to do on the internet.

Got my first taste last year
Small at first,
A way to pass the time, maybe make a buck.
I remember my first few deals
Looking nervously over my shoulder the whole time
Then a few more each week, and a few in between
Now I loiter at the local drug stores
More days than not
Jonesing for a fresh score
They know me now
"It's THAT guy."

I could stop if I wanted to.
That's what I always tell myself before the rush wears off.
But why would I?
When I need quantity I order direct
Skip the middleman
It's cheaper that way,
So it adds to the profit.
And why not?
Habit's got to be sustainable.
And after all, I'm frugal.

When my package comes
Heart races
Thick brown envelope
US mail
No return address
I bring it inside to open
What would the neighbors think?
Little hand tremor
Make a thin slice along the very edge
Don't want to damage the goods
Inhale, long and slow
The smell heightening my senses
Pupils dilate as I slide out
My new stash
Of Sunday news coupon inserts.

Cause I'm a junkie, but I'm slick.
I track the deals and the sales
I'm a shopaholic who doesn't spend money.
Exploiting the system for personal gain.
I stack Manufacturers coupons with Store coupons
on top of Sales,
And then get Rebates.
So that sometimes
They pay ME to march their stock out the door.

I shoot up
To the register
With whatever gives the full price back
And then, I hand over a coupon.
So I'm earning more back in credit than I pay out of pocket.
I bring home more crap this way.
17 tubes of toothpaste
A shoebox of deodorant
Number 2 pencils
Bayer aspirin, 5 hour Energy shots
All free, or better.

I live dangerously.
I clip coupons for junk food on an empty stomach.
I'm not afraid to fill the checkout counter with Monistat, personal lubricant and a dozen pink packages of pantiliners
If that's what it takes.
I know I'll profit a buck on every one.
Earn more in five minutes at the register than the cashier makes in an hour.
And walk out with a bag of loot.

I'm flying here.
I can tell you when 50 cents off one is better than a dollar off two.
And vice versa.
Why "Buy one Get one" sales always trump half price.
How the grocery catalina deals (Buy $25 worth, get $10 voucher back)
Have mind-blowing
Exploitable
Loopholes
I roll them,
One into the next
Sale, coupons, voucher, Free.
Or better.
It's a numbers game.
And an opiate.

I once boastd
About bartering at a flea market.
Saving 10% buying the store brand.
Free shipping at Amazon.
I sold myself short.
Try a hundred percent, plus overage.
When was the last time you walked out of a store
With $280 worth of groceries in your cart
And $20 more in store credit vouchers
Than you had in cash when you walked in?
For me?
Last Thursday.
And Wednesday, twice.
$800 of something, for nothin'
And it was legal.

My Buzz
Starts on Sunday afternoon
Cause that's when I buy my papers.

What's in a name

The urine had barely dried on the home pregnancy test
Before she started asking.
To her, the question was simple and carried no baggage:
Had I thought about names
For the baby?
Of course, she had.
She'd had her list since before she was pregnant,
Before we were trying,
Before I ever met her.
She used top names from her lists as the password for her email
Because that's the kind of thing girls do.
And I did the kind of thing that guys do,
Which was to completely avoid answering the question for about six months.
Not that she didn't ask.

It's a lot of pressure to name another human being.
It's not like a goldfish,
Whose life is no different whether you call it Bob or Liberace.
The right name can be everything to a person
And the wrong name even more so.
I know two men whose parents named them Randall.
One goes by Gage. The other is Mark.
A third friend, whose middle name is Randall, actually goes by Randy.
Because his first name
Was Niles.

Having grown up a Christopher,
I was fine with my first name,
But I also grew up a Clauss.
C-L-A-U-S-S
One "S" more than the jolly old elf
And yet the cashier never seems to care when she sees the name on my credit card
And asks me where I parked my sleigh.

When the belly turned from bump to bubble,
And the question had not gone away,
I gave in.
A little.
I bought baby name books, lots of them,
Spent lots of time ruling names out.
Shaniqua? no.
Lulu? no.
Jenifer with one N? no.
With two N's? no.
With a G? no.
With a Y? no.
Until I had ruled out nearly every name in the book for one reason or another
And those I didn't dismiss out of hand she certainly did.
I wanted something unique and beautiful,
While her list read like the bingo roster at a nursing home
A name both modern and exotic, but not weird
Yet Matilda didn't fit the bill
A word that felt good as it rolled off the tongue
No, not even if we call her "Tilly"

So with two months to go and a mutually agreed-upon list of exactly zero names,
I gave her my one.
The one that wasn't in the baby book.
The one she'd never heard before.
The one I'd written once in a notebook as a sophomore majoring in marine biology.
If we had a girl, I wanted to name her after a seaweed.

And she said, "really?"
Not just any seaweed, mind you, but a good one.
Alaria, a genus of kelp that thrives in the roughest rocky intertidal zones.
Alaria, A tough olive ribbon that flows gracefully in the rolling tide.
From the Latin "aria" - which means song
And "ala" meaning wing
(or armpit, but I dared not tell her that at the time)


And in the end, to my wonder, she said, OK.
If she could pick the middle name.
She chose the boy name, the one we never used.

We call her Lari.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, 19 months old.
Too young to know her father, whose last name is one letter away from Santa Claus
Gave her a first name that is one letter away from a parasitic disease.
She's beautiful.

And when strangers ask her name they say
"Alaria? Ooh, that's pretty - Is it a family name?"
"I've never heard that name before - where's you get it?"
I tell them.
My wife,
She just tells them I'd heard it somewhere.

And the day our Lari steps off the schoolbus and runs into my arms
Tears streaming down her cheeks
Because they called her Alaria Malaria
I'll hold her tight and tell her not to worry about naughty kids
Cause come December 25,
We got connections.

Memory

Memory, Memory
Dangling
Inches beyond my fingertips
Elusive and Taunting
Carrot and stick
I can not reach

Fading Fading
Bit by bit,
Byte by byte,
By the year and the decade
Details, names
Anecdotes never shared that now never will be
Blotted from recollection
Like moth holes in an old gray sweater
Fissures gnawed into old grey matter
I'd assumed was intact
Until I reached into the closet
Pulled it from deep in a drawer
And held up to the light
The tales of my youth
My coming of age
My glory days
Now threadbare
Torn
Unraveling

Wishing Wishing
I'd written, photographed, journaled
Recorded those details I once wished to forget,
Mundane, humiliating.
Endless hours riding the school bus,
Fidgeting through church,
Driver's education.
First awkward kiss, first hopeless crush, first little league ballgame strikeout,
Once painfully obvious
Easily recalled
Now forgotten as an everyday dream
Lost to the ether.

Grasping Grasping
Far too young for decaying faculties
Stored naively
Without mothballs
In a sturdy steel sieve.
At least I remember these past years
Adult years
Career and family years
Or do I?
Old colleagues and students, in time, begin to blur together into this type or that type.
Names familiar but no longer known
Semesters, Years of relationship
Reduced to a vibe
A glimmer.
An uncertain Hey-do-I-know-you
That I'm afraid to ask,
Because I know that they'll know me.

Memories, memories
Unable to lock away
What I still have
This vapor drifting across my palm
Brushing past arthritic fingertips
Knowing I could reach each one
Could grasp it
And hold on
If only I was a year younger
If only I'd worked harder at it.
Wishing I could stretch these hands that
One last inch.

My Kind of Special

One could say that I am in the the late stages of transformation into a full-blown "Mad Scientist."
Having earned my biology degree in the mid- nineties, I've had the "scientist" part down for some time, and now I'm just working on the "mad" part.
For I am a Special. Education. Teacher.

And if you're thinking special as in "Special Olympics," where everyone smiles and tries hard and wins the gold or earns the A for effort.... Not MY kind of special.

No, this is "special" as in "they think they're something special" special,
special as in "subject of an ABC After-school Special" special
special as in "the proverbial 'special place in hell' has got NOTHING on my classroom" special, and I'm still not sure what I did to deserve my place there, but it can't have been that bad.

My kind of "special" is slack-jawed and lazy-eyed with an extra helping of both slack and lazy.
It doesn't know, it doesn't care, and it aint doin nothin' for nobody - try and make it.

The recipe for my kind of special is one part ADD to two parts chip on the shoulder, with a dollop of redneck and a pinch or two of crazy. (The recipe calls for a cup of birth control, but my kind of special usually leaves that out.)

It is the herculean feat of educating this kind of "special" that siphons my sanity like stolen gasoline by the gap-toothed mouthful every day.
As a scientist I postulate that there is no madness known to man like teaching My kind of special how to use a compound light microscope.
The task is a simple one.

• Place just one drop of swamp water on a slide.
• Lay the cover slip on the drop.
• Place the slide on the stage.
• Move it under the short (SHORT!) low-power objective lens,
• And focus.

You never want to start switching over to the high-power lens until they’ve got that, because you KNOW that my kind of "special" will break the cover slip with the long lens. Over and over and over. On purpose.

With my kind of special it's less a question of how much they CAN do as is it how much they WILL, if they even bother to show up. That "just one drop" turns into a swamp water fight, the broken cover slips become handy tools for self-mutilation, and it's really hard to focus a microscope after my kind of special has run off with the eyepiece.

And just as I'm sure I'm on the brink of inventing some evil robot to take over the world, MY kind of special shouts "Holy crap - there's stuff swimmin' in here!" (of course, they don't exactly call it “crap” and "stuff") A small crowd forms around a microscope and someone asks, “What is it?”

After a brief, yet brilliant, teachable moment...
They ask me if we can do it again tomorrow.

In not so many words

In not so many words
I told the pastor of my church that as a man of faith and a biology teacher I teach creation in the public school. But I just don't mention the God part.
He informed me, in not so many words, that as a man of the cloth who looks like Mr. Clean, with biceps to match, that he. Didn’t. buy it.

Genesis begins:
In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

I believe this. All that matter had to come from Somewhere.

I know you’re an evolutionist, (he spits it out as though the mere word has left a sour taste on his tongue), You teach men coming from monkeys and an earth that’s 4 billion years old.

Men from monkeys? 4 billion years old? I assured him that such blasphemy would never be spoken in MY classroom, quietly adding that it was because the earth is thought to be well over 6 billion years old, and that monkeys and humans are both at two different ends of two different branches in a genetic lineage that stem, eventually, from a single. Primate. ancestor.

Not amused, he reminded me he believes, like I do, that the Bible is the inspired word of God, and when it says God made something in a day, He made it in one. twenty-four hour. day. **Only it doesn’t. exactly. SAY that.

Verse 3 - And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. 4 God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light "day," and the darkness he called "night." And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.

Even before God creates the sun, Genesis concludes each creation event with an evening, and a morning of the next day. There is creation, and then a pause, creation, and a pause. In biology I teach the same phenomenon, punctuated equilibrium, supported by the fossil record. During times of major global change there are many new species. Created. Evolving. Coming about as less fit species lose hold of their niche, and then… a pause… as a new age commences and ecology works to balance the new puzzle of interlocking populations until the next. Major. Disruption.

And look, the first things God creates are earth and light, matter and energy, each with its own set of complex physical laws, particles, forces and gravity, charges and attractions. No sun yet – that comes later. But there is light. The Bible tells us - One minute the universe is dark without form, and suddenly BOOM we have light and matter. I teach this, only instead of a Boom I call it more of a big… bang.

And now, with matter and energy and laws of physics up and running, the Earth takes shape. God forms the seas and the sky. An atmosphere on the earth. The continents take shape, and only then does God create life. Ask any of my students if this Biblical account fits their geological timeline, and they’ll tell you it does. The first life mentioned just happens to be an autotroph, kind of like those those microscopic algae, the photosynthetic organisms that made their own food and pumped our atmosphere full of sweet, sweet Oxygen, as they continue to do today. And look here in these next verses: No sooner has life formed than those living things are governed by the sun and moon. All Species of plants and animals, even those microscopic algae build their lives: Their feeding, their respiration, their reproduction: around the tides, and the 24 hour day, and the phases of the moon, just to survive. If this doesn’t line up with my biology curriculum, I don’t know what does.

And God said, "Let the water teem with living creatures”

Here come the animals, spreading through the oceans long before any of them had feet to crawl onto land. The Bible’s sequence, again, supported by the fossil record, first in the oceans, then on land, and finally at the very end, man shows up, Homo sapiens after all of the other groups of living things have already been established. Funny thing is, all the evidence collected by us science types point to life appearing in just. That. order. Evolution and creation here. Whether I tell my students God did it or not, the results speak for themselves. Two sides. One coin. No doubt.

There are those that call creation a “myth,” a story told to children. But if you were God, how else would you explain to a largely illiterate, unschooled, nomadic people with no concept of cells, photons, quarks, and DNA exactly how you made everything from nothing? I think a chapter or two in Genesis is about all you'd really need.

Had I ever worked up the courage to explain this in my church, I would be in no one’s good favor. When Genesis tells us God said “Let there be…” they assume he waved a magic wand, creating something else from nothing, violating his own law of conservation of matter, which we otherwise assume has been held in place since He created the heavens and earth, matter and non-matter. Where does the Bible say it was instantaneous? Or that it took a second? Or a minute? Or a full 24 hours? Or could it have been an epoch? How would God have explained the concept of a billion to a nomadic people who never went to school, or things as microscopic and abstract as cells and organelles or molecules of DNA, or the evolutionary development of the brain’s prefrontal cortex that gives us the capacity to understand the concept of sin?

But I dare not speak the name Darwin within the sanctuary, for they all know what the pastor told them the Bible says, and though not one of them has ever laid eyes on The Origin of Species, or know that he left for the Galapagos having trained for the clergy, or know how many times the word “Creator” with a capital C appears in the volume, or that the term “evolution” does not, they all know one thing. They know that they were driving in their car, and they saw on the bumper in front of them a DARWIN fish eating something that looked like their JESUS fish, and they decided then and there that they didn’t like it.

So I told my pastor that as a man of faith I teach creation in the public schools, and that my conscience was clear about it, and then we let it drop.

I need more tools (draft)

I need more tools.
No, I don't. But I WANT more tools.
I like them. I covet them. I love having them sooo much.
And sometimes I even use the ones I have, when I can find them.
They're all in the garage...
Somewhere...
Somewhere inconvenient.
Spread evenly, in fact, between several inconvenient, impossible to find locations.
Where I put them hastily thinking I would find them again.
But they're in the garage, somewhere, I swear.
There's a lot of other stuff in the garage.
So much that there is no room to actually put a car.
But just knowing that in there, somewhere, I have tools
Puts hair on my chest, chisels my jaw, and drops my voice at least an octave.

I need toolboxes.
No, I don't. I have several, just not the ones I WANT.
I want those big, shiny mechanics' chests with drawers and slots and wheels and locks.
I just have cheap ones, and small ones, and broken ones.
They know I hate them, so they always beat me at their maddening shell game.
Whichever one I look in first, for that wrench or ratchet or pair of pliers,
That one extra-long 3/8 inch hex socket that fits on the quarter-inch ratchet that is the ONLY
TOOL I can use to turn the nut to restart the oil-burning furnace in the middle of winter when it's twenty below and the oil tank has run dry because I forgot to call the oil company and schedule a refill... Again.
Whatever it is I'm looking for, the thing is always in the other one.
No, not THAT other one - the OTHER other one. No, not in that one either.
What, oh wait. It was in the FIRST one - I swear it was not there a minute ago.
I looked. I dumped the whole thing out and put it all back, well most of it got back in there anyway, and now there it is right on top.
There's no way I could have missed it.
It's a toolbox conspiracy.
They're daring me to replace them.
But I'd rather have new tools.
Oh, those tools!

If there's one thing that makes this bloated sissy computer geek think he's Charles Bronson, it's owning an 18-volt cordless drill with a battery bigger than my own fist.
Sure, a little tack hammer could have tapped a little brad nail to hang that picture frame in the hall, but the DRILL!
Oh, the things I can do with this variable speed powerhouse and a half dozen drywall screws clenched between my teeth!
If only my wife, my lovely wife, was more content with the series of gaping test holes to the left and right of the frame.
As if finding the studs is easy.
You know they make a tool for that too, dear...
As if she could do better,
Just because she knows where to find the little tack hammer.

I put a router on my Amazon wish list.
A router!
As if I have any idea how to... rout...???
Or any reason to actually do so.
I'm not a woodworker.
I can't tell maple from cherry from walnut.
MAYBE I could recognize a cheap piece of pine,
if the needles and pine cones were still attached to it.
Without a router, though... could it be that my manhood is incomplete?
What good am I without a planer, or a scroll saw, or a three-bubble laser level?
I want a weed whacker, and a saws-all, and an eight-hundred-dollar snowblower with chains on the tires.
Sure, I only have a 15 foot driveway, but still...
How will a plastic snowshovel make me feel like a man this winter?
While there is still a square inch of free space on any shelf, in any drawer of any box in that garage of mine, there will be a need,
that osmotic pressure,
fuel by testosterone
and pride
and the occasional Zima
to fill it
completely
with tools.

Forgiving the Crazy

Both victims here,
Scarred and angry,
We throw up our best defense,
Striking with barbs and poison.

I don't know this woman.
What made her homeless,
Addicted,
Bitter,
Deceitful?

She has her excuses for refusing to leave.
If she moves out, she's homeless.
She has failed.
Again.
I'd fight, too.

She owes me money, and I can do nothing.
Tenants' rights flaunted in my face.
I'm getting screwed over.
Again.
It's the last thing on her mind.

In Her Infancy

Unclipped fingernails
embed themselves into the softest place in my neck
instinctively.

Sour milk vomit
rolls down my shirt, having missed the burp cloth
by inches.

Contentedly seated
securely on my lap, she cries or laughs as warm wetness
bathes my leg.

Toothless screams
shatter my eardrums, ceaseless and primal, they
hurt my eyeballs.

Gasps and sobs
melt into yawns as eyes droop and close and are rubbed
by tiny fists.

Unsurpassed joy,
though scratched, stained, dampened, sour, and pained...
contentment.

CRH

Walked about
Upper field
   on Saturday

Clouds above
Earth below
 in the fog

Bleary eyed but
There aint nothin'
to be seen here

Days like this
Some times it's best not
 to be seen

...

If you don't
Like the weather
 in New England

You always said
Wait a minute
 so I'll wait.

But these days come
one af-
ter the next

And it's the wait that's
killing
me

Profanity

Rampant here
Unchecked and foul
Arrogant
And thoughtlessly spat out

Each line in the sand
Crossed
And drawn again
A little closer than before

The words stir
Daily 
On the tip of my tongue
In the depth of my lungs 

Get out

Prosciutto

Comforts of a home I never had
Fragrant musk that lingers
To remind me
Of far-away joys
Of dreams
I'm not allowed to dream

Or am I
And for how much longer
   

How Awkward

For the first time
As I feared
Unexpected
Inappropriate
Unwarranted
Subconscious
Ashamed
Sleep

Had a Holly Jolly

Survival
An outcome
Better had
Than wished for
Slogging through
Countless hours
With a smile
Sometimes forced
On other
Occasions
Genuine
Successful
Completion
Tolerance
We hugged
And played
We gifted
Re-gifted
And sighed
Contented
The tree lived
And even
Little blue
Car made it
To New Years
Despite her
Best attempts
Overwhelmed
With in-laws
Computers
And Spanish
Denial
Makes it tough
Coming back
Transition
Can be so
Burdensome
Ever so
Unwelcome
Like bad guests
Intruders
Family
And saurkraut

The cough returns

It starts as a tickle
Maddeningly hard to reach
Nothing can touch it 
Tongue, toothbrush, or beverage
Long after the fever is gone
The aching has subsided
The chills faded away
It lingers
A hair trigger on the voicebox
Caught off guard once again
Interrupted
Phlegm amidst the words

Done

Filing the last paper
dotting the last i
crossing the last t
and never so glad for a day without obligation

Cynics and critics all
they aim to serve
if not to please
yielding to their wisdom is wise man's folly

Falling off

Somewhere between the back burner and the front burner there is a place where SOME PEOPLE are able to precariously balance all of the things they think are important along with most or all of the things other people think ought to be important to them. Somehow all the pots simmer, none of them spill or burn or boil over, and in the end they all come off at once and thank you very much Martha Stewart for making it look so easy for the rest of us.
Some of us think that place can be found, that precarious zen in-between where not a single butterfly wing exists to throw the whole perfectly placed mess somehow into instantaneous turmoil, where nothing is where it should be. Frothing, sloshing, toppling calamity where SOME PEOPLE can effertlessly stack greased marbles one on top of the other like it's nothing at all, like urgency is barely a lurking mosquito.
And when it all falls in there we are
All sprawled out
Laying down
To catch
Our just
Desserts.

I tell ya what I don't need

to have some kid correcting me again and being right
to be filling out a Lavender sheet for anybody
to eat breakfast
to give a care
to be on top of things
to set a good example
to know what I am talking about
to give 110%
to drive to Target
to watch the road
to know when I am going to know when I am going to want to have a baby
to match my clothes
to have a migraine
to tip the Starbucks kid
to diet
to listen to certain people who talk lots and say nothing
to compromise my priorities
to be fair all the time
to know everything I can
to use punctuation
Unless I want to.

Parent-Teacher Staredown

Yes, hello, how are you, good to meet you, shake hands, sit down.
Smile, even if you don't like their kid
Even if you're tired
Or have a headache
Or have better things to do
Smile
Keep smiling
Fake it if you have to
And you definitely have to most of the time
Make small talk
Of course you're no good at it
Just do it anyway
That's what the mommies and daddies pay for
Do they hate this as much as we do
They should.

The kids you like the best
You have nothing to say about
How many synonyms can there be for "fine"
You use them all and then some
The ones you have something to say about
The ones with room to grow
Shooting themselves in the foot in every class
Are never the kids you like the best
Their parents are the ones about whom you say
Oh, now I get it
That's their problem.
And you smile
Smile because you have to
Smile
Because vacation begins on Saturday at 3

Eutrophication

Too much of a good thing can kill you
Assuming too much and hoping for the best,
Only to watch half the population go belly-up
They seemed to get it
When they nodded their heads and we moved on
Only to find out photosynthesis doesn't happen overnight.

Mountain Day

A darn good reason to make yourself hurt
Getting to the top
And who cares if you're the first or last
Or have the right clothes
If you're fat and out of shape, it's almost better
Because when you get to the bottom you know it
And your aching legs remind you where you've been
For days

Wasted Yesterday

Supposed to be my life's blood,
My obsession, distraction, and predisposition.
Supposed to be my goal, my purpose, my joy,
the end of the perfect movie.

It's not the end; it's the crisis,
The achilles heel, the Don't open that door! train wreck
That everyone but you can see coming.

How to open your mouth
How to utter the devastating truth
When the words can never be crammed back in.

It'll never happen to me.
They always say that.
I always did.

These are the days of miracle and wonder

Cloudless blue skies bring sunshine, birdsong, and misery
Who knows why on the best of days
Thinking too much, not enough, about nothing
Surprised by an aching lump in the throat
The relentless craving for sleep
And restlessness

Heavy

Tipping the scale past all rational numbers
Payback for forgetting the miserable reality of mirrors
A call to arms and the white flag of surrender all at once

Snacks are always just that much better than willpower.

Weekend at the Lake

This is where my friends are
Silliness and shooting stars
The end of "just one more ear"
A new girl and old jokes
That still make me laugh

A weekend without worries or tears
Where nobody remembers who won all the games
And the fish can always rise from the ashes.
Home is where my friends are
And I can breathe easy

Aug 6, 2006

Reaching a milestone
In better shape than I ever expected
Bringing her joy
Call it a success if you want

Blessed and content
With lingering doubt
That it's just that much better
Than I deserve

July 25, 12:10 AM

Nobody Wants the Crumbs

Shoving fistfuls into their gaping mouths
Suddenly they see
That all that's left
Is crumbs

Though they lick their fingers thoughtlessly
They are now too good for the little pieces that remain

June 28, 2006

Grayish

I blink when it rains
And they stay shut
Keeping out everything
Attempting to focus

I squint then
As little as possible
As much as necessary
In denial of shortcomings

I peer through eyelashes
Wet and tickling
Hating the sensation
Too stubborn for an umbrella

Jun 25, 2006

Holding the baby

Flashing back to events that never happened to people that never were
Every muscle clenches upon itself
Pupils dilate
Adrenaline
Pumps


It is my own breath that no longer comes
The world ceases to rotate
For a moment
Panic


Until he arrives securely in his mother's arms
Cradled with care and confidence
Swaddled securely
And asleep

Max Schaller, 4 days old

June 18, 2006. Fathers' Day.

And we made the calls as well

Beginning and ending with a terrible bang
Contentment in a vise
Punctuated by the frustration of things left unfinished
Joy leading nowhere
A superfluity of naughtiness discovered
In an old King
Among stronger friends
And good news
A new joy brought into being
The promise of escape

James 1:21, KJV

June 15, 2006

Obstructed View

All that waiting
All that driving
All that way
All that money for tickets
All for nothing

All those people
Almost late
All the way up to the last 2 seats
Almost no room to wiggle
All I get
is heat
discomfort
and cranky


a beautiful sound
but an obstructed view

Over the Rhine, Iron Horse Music Hall

June 5, 2006

Gone the days of peering down hallways
Searching for cracks of light
And muffled whispers

They've all gone
Some for good
Some for now

May 30, 2006

My day, in numbers

Twelve students
Ten have to take the
Eight page exam
Six days left until their
Four years are over
Two months, almost three, of summer 'til the
Twelve month cycle begins anew
Nine hours or so to correct this exam
Six it took to write it
Three will probably fail
None too pleased about this
One teacher, inevitably glad the year is through

May 28, 2006

Needlessly piercing thread
Strikes like lightning
Both in shape and frequency
Puckering orbitals
And leaving a flinching aftertaste.

Unabated

Suffering pointlessly
Identifiable pain
Victim of who knows what
And who cares
As long as it stops for a while

May 27, 2006

Risky business for the weekend
Free to croon Danke Schein
Wear my beret
And drive the convertible in reverse

It never happens

Lethargy and striving
Liquid crystal suntan
Weary eyes
As if anyone would be surprised that I'm home

May 20,2006
It looks like quartz or something

Clarity.
Carat.
Cut.
Color.
And a strong blue fluorescence she would never notice.
Even though I told her.
Which I did.
Way back when.

Leave it to the bowling alley...

Sept 18, 2006


Looking at my finger

Nine months, 12 days, and one hour married
Content, and pleased
Yet purpose escapes my fingertips
Eager only to be eager for something else
Something good
Something I don't yet want or feel or know
Or need to know
And yet I need to know
These shoes are still not broken in
No matter how far I walk
Some days it's like they aren't even mine
Unusual blisters, these
Slow to mend
And so difficult to put my finger on
Though it fits so easily on my hand

June 8, 2005

Dead to reason these
Useless Platitudes
Drone on for miles and millenia

Keeping pace with our sound minds
and square conscience they
Usher us into rest.

No world hanging in the balance we
Act no different
Straining to see what we already know


"I hate faculty meetings"

April 26, 2004


Salad

Though I know I ought to have some, ought
to like it, ought to try to eat more of it;
though I know I do like it, I've had it, and
I'd be glad to have more; Though it's good
for me, though it's fresh and colorful,
though it has nine million times the
healthiness of a twinkie,
I'd rather have the twinkie.
Salad is too much work. too many irregular,
disjointed pieces, too many disparate
flavors. Fresh and dry or drowned in
sweet dressing til it wilts, its exactly
too much work. It's chicken on the bone,
it's the shiny apple at the tip top of
the tree. Not worth the effort.
Who puts nuts and cheese and fruit
in salad on a daily basis anyway.
That's not real salad. that's the kind
of salad you give other people you want to
impress. When you make your own
salad, what do you put in it?
Two vegetables, tops.

I'll settle for spinach.

But I'll wash it down with a twinkie any day.


"Writers' night at Karen and Stephanie's"

Alabama

Driving all night long

Not in a rush to get there

August 2003

Flustered

The mystery of the human tongue
So thick yet so easily twisted
by a frenzy of nerves
The day allows but a moment's rest.
yet in that moment the synapses misfire
the lefts and the rights, the yeas and nays
collide, merge, and fall
Think too fast, too much, too deeply
Glance at just the wrong thing at the wrong time
Be amazed, horrified, enraptured
Lose track of whatever you...
Lose track of...
Just...

July 6, 2003

While he was dying

The same night we broke the rules
The same night we swam in the dark
And laughed out loud
And kept the neighbors from sleeping
That same night a young man died
Drowned in that very lake
He could have been one of us
He could have been our friend

The same nigh we breathed in hot air
And complained about it
The same night we went to sleep only to wake up in the morning
That same night he breathed his last
Alone and afraid of death
He could have been a nobody
He could have saved the world

And we laughed in our ignorant bliss
We revelled in the freedom of our youth
And we slept like we were safe as could be
While the God who protected us called him home

July 6 2003

Remembering a drowned friend

Someone made a cross for him
Set in the earth by the lake where he drowned
I stumbled across it by accident
Crudely made, by whom I could only guess
His friends, his pastors?
Someone who knew him, and wanted me to know him
They wrote his name on the cross beam
Corey Fadden
And on the vertical pole his epitaph
"Lived for Christ"
I never met this young man
Or his friends
I never saw his body
But there I stood and mourned for him
A brother I'd never known
The remnants of candles littered the ground,
Put out by the wind before they were done
Before their time
Before his time
I lit them all, gave them life once more
One last breath of air, one chance
May have saved him

(Cornerstone 2003)

July 4, 2003

Prospect of thirty

Are these the days of my youth
Have I yet to see my prime
Will this claim I've staked be barren
Or a priceless diamond mine
Is contentment round the corner
Have I passed it on the road
Blinded by the light of boredom
Am I too stuck on wishes
To see the truth unfold

Were I wiser
Were I anywhere but here
The stinging prospect of thirty
Would be less cloudy and more clear
Is there really life after twenty-nine?
Or is that when life will begin?
Will I find love, will I find happiness
Is this a game, and can I win?

July 4 2003

Independence

I can do anything I want
No one to tell me where to be
Or what to do
Or how to do it

But still I'm stuck
But still I'm crushed
By the obligation
The inspiration
The what-I-ought-to-do
The sense of waste
The sense of worth
Can be so problematic
Bureaucratic
I just need static days
To be independent
To have my Independence Day

I have yet to be restrained
There are no walls, no doors, no guards
I come and go
I go and come, and come and go.


(cornerstone)

July 2003

I marked my space in my head.
That should have been enough
But they didn't see the lines
I'd drawn in the grass in the dark
With my x-ray eyes

And now my kingdom is invaded
By a U-Haul trailer and a rusty van
I'd pushed myself to the limit
Just to create that open space
Only to give it away without a fight

And the pillagers keep coming on
Without relent they block my escape
And place new obstacles
At every turn in my courtyard
I can scarcely get through unscathed


(cornerstone)

July, 2003

And now that I have seen her she grows on me...

Bust that saddled back
Until it just won't bust no more

July 1, 2003


Scratched

She's got a stud in her eyebrow
Tattoo on her back
She's got her combat boots
and her hair dyed black
She knows the words to the songs
sings 'em front to back
She loves Jesus

She's in the second row
Almost touched the stage
She's got that old school look
yeah it's all the rage
She says the drummer's cute
though he's twice her age
She loves Jesus

She don't know
She don't care
She don't wonder why
She just knows
What to like
And she don't ask why
What was trendy
Last year
Has become passe
Now what's in
And what's out
Changes day to day

And she don't ask why


"Cornerstone 2003"

July 2003

Rudy

Old and unfamiliar faces
You ought to recognize
As should they
Ask their questions
Saunter off
Leaving you to puzzle for a moment

Then making the choice
Putting it out there
Do I know you, mister?
And indeed I do.
We catch up on old times
That we never had.

This unorthodox set of ties
And lack of expectations
Makes everything,
And nothing, a surprise
So we sit and wait and switch gears
As best either of us knows how



(cornerstone)

Summer 2003

Goats at the Diner
(Flory's - Rutland, VT)

15¢ Burgers
the sign used to say
You can still kind of read it
Though it's faded away
God love Flory's diner
Just outside of town
Though the place is still open
Looks liek it's closed down
There's junk on the counters
There's junk on the wall
There's junk in the corners
Don't look nice at all
The burgers are so greasy
They must fry them in lard
But this here's the kicker
There're goats in the yard

Goats, goats
With udders and horns
I guess they're put out there
To keep the grass shorn
There're goats at the diner
They're pretty good sized
I hear no one eats there
Can't say I'm surprised

Early 2003, I think

Don't say goodbye
When you leave
Just say I'll see you tomorrow
Sometimes a lie
In the end
Is more loving than the truth
I know it's been
Not so long
Since you put my heart on high speed
Each day since then
(I) Must admit
Has been the best day of my youth
So don't let me down
When you let me down
Just when you let me down
Let me down easy
Don't let me fall
when you let me fall
Cause when you let me fall
I will fall flat
Don't draw it out
When you go
And don't give me all the reasons
I'll live without
All your pain
On my conscience beside mine

November 20, 2002

The day was mine
To cherish forever
The day was mine
To Love
The day was mine
To do what I wanted
She was all I could
Think of

Loved so much being inside
That I was reluctant to step out
And see the way I was, the way we were

My friend, my confidant
Forgive me
I'm a selfish fool in love
I don't know why
I did not think I did not care
How I behaved when you were there
And now I can't stand this regret
Inside my mind
Forgive me


"The day I made Lauren and Bill uncomfortable"

Nov 17, 2002

Purity Ring

With this kiss on your lips I promise
Before God and before you my love
I will serve you be pure and honest
With the strength that comes from above

With this kiss I confirm that I love you
With this kiss I declare I'll be bold
And I will cherish and honor
This ring on your hand 'til
I replace it with a band of gold

With this kiss on your lips we're reminded
Of what our Father has called us to be
Though desire in our hearts
Can make us blinded
With this kiss we will walk in purity

Nov 15, 2002

More

When your blue eyes melt into mine
I hold your hand, lose track of time
I hear your soft voice, see your long hair,
The way that you return my stare
I swear - I couldn't ask for more

As I watch you drink your tea
I see your warm eyes smiling back at me
I hear your soft voice, see your long hair
I get all tonguetied but you don't care
I swear - I couldn't ask for more

So unexpected, so undeserved
I got so much to say but a loss for words
So I just look in your eyes and I sigh so deep
I've never been so glad to be losing sleep
How could I ask for more

How perfect it all seems
As I close my eyes and welcome my dreams
I hear your soft voice, touch your long hair
And then you tell me that you hunt bear
I swear - I couldn't ask for more

"I wrote this song for Teofelia and sang it to her at her house.
She fell in love with me, then dumped me on Valentine's day.
It hurt for about 5 minutes, but then it was just funny."

November 2, 2002

Vaguely familiar these suspect
vixen eyes blur having nothing so they
believe on which to gaze. Thirteen minutes
of disquiet and transition, as they wait
for the demise of contestant number one.
Hardly one to primp and preen this would-be
of the ragged veil of aging, with the weight of
the years resting gently on her brow, she
mills about and about with purpose.
With a vague wonder and subtle disappointment
the ritual commences. Everything in place, if it
has one, shown to be less specific than one
might have though, the shadows betray
traces of ugliness, and we are less
than disappointed


"Fire and Water, before it closed"

November 2, 2002

Are you happy now I called you.
Am I still lacking as a friend?
I let you moan and heard your story
From the start until the drawn-out end.

Am I back in your good graces
Like it matters if I am
Hold your comments and your faces
Save them for your bathroom miror

Not sure why I give a care
You're more effort than you're worth
But I do and that's the scary part
When you're rude it kinda hurts.


"Rachel"

November 2, 2002

All that glitters

Threw my nickel in the fountain
Never thought I'd get my wish
Since it hasn't worked the last sixty eight times
Could it be that my persistence has paid off?
This aint the first time
that I've thought it
Only fool's gold
but I bought it
All that glitters
in that fountain
All that glitters
is not you

November 2002

This chicken dance we walk through
Every time, the steps the same
More or less I've heard it all before
Will you get it when the song ends

Preaching to the stupid masses
So frustrated just to speak
A word of knowledge, words of wisdom
Wishing always to cast this ballast overboard

There's so much I have to teach you
How can I impart truth to liars
To the wretching angry child
I bring you a meal fit for a king

Some take it in; choose to thrive
on understanding your own world
Just don't look at me like that
And tell me I haven't taught you.

October 4, 2002

Unexpected this day comes

Eating up the morning

Getting to the best part
before I even know it

Melting through rain
and burning through my so-called better judgement

Insisting this way
at least you've got something to do

So I go out on a limb
and here I am twiddling my
ever-twiddling thumbs again
and again and again and again

Uninvited this soul goes
opening the front door

Getting to the punch line
a second later than I might

Throwing all caution
and heaving these bricks

Straining my back
with the worry of empty-handedness

So here I lay me down

October 4, 2002

Don't shoot the messenger

Not mine to give
this note I have to pass you
though it's written there in my own hand
it's still not mine to give

Well I've got someone else's need
here in my pocket now to give you
folded tight and holding urgency not mine
Don't shoot the messenger

So here it is just take it
I don't need it, never did
And though I wrote it, every word there
Not a one is mine
Don't shoot the messenger

If you read it and you smile I hope you thank me
If you read it and you groan I hope you'll not
take it out on me
I'm just trying to be useful
I'm just doing my good deed
I'm just the messenger

Aug 2, 2002

Wander-lost

Honey don't you mind me
I'm a passer-by
Caught up in the day

And if you find I pose a problem
For your daily grind
Well I'll be on my way

Don't you know
Bout second chances
Caution thrown
I'll take my chances
But I don't know what I'll do
If you should catch my gaze
Guess I'll wait and see

Hey friend don't I know you
You're that guy I knew
Once upon a time

Just let me think what
Name I'm s'posed to call you
An' we'll be doin' fine

Don't you know
Bout second Chances
Caution thrown
I'll take my chances
But God forbid your
Face slips from my memory
Happens all the time

As I walk in circles
Half the time I'm
Lookin at my shoes,
And for the other half I'm
Starin' through your face.
Is it the head of day or
Dark of night or
Feebleness of mind
That in the midst of friends
I'm alone in this place
I'm wander-lost

Aug 2, 2002

If Memory Serves

For every name forgotten
A thousand mamories fade as well
Time, the great devourer of my life
Stealing from both hands
As I grow
Longer in the tooth
And shorter on time
What have I done
These memories that others cherish
Or silently hate
While I still grasp at knowing the year
The occasional joyous connection
A recollection, both a blessing and a curse.
Stumbling over a long-lost someone
That somebody I think perhaps I knew
Or loved
Or wished I could have
How many best friends I ought to have
And don't
Or might be losing even now
Steel trap rusted
But I'll get by on what I have
For as long as it still snaps shut.

August 2002

I see the child I see the angel
And the angry guy
Singin' out their hearts

I hear the shout I hear the giggle
And the angry cry

Indecisive Illness

Shadowy, aching, and hole-ridden,
my digestive titanic gall.
Silver bullet and wooden stake lodged
deep and hard, They itch me crazy.
Speak of forked tongues with two
faces you can’t move fast enough.
Reconciling enough mysteries to know
it was probably the butler.
He is nowhere to be found.
You begin to wonder where he is.
Do you even have a butler?
You think you probably do,
but he’s conveniently not around to accuse.

Time for a new butler.

October 11, 1997

To be quiet before God.

Comfort, the yawn of warmth
or anguish and dropped tears

A clenching of teeth
The restless rolling of sore eyes

A heavy finger marking place
in an open book

Distraction

February 4, 1999


Not at the beach

Too many hands
My butt is sore from all those
slappings of reality that don't sink in
Happy in own surreal dream
And wanting it to stay just like it aint.

Looking harder
Looking out for number two
Holding on to the precious soul
Who knows what my name is

Incoming tide
stand on the beach that once was
Now little more than a sand box

Hoping I can remember how
Taking a deep breath, just in case
Standing on my tiptoes

January 26, 1999


Quiet with Erin

Add one to our pair
Just one, and the rules change
Three adults who neither ask, nor tell.

Take away from this heap of food
Bit by bit, and feel the weight
Like three bears huddled over their porridge.

Fuss, fume, and roll our eyes
Learn something new, for the second time
Just the three of us plan to save the world.

Laugh, tell stories, and spill our minds
Without going certain places at all
Devouring each of three courses with ease.

One remains to see the others off
Just one, with a full belly
Amazed that in those three hours, nothing was said.

Jan 20, 1999


I´ve got Furniture

Unstated, but obvious
The reality of my present
Slaps me in the face with contradiction
We´re not.

Plans all-but-made
My future joy and photo album
Is pulled out from under me
We can't

Legs asleep on the kitchen floor.
Her vaccum of solace finds her
For a few crucial moments of knowing
We just are

Jan 15, 1999


To the Point

Honesty and comfort
Locked horn'to'horn
I twist them together
Hoping to make myself too dizzy to see

Life imitating life
Clinging to a slim chance
Without a prayer
Because I already know

Drawing it out
Longer with each touching moment
Passively losing my safety net
Seeing my ankles broken by boulders

Harder to think
Despite rational thought
Bending the strings from head to hands
Clearly confused, yet vivid

January 12, 1999


Doubt gets big

Unsteady, shaking form the ear on down.
She opens wide the door for escape
With uncertainty and fear.

I know better. I did this to myself.
The pain of knowing equals the joy of doing
without knocking of the knees.

Opportunity slammed in the face of God,
I choose the brightest star to follow
While ignoring the sun completely.

She asks all the right questions.
From guilt to truth and back again,
I spin my words to taste.

Plans ignored, rejected, and grabbed at,
My eardrums melt with deceit and joy.
When even the truth seems doubtful

Facts spinning off into the distance,
Emotions are played on and half-conquered,
Leaving the rest to senseless worry.

Jan 11, 1999


Why I went to Alyssa´s


Cold bites my ears
Small price to pay for comfort.
My shoes were left outside
Protecting a pristine floor

We both had work to do
We both knew better
We will be sorry tomorrow
We will be sorry five minutes ago

Her scent gets to me
She tells me she´s crazy
I bit her ear
She will have told me she liked it

I hoped to have promised a prompt departure
My bum was stuck to the seat
She´s got me by the hand and the heart
I would have never been planning to come

More didn´t happen than did
Something will surely become of it
We will have never mentioned it
It has been time to go for some time

Jan 9, 1999

In Again

Jolted into thankfulness, I
answer the window from the door
as if it were the greatest thing on earth.
In truth, it falls a close second
But who's counting?

More grateful for her return than
she will ever know, there is no time to
make myself presentable.
In silent avoidance of truth,
We pass the time casually

Maneuvering gracefully in the awkwardness,
My token nears the finish only to
return each time to somewhere in the
middle of the road.
In a moment, we will see the truth
In truth, we see more than any moment.

Jan 8, 1999

Stay


Trembling, earnestly searching for answers,
I've said the wrong thing.
You were right all along, you know;
I am making you miserable
My bluntness
My surprise, or yours
And whose slice of guilt do we share a fork to devour?

My new role has no words,
My heart no placid corner to be found
Not in this hour.
Not for you.
Missing half the pieces, we have
thrown together this jigsaw mess.
Who knew it could ever be so beautiful?
Which of us didn't expect it?
You lace up your shoes.
Don't run away, not alone.

Jan 7, 1999

It Lasts Until Tomorrow

Out of need or desire,
I stretch my finger out sharply,
Startling you with my impropriety.
Whining to life once again,
you do whatever it is that works,
whether you know why or not.
One hour of obsessive interruption,
I, falling silent, absorb comfort,
Feeding my addiction once more.
Breaking the rules I most hold dear,
You aren't even nudged by my feeble attempts,
Even though it's life or death to me
Daily, bits and secrets reveal themselves,
I am pleasantly surprised,
Saving each revelation for my next daydream.
Tending to concerns deepest within me,
You say just enough;
Soon there will be nothing between our hearts.

Jan 6, 1999

The way back


Snow-covered roads pave the way
for this noisy, packed bus.
So cautious not to slip yet so eager
to get back in time for dinner.

The danger before us makes the trip
what it is, and what it isn't.
The treachery of it all holds our interest
keenly attentive to each twist and turn.

Under the guise of everyday travel,
we brave this slippery slope
Upsetting the balance with each
barely-detected slide

Very close to death and at the same time
thrilled into palpitations
Voracious and listless,
we travel our fledgeling path in silence.

Jan 5, 1999


Reality, First-class

Duped into hope by no one
but myself
I callously give up my claim
to perfection
Without a white flag
I murmur
How can I turn tail

Seen for the one-sided fool that I am
I seem to shuffle only sideways

Squeamish as i slip into puddles of truth.

Jan 5, 1999


For Good Measure

Hand over hand
Pulling myself up as best I can
By my bootstraps

Mind over matter
Allowing myself to feel good, to be flattered
Without further adoe

Head over heels
Falling with flips, tumbles, and cartwheels
Toward certain peril

Aint over yet
Just getting good, but just how good can it get
Before the sky falls

Hand over hand
Savor the moment, and do it again
For good measure

Jan 1, 1999

Anxiety

Vaguely aware of peace,
my innards feel the need to invert themselves.
Jumping and swaying, knocking my knees,
this senseless fear forbids me to breathe.
Plenty to be worried about
None to be controlled
Even less that matters anyway
Just relax, and pretend you can.
Unaware of the urgency of anything,
how could I ever be cured?
Waking up to a friendly face, perhaps,
would only be cause for alarm
Not enough on the plate
Too much for one sitting
Far more than I've ever seen
Even though I'm blind.

Dec 31, 1998 - Jan 1, 1999

Overlapping waves

Milennium minus one and counting
Wishing you were here
Again or still
I don't know which
An hour since you made your toast
Blew your noise-maker
And kissed away your first resolution
A night I wish I hadn't missed.

Chicago minus one and counting
Somewhat glad I'm here
Although or in addition
I question what it's worth
Ushering in the hour with a lecture
The year with charming exposition
Skilled words and Amazing Grace
A night I wish I could have shared.

Frozen minus one and counting
Winter powerfully here
Good or bad
It hardly matters
Hours til I make my departure
Head for home
And hope you're there for my return
A night I wish was meant to be.

Fellowship minus one and counting
Not belonging here
Now or ever
I know it's just me
A year in which I'll make my toast
Blow my nose too often
And kiss away my last resolution
A night I wish would just get here, and be gone.



"The night I didn't party like it was 1999... I was listening to a lecture
about waves, chords, and music that was neat, and I don't remember much else."

December 30, 1998

My Trouble With Snoring

Two-oh-seven I awake
Two-oh-nine I hear it
Two-one-four I toss and turn
Two-one-nine I grumble
Two-two-five I plug my ears
Two-two-six I quit
Two-three-one I fuss and fume
Two-three-eight I stare skyward
Two-four-seven I make a pillow sandwich
Two-four-eight I still hear it all
Two-five-two I make my departure
Two-five-three all is silent
Four-oh-five I creep back in
Four-oh-six I recline
Four-oh-seven I close my eyes.
Why-oh-why must I do this?

December 29, 1998

Dar Dar Lisa

Nervous shudder of her eyes
shakes her whole Canadian head.
Dropping kudos like I care
and making me sick of her fast
I was wrong.
I thought she had nice hands.
Perpetual yammer of her lips
freaks my American spine out
Dropping verses like she knows
and making me wish 'd left early
I was right.
I am a magnet for "that type".

December 28, 1998

11:40 Western PA

Unplanned test of patience
Surrounded by wheels,
Flashing lights and rumblings
Waylaid with no excuse.
Ingested soda and oranges.
Yearning to be free.
Long and tedious wait
Tapping one foot.
Nowhere and nothing doing,
Wanting to be away
and finally gone.

December 27, 1998

My Grandmother Lies

Aged, abrupt, and inflexible,
My grandmother in her wisdom called it.
A change to Christmas, pick a name
One name, one gift, no more.
One year later, and see what's changed.
One rule, broken by the author.
Wise, stern, and pessimistic,
My grandmother shows her love again
In the only way she knows how
And we all get new pairs of sweatpants
And I get pockets in mine.

December 25, 1998

The warm Welcome Home

My genuine smile,
Her glowing voice
Seen and heard for the first time
Since Custer

The promise of unspoken words.
The hope of rehabilitation
Grasped at just like old times
Like always

Fire of immaturity,
Sparks of innocence
Rekindled by the curious affect
Of our whip.

Beams of pride
Rolls of joyous laughter
Splayed grandly on every bare surface
For near-heroes

December 25, 1998

Waiting for the inevitable, it comes
like we all knew.
This year a piece of crap ski pole
gets the brunt of the Christmas cheer,
Sadly becoming further ingrained
as a family tradition.
Slowly tearing away all memory of
Christmas future ideals, it burns.
Reluctantly giving to joyless faces,
Quietly thankful for no clothing,
Sometimes I wish I hadn't really
given a care
Sometimes I know I did something good.
The worse it gets, the more it
becomes a part of who I am,
Like a flaw in fine art.
Like a bad habit,
Just like home.

December 25, 1998

They All Know

Hardly containing the joy and the
giddiness caused by youthful aphrodesiac
foolishness, they have become the
family gossip. Hearing tales told out
of school, I form an opinion, mocking
and disconsolate. Oh, the folly of
youth. Time and again, I think
they should know better. How many
times must I say told you? Until
I hear the latest idle talk, and
I become the fool as they remind
me of all the warnings I failed
to heed.

Dec 24, 1998

Eve

Not listening for prancing and pawing,
We are in no rush to sleep.
After the last-minute hustle and bustle,
There are still "things" to be done.
Showing hints of the fussing and fuming,
Our father makes his way to bed.
Knowing we will be watching and waiting
We hardly anticipate tomorrow.
Our shoulders shivering and shaking,
We bundle against the cold within.
Aware of our waxing and waning,
We try to put on our best face.
Waiting for giving and getting,
We are in no rush.
Eating our cookies and milk,
We play Santa for noone but ourselves.

December 22, 1998

Getting Ready

Leaving quite a disaster behind,
Dashing off quicker than anything,
Having not a clue what it's all for,
I find myself overly concerned.

Absent-minded and recollecting,
One-track-minded and obsessive,
Like-minded companion far away,
I lose myself in meditative drivel

Scrolling down the want-ad page,
Searching for nothing in particular,
Wasting every moment of my day,
I feel as though the world is too large.

Obnoxious and eloquent,
Obsequious and dry,
Abrasive and consoling,
My departure draws ever-closer.

Dec 21, 1998

Hold My Hand

Tell me what we're doing
I'm the new guy
Haven't got a single callous on me
'Cause I haven't done a thing.

It's strange here, you know
But I really like it, trust me
No, I really do, I'd stay here...
If only could figure ou tthe rules

Same as always, me and you
At least it seems so here.
Half the time
I tink I'm someone else altogether

Far from fast asleep we listen
Hear each other's breath escape
Hold my hand, in silence lead me
Just between us two.

Dec 19, 1998

Like it Best

Anticipating the obvious
As if I'd never learned
Hoping for failure without reason;
Fearful of success, if that's the word.
Putting off 'til tomorrow what I should
Never have done in the first place.

he's not smiling...
You thought he was, but no.
Maybe you have more to learn than you thought.
Maybe there's nothing to know
Surely the thrill comes from weathering the frustration.

Dec 16, 1998

Stop

She says it like she means it and
she means it like she says.
And I have no idea what I am doing
Her heart is on her sleeve as much as
Her hair is on her head
And I am at a loss for I am color blind as well
It sparkles in her hand as it is tilted to the side
It matters more to her just that it's there
And I with pride am crushed just as I ought to be
She seems to think she is undeserving, but
She also knows the power that she's earned
And I as always think that I am right
And I as always know that I am wrong
And we as always say good-byes we know are not for long.

December 15, 1998

Hanukkah Number 3

Justice
Acorns of ambient delight
And worthwhile serenity
Just the thing
Just the place
But what to put in that sole bare corner

Melting
Tense vaccum for worry and care
With a fresh bag, good as new
Melt from heat
Melt from heart
And say you're sorry to spoil the floor

Restful
Knowing hands lacing intricate patterns of nerve ends
Never stopping long enough to lose the effect
Rest for the wicked
Rest of the day
Or 'til your common sense gets the better of you.

"from the hanging of lights and the great reward"

December 12, 1998

Bedtime

Bewildered and Clumsy I answered
You were there
And as always, you were sorry for something
I just wished I'd known quite what to say.

Fortunate or Lucky you told me
I was shocked
And floundering I sucked in my disbelief
You just held a tone too kind to read.

Nervous but Measured I read one
You were still
And with patience, you could hear my memory
I just knew you'd heard more than I'd said

Pleased, yet somehow not, you thanked me
I was weak
And reluctant, I closed the book too hard
You just couldn't hear the latest page

Bewildered and Clumsy I left you
You were there
And as always, I was sorry for everything
I just wished I'd said something I knew.

Nov 17, 1998

My Recliner

Uncomfortable Satisfaction
Getting what I want
Now what do I do with this
Clever Distraction?

Always an alibi
Avoiding the problem
How many books must I pile up
With no light to read by?

Where has my worth gone
And from whom did the decision come
To send me jumping through hoops
With one leg to stand on?

Maintaining this facade.
A placebo effect for productivity
Prone to the world
Bitter, sore, and odd.

November 12, 1998

Compound Dilemma

Trapped in my own hands
Too late to be in control
Pounding, bitter panic
Feeling crazy, big, and small
Twisting, pacing, nervous and fast
Spinning for hours in sleepless grief
Senseless and overwhelming
So foolish
And soon-to-be-forgotten altogether
Soon-to-be-regret
Regret it already
And hoping that somewhere
She isn't shaking her head
Saying I should have known.

November 9, 1998

Two to one

Disappearing
Shape, stranger than we´d have thought
Lined and powerful
Lovely and disappearing

Exhaling with comfort
Drawn between firm hands and soreness
Pliable, warm, and appreciative
Onward, upward, exhaling

Weary and sleepy'eyed,
Jello in her words
Lovely in mine
Reciprocating joy for the weary

Proximal, warm, and most at ease
Thinly'veiled and dressed to be.
Shunning tradiiton, hope, and future
For all that is lonely, familiar, and proximal.

November 8, 1998

Layers

One thick
Maybe two
Transparent
Or not
Slipping and failing
Slipping and glad for thickness
Giving selflessly to get nothing
Appreciated nonetheless
Push and pull and say you're welcome
Bend and stretch and give relief
Truth in advertising
Bubbling up to the surface
And why not tonight
I know too well

Sliding away,
Placid and churning
And three layers thick
With holes wide and deep
And impassable
How easily we forget

From here, devotion
From there, concern
And hope for bitten lips
Four layers below this skin.

November 8, 1998

Layers

One thick
Maybe two
Transparent
Or not
Slipping and failing
Slipping and glad for thickness
Giving selflessly to get nothing
Appreciated nonetheless
Push and pull and say you're welcome
Bend and stretch and give relief
Truth in advertising
Bubbling up to the surface
And why not tonight
I know too well

Sliding away,
Placid and churning
And three layers thick
With holes wide and deep
And impassable
How easily we forget

From here, devotion
From there, concern
And hope for bitten lips
Four layers below this skin.

November 2, 1998

One-two-three

Deaf feet step awkwardly late,
beating a hasty retreat with little regret
While others more nimble and committed
arrive none too soon

Wild woman housewife painting the town
for five minutes of spontineity
Surprised mother of one, gone before
she was ever even there

And one
Timid, but not.
Unsure and hesitant and forgiving
And holding something back
Putting on a good show
For somebody,
But who?

Touch and go
Touch and don't
And never make a step for good or ill
And in the process
Never get anywhere
Without even trying
And walk away with shoues louder than usual

Oct 25, 1998

Wensleydale

Friendship comfort
At long last
Fulfilling end to
Cold weeks past
Such a welcome outlet
For my love and respect

Getting chilly
Close to dusk
Pumpkintown with
One I trust
Oh if only things were
Slightly different up til now.

Share a cup of soup
And much more
Walk without a goal
to shot for
Pour your scattered thoughts
and lend an ear
I'm just across the table
If you need me.

October 17, 1998

Talk Shop

Consuming:
A taking away
And a giving
Frustration:
A choice
And a burden
Responsible:
A great honor
And a wayof life
Prudence:
A play on thoughts
And deception
Wise:
A selective knowing
And a perception
Nobility:
A definition of character
And a lifelong pain
Raucous:
A terrible mess
And a tragedy
Growth:
A measure of imrovement
And an inequality
Consternation:
A lie
And a cheat
Social:
An avoidance of such things
And a discussion of them.

October 17, 1998

In My Way

Pride ASL desire improve improve lazy sloth;
Wants needs and credit cards come too easily
Spend spend myself can why not?
Fellowship is nice if you can get it, and get it good.
Empty search for-for forget don't matter
Him. Back on track.
Busy busy sleep-0 Jesus-book lay *can't* Later.
The sensitivity of my hands from not being held, and not holding.
Clean clean thesis? no. put-off.
Can't miss today's Snack, though.
Nascar infomercial bleary-eyed oblivion
And running up a phone bill
And slapping on a coat of Sears Best
Before the cold sets in
Him. back on track
Hungry hungry food where? Do-do? Cook, must.
"Finish read Deaf America you?"
Not-yet.
Back on track.
For now.

October 17, 1998

Abstinence

Peace and cold in the warm sun
Hearthful of lonely collector pride
Things
Seen, heard, and felt
Things to be had
Were it not for pride
Things to be seen, of course.
Tings to be chased and stalked
And proudly displayed with artistic flair.
So eager to flaunt and impress
So timid
As if there were any objectors
As if it were a crime
As if they'd be here forever
In the cool sun
Those boats weren't made for this.


"Toah Nipi, lakeside"

October 15, 1998

Over Tea

There always
Comes and goes
Depending on angles
Intersections
And gravity

A vertex
An edge
Another focal point

All this with no intent
But for all that,
Too many thoughts

What was I talking about
Again

What to say
If at all


"Tea and story with AB"

"Bad habits are hard to break."

October 14, 1998

Protein Confetti

Snap
One more on the floor
Stuck in the threads forever
Where nobody looks
maybe

Snap
Bite off one more
Not close enough to hurt
Or draw blood
this time

Snap
One more than you need
As if you could stop if you wanted
Even though some do
don't they

Snap
Wriggle from your fingertips
Unless you spit in laziness instead
One more on the floor
Snap

October 12, 1998

With Love from Christopher

Testing, testing, are you still there?
I know you are, but I doubt it.
I know what I say and feel and mean to say
And I hear you, but that's all.

Tortured knowing where you are and
more so not to know where you're at
or plan
or hope to be.

Tell me what you plan
or meant to mean
and that nothing was lost in translation.
So help me God

Then I'll know
And never ask again
Unless I don't get what I want
Then I will
After a fit of whining.



"My friend went to Chile, and I missed her."

August 18, 1998

Grace

Northeastern Rain,
a heavy blessing
Standing on the corner half-drowned

You with grace
and a red plaid umbrella
noticing me in pity more than love

God bless you.

You with space
and I with next to nothing
opening our dryness on an otherwise cold day.

"To the stranger who shared her umbrella with me in Boston"

July 30, 1998

That guy

(A work in turmoil...)
He's always there, that guy that you
can't stand; don't know why, but you just don't
The way he walks or talks or dances or tries to
The way he does it despite the awkwardness
That we ought to ignore

July 22, 1998

Cherith looking through your window
Through your eyes that shine
Velvet crushed enfolded in your
Hidden painted toes

Issues and barricades
Such a welcome foe
Trusting in He who saves
To make
You whole

Wanting to be all that I can
Fearing for the worst
Comfy resting gently tap your
Toes your hand your thigh

Oh why can't it just be simple
How can I forget
How can I remember how your
Prayers are in my head

Cherith looking through your window
Snap a shot for me
Will it take a bright flash bulb
To make
you see

"I went to see Soul Junk and Danielson twice. I met this girl
who was their roadie and bought her a new disposable camera."

July 18, 1998

Night with M

Head on my shoulder
On I'll read
Look at me
And let me return the gaze
Though I know I'm not the one
Though I know I've got a snowball's chance
Heart on your sleeve,
In your pocket
Show me more
And give me a reason to hope
Though I know she's spoken for
Though I know I'm a friend
Ear to the wall
Of a whisper
Speak up now
And let me know of what you speak.
Though I know I'm not in love
Though I hope I will be
Hand to my heart
In a heartbeat
Promise forever
And try to remember next year.

July 8, 1998

Genuflecting with the best of them,
I shake off my discontent.
Is it better to be world-famous
or world-renowned

July 7, 1998

The Fine Art

I gave her a fish, and she screamed
HOORAY I love it Its perfect and it was.
I gave her a book and wrote in the cover
and read it to her and she read with me,
squirming and squealing with delight.

She gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek
I won't wash that spot 'til tomorrow
When I take my shower as usual.

She gave me the giggles and I
gave them back. We nudged and
we poked and we stepped on
each other's toes

I gave her my hand as we wound
through the crowd. We never got nowhere
and saw not a thing.
She gave me a look and I knew how she
felt. Not 'cause she told me, though. Just
'cause I knew.

I gave her a ride home
She gave me a piece of her mind
I gave her a story
She gave me her heart

Giving, giving, giving
The fine art.


"Melissa MacKay is my funnest friend. We tried to see Bare Naked Ladies but couldn't get close enough."

July 3, 1998

Stood Up and Not in Love
Why me, why her
Fifty-nine minutes fast asleep
Sixty-one and I'm still here
Shouldn't bother me
Shouldn't be an issue
Stood up and not in love.

Quiet screen with nothing to do
Waiting for insignificance
Craving mindless drivel all day
Have I re-defined the truth
Have I got a hope

July 2, 1998

Her Big Shoes

Clickety-clack and three snaps down
Brassy and crying and striding doubletime
More responsibility on those ten toes
On those two heels
More potential than Atlas' sphere, with no outlet.
Fashion, stomp. Culture, plod.
Whatever I feel like, yes mother.
Arm-swinging vagrance,
Multi-lingual liberating prison she only visits.
Big head, big heart
Three inch sole.

"Diana Cardenas Perdomo was a brilliant high school kid from New York. Her parents are both Deaf. She was the craziest mix of child and adult, Parent and Child, Spanish, English, and Deaf. We have lost touch."

June 29, 1998

Out of our Minds

Plain Jane Turmoil
So far away how could I even think it
How come its always gotta be like that?
And parents are supposed to help,
To be the guiding light of reason,
Not to add another saddle to my burro.

June 25, 1998

Lost in a Crowd

Tallest among us, yet most vulnerable
Lizard in hand, flailing
Mixed up elbows and beltlines
Hurt more than we'd like

A day full of missed photo opportunities
Waiting for a chance at failure
Experiencing the electric buzz
Of a party balloon

Convicted of waywardness
Dropping gazes conveniently
Regardless of intent

The ground beneath my feet
Cemented on me
Dripping off

Love 'em, hate 'em
Jump anyway

Love 'em, ignore 'em
Why stare

Swimming in sweet 16

June 22, 1998

Wendy's Eyebrows take the cake

Always
Awe-inspires
Agreeing with me
Against her better judgement
Accepting what she can't do
And excited about what she can
Any day now she'll realize
Any day she'll notice
And say nothing
About it
Anyway
Gotta keep looking at her dark eyebrows
Have to show her more respect than that.


"From the day we had a meeting at Ellen and Genzo's
and ordered from Domino's
and Sue W. made the cake
and Wendy was hungry
and I wasn't."

June 21, 1998

Regarding My Father

Who makes me cry
and loves me
Who frightens me
and makes me feel secure
Who angers me
and makes me grin at heart
Who misses me
and whom I don't miss
Who stifles my joy
and on occasion causes it
Who is selfless
and selfish
Who is getting older
and wishes to be young
Who wants to do it all
and tries
Who thinks he can
and fails
Who regrets his failure
and makes things worse
Who is my father
Whom I love.

June 20, 1998

Losing Christine

Your high road and mine for miles
And miles denied the small divide between them
Wider yet and wider still diverged
You rose as we walked along
Still in eyesight
Still in earshot
Sometimes
When the trees didn't get in the way
I could see you dancing
Up there
Way up
I could make out your shape twirling
A shape
A shame
Your high road and mine for miles
And miles denied the great divide between us
Higher yet and higher still you climbed
With help
You climbed a path above a cliff I could
Barely even look up
Much less climb
Much less still see you
Much less remember to look
Much less.

June 19, 1998

When I see Edye

Don't know what I'm gonna do tomorow.
Will I know her when I see her?
6 long years or is it 8 I'll never know the difference.

Will my head spin, will I chill or feel a little queasy?
Don't know where she's been all my life
Except for one short day.

Dancing on a pinhead. was she
Stapled to the floor I don't know
Will she be my long lost friend
Or just a pleasant stranger
When I see her when I see
Edye

Wine and dine and say "I missed you"
Lie or tell the truth
That I only think about her when I hear the word Vermont
And sometimes not even then.
I can see it now.
On a rainy day. I can see it. I can see
Edye

"Edye was from Vermont. I secretly taught her to drive when she was 14. Didn't see her for a long time. I thought I was going to meet up with her in Brattleboro, but she lived near Burlington so it didn't happen."

June 18, 1998

Grasping at Fundamentals

Anti-anything if it's poetic enough to be so
And pro- just the same
The duality, triality, quadrality all at once
With heels

Post-everything before its time has come
And Pre-reality
The freedom, mirth, rebellion of youth
Gone wayward

Plug me in and get me going
Leave me alone
Glad you're here
Now go away
You'll never understand what it is to be me
Just like you once were, only now.

What is beauty? Who is the beholder?
What is beauty and what is sin?
what is beauty and how long 'til forever?
What is beauty and why hasn't anyone whispered it in my eye?

Un-everythig, seeing its future
And Re-everything just like before
Like home, like home, like somewhere revealing
Still pride

June 17, 1998

Courtney Has a Band

She smiles with her face
And it means she knows something
Important
You don't

She gets that ugly look for a split second
That you get when you don't know a picture is being taken of you
But she knew
He was

The guy with the middle finger and
Phallic drum, closed eyes and sideburns
I never knew
I didn't
I pretended to look at them all but she
Smiled anyway and lulled me to death
Like she knew
She could

I looked with out looking
And either she knew it all
Or
She didn't

December 28, 1996

God is big
I am changed
Cut to the heart
I can no longer plead ignorance
A long road ahead
Mostly downhill from here
And unpaved.

Urbana 96

December 9, 1996


Gangrene Under Par

Venom gypsy Love
pious and sweet
hearts that none
may purge
reveals

candy apple red
beckons with mist
dressed to wound
with charred
vision

belly hazard lie
slices right cheap
luck in one
skiled boounce
windward

stagnant fetching whim
murky pond green
probe for joy
find great
nothing

September 16, 1996

Emily Plays Rough

er in slow motion
And else still
Who would guess
That pent-up trouble lurks within
Getcha when you most expect it
Dig ya in the ribs
It hurts
To lose control and flinch a bit
To squirm because you gotta
(aye, there's the rub)
And then expel a breath or two
Must attempt revenge
Or go down trying
One of thosetimes
When giving up isn't all that bad

September 6, 1996

Lavid

Still hearts produce.
Quiet has held enough
when all that has prefaced
is commotion.
It is the most communication
and the least fake.
It doesn't have or need an name.
Polarized, mysterious yet known,
the uncomfortable comfort,
the disquieting quiet,
the surreal practicality,
is more than enough.
More understanding is more questioning.
More than enough.

August 21, 1996

The Vitamin

-Bellowing Rhythm the Hot sweaty staleness
of fermented grain cannot overcome
-They dance for the motion that makes
them parade even more on the sticky,
wet, wooden floor moving beneath them
-Heavy interruption makes it move
-The millipede of flailing shifts and
grows dense and struggling under
the intense blueness of electric mood which
nobody can escape up there.
-It is too hard to leave and too hard to stay.
-It pounds and whines and twists and skewers
repeats and makes an evanescent point hard
as can be while blunt and always teasing
-Round the corner, the door marked Gentlemen and
yet the men are not so in their endeavor.

"I went to Libby's alone to see Vitamin C"

July 5, 1996

Some set, lanks
And frustrating intimacy
Hung brass
And a young, shady Carribean

Rules broken, drunken and foolish
One flash too many
Flailing, shaking
Disco demon
And that's all I remember

March 13, 1996

The Daytona Dreams

Soft and foolhardy
crackling, tears of exhaustion
and purpose

Garbage-picking guilt and shame
flooding, thick with apprehension
and fear.

Glowing and subtly wise
grining, the fruit of knowledge
and love.

Familiar and precious
erring, knowing of forgiveness
and repentance.

Churning and hidden
pondering, thinking something else
and aware.

Proud and honest
breaking, tough becoming soft
and foolhardy