Big Wheels, Tonka trucks, Pokémon or
Plastic Potter Elder wands promise
Poor boys and rich alike moments
Of longing for what once was;
When boys become men, the longing may
Persist when memories from high school
Or moments of virgin newness
Create an ache for that feeling of discovery,
That exquisite ecstasy of, “That’s what
All the hype is about.”
And long before middle age, the nostalgia
Sets in
As larger moments in life like birth, death, love
Eclipse the trip of a lifetime or important conversations
Until one event or thought triggers
That gnawing yearning that ravishes the heart
And wracks the mind—and some cave
And some deny
And some try desperately to reclaim that time
And some, if they are lucky, read something
Early in their lives
That inspires them
to understand that all of their moments,
Even those gained in the final minutes of their terrestrial existence,
Must be compounded in order to create

Who he is.

(By the way,
It’s the same for girls.)

An odd fish
with eyes on one side…
like us, odd ducks
with manta-like wings that want to fly
like us,
But they simply make the water easier to navigate
like us and our four star navigation systems
and brown spots that camouflage the fish
like our boutique costumes camouflage us
since we all look the same anyway–some pay a significant amount to
look not that significantly different from the person they
board the train with
As the fish rests on the bottom
like the slow bottom feeders we know
and are.

A beautiful listening can make the speaker’s words
melodic, fresh, hymns to the ears
And little if anything has to do with the voice–
A beautiful listening is all by choice,
A beautiful listening takes the power of one;
It takes presence and caring and magical fun.
It affects me directly–no matter the plan
I am the one who must listen and learn, and if I can and do,
listening is love, and love listens to you.

Touareg’s camel crossed the desert
Just north of Kiffa, Othello’s Mauritanian birth city,
Looking for water
And love.

If he had stopped at the western crossroad
The intersection of middle time and now,
He would have seen a pair of travelers
Who, in earlier days may have seemed unlikely,
Yet who now go unnoticed

And the travelers would have warned him of the great
Civil war in the South
And the need to disguise his being
From those who judge too quickly—
Those who have read Blink and believe
It only takes a moment
To know

And because of this, the camel would have turned and headed
North then East, and found his true love waiting
Patiently at the foothills of the Pyrenees.

Oh, happy travelers, do not hesitate to flag
Down a wayward camel when you see it—it’s
You or no one between bliss and blundering.

I can’t even try to be profound
It would be rather like SpongeBob trying to be round
Or Cat Woman wearing a floral muumuu
Or Dr. Oz ordering a double-double with grilled onions
Or , you know, the smart geeky professor saying something was “sick”
Meaning “cool” or “great”
Awkward
Or a whole series of emoticons that did not include the ☺
Profound is just not in me; in fact,
I’m quite provincial, don’t you see?

He thought she was pretty
but she thought she was not
She thought he was kind
but he proved otherwise
Put down the mirror;
turn to the heart
There is nothing more beautiful
than love in the dark.

Burning down bridges brings beautiful
End to life as she knows it;
Forcing changes, no retreats
Either better or eternally worse,
Either sunshine or common hearse

Beat back the bride’s veil—
Expose her evolving green gardens,
Rat the mongoose out from nowhere,
Catch the vermin with noose and sickle—
Extinguish greed with her wooden nickel.

Mount the chariot, rise Apollo style
Proclaim victory with orbit laps
Retracing eons of dust and scraps;
Calm the waters for one last gasp
Squelch the flame before it burns.

Eek out a heart’s worth of wanderlust
Capture the moment without losing trust
Steal away down canal lined streets
To meet tomorrow with eager feet
And limp by no more today.

Pack lightly and keep an open mind
Enter Paris without scorn or care,
Climb the stairs of ancient Rome
Say your prayers near da Vinci’s stone–
Follow the trail past Pompeii and Nice
Back through Cannes and Provence sweet streets,
Tarry near the fountain of peace
Break some bread with the village beast.
Yodel a tune on the Alpen peaks–
Dance a jig with a Turkish priest–

And come back home filled with faith
renewed…that mankind can indeed improve
All in the name of growing up–
Not in age but beyond deeper cusps–
With greater love for common sense
Eternal youth from ages hence
Noting miracles that happen every day–
Like living, learning, loving in the USA.

Out from nowhere ran the yearling
Powering through the desert heat
On past cacti, lion lizards, rattlesnakes, coyote
Hooves impressing sand, yearling moving me.

Fired high with hopes and passion
Tense with eagerness and strength
Building bridges with the new ones
Snorting inner confidence and zeal

Move out forward past the elders–
Far exceed their thoughts for you.
Charge the dawn with strides of swiftness,
Race the sun for better views.
You, the newest bastion of survival,
Meet the future on the run.

And when evening sets among us
Gallop on through sundown’s dark
Don’t forget that on horizons
Meet the hopes of morning’s throngs

Batsy Boy, you think you’re chique;
You’re not.

Spidey Lad, it doesn’t work
Your web is tangled.

Clark, young buck, the cape
is silk–it needs dry cleaning

And you, little tike,
You’re a fake.

Shut up about the story–
Draw me a hero
Who dies like me
But who loves anyway
while using the batrope, daul identity bat sensor
and the ever important bat utility belt arsenal.

Burning eyes, red incased
Leak flames of pain onto her face
Numbed into silence despite the rage
Help her quit the human race

Make it easy, make it quick.
Don’t let them hurt too much—
It matters not—
No pain intended.

Little bird upon the ground
Below the nest—no help around.
She picks it up; sets within—
Then climbs the tree with rope to limb
And falls finally, forever

“Selfish,” cannot stop the train
wreck the plan or spare the sane

Story truth can only go so far;
Sometimes truth will kill you.

Here, beneath the third one
hide it–
Find it there without a clue
Tell the world
that what you’re after
hints at magic
hand and… shoe?

Slight of finger
Tricks or puns, run
through each, increasing
fun–
Find the one with just a
single, silent ping pong
hid beneath it
then you’ll find the
one with two…

Much like life, the hide and seek
Always reaching, always reaching
If we find the ball we search for
Must have been there all along.

Why magic? Why music?
Why madness? Why life?
Keep them guessing
That’s the clue.

Sleep evades me, sleep pervades
Every thought not spent on you
Sleep eternal, sleep inherent
In my neural web imbued.

Heavy burden, weight immobile
Crush the life from those in view–
Wield the power of the mighty as
Hope of lasting one more
moment,
One last second–
Worn and ragged glints renew

Wreck the masthead
Hoist the cargo—life’s a lover
Of the broken, flailing, fickle few
Let me sleep, just one long minute,
sleep away my love anew.

Trill away down memory lane
Find a tune to blow your mind
Ride the highway south and back
With top down comfort and wind
whipping back

Ride the railway
Hike the trail
Walk the path

And I’ll
Be “feeling groovy”
waiting for you.

A Musical? South Park-ish satire?
A million Mormon missionaries
as Moroni sounds the trumpet
louder now than ever

And Broadway has it’s irreverent,
Disturbing, belly-up-to-the-bar fun
While the Elders pay for the chance
To clean the water, teach the children,
And build homes for homeless hundreds

And they give a Tony for which?

No offense intended? None taken.

There’s not a poem in me tonight
Not a single, creative flare
No rhyme, no spark, no hint of love;
I’m lost without them near.

It must be that things go first
with time; we change as often
as leaves; we change
and forget what used to be;
we change not knowing/
caring

And that would hurt
if we knew it.

My Bre is off at camp this week,
I miss her terribly.
She’s chasing rainbows,
climbing hills, learnin’
’bout bugs, rocks, stars, and things.
I guess I’ll have to wait

just one more day to hear
If science camp was oh-so-fun–
to tell her I’m glad she’s near.

I watched him want it so much
as his anticipation seized him
His hope, palpable
But they all walked on in their twos
and threes
Leaving him there, waiting
for the invitation to join them
that never came.

And my heart broke
because no invitation could rival
theirs, and theirs would never come
not this time, or the next

So, the pursuit was about the
the hope, about acceptance
about waiting for Godot
And I, the one who knew
that pain, watched
helplessly yet again
as he craved things beneath him–
as he craved them–
as he craved.

And as he grows up,
he will learn that
many whom he did not see
craved him.

If I could write a story
It would be about a boy

It would be about a choice
It would be about love.

And in the story about the boy
And his love
He would buy a dog
And name him Rafa—
Because he eats tennis balls
And the boy speaks Spanish

And the boy and his love and his dog
Would be together on the day of his choice

The day would be normal
The end of school promising freedom and fun
The morning would begin
With cereal, flip flops, and a shrug
When Mama asks him what he is thinking

He feeds the dog, hugs him with a surer hug then
He hugged his love the day before,
And leaves for his first class taught
by churlish Mr. C
bringing Rafa despite the rules

Then the story would become
A parable about ethics, choices
When his love came along

And the boy would choose
Perfectly
Because despite rules and imperfection
In this world
This boy would do what we all want
him to do.

And the boy would not be a cliché
Because few choose to love the way
The boy knew how to.

And Rafa would bark and bounce
And the boy would be real,
And the love would be real,
And the story would end
With the boy, the dog, and the love
Walking into my life
For good.

You are brilliant–every single one
of you. You brighten the midnight
hour with exquisite, excruciating
neon color, so that even the proudest
stars seem dim. You cast your light upon
the purple night in ways that make the
sun blaze in out-of-sight envy–

You little ones, who grow so fast–
you so amaze me.

Tough decisions require
Lots of input
So, with all the fortitude I could
muster, I asked
the ball–

I’ve never met anyone quite as indecisive as
myself
Until, I rattled out five “maybe”s and a pair of
“ask again”s.

So, I throw in the towel
and ask a confidant
and he says, “perhaps.”

A little prayer, a secret call,
a text, and then again the ball
all lead me to one simple clue–
That decision…is up to

me.
(Thought the rhyme
would force me into saying “you”?
Ah, for the love of all things
asymmetrical, blame Whitman
)).

When you’re not whole
It’s not my fault
I’d rather slice my skin in a million
paper cuts
Then listen to your constant,
“Dumb ass, shit for brains,”
vitriol over nothing.

Patience has its boundaries
And I’ve reached them
a million times
a million.

If the dogs must learn to
“shut your trap”
so, indeed must you.

To catch a flight instead of a cold
To play a game instead of going home
To write a love poem when someone dies
To wish for rescue when things are fine
To tell a child she can not achieve
To love a child who is not in need–
Unless, of course, she needs you.

Wait, slow down, the child needs you–
And, by the way, when was loving
anyone inappropriate? Who made those
rules? Who, did you say?
I thought so; he wouldn’t have it any other way–

I love so many kids these days,
I think I’ve found a better way
To bide my time, no, flee the space.
I think I’ll ask for a little grace
To help them all along their way
and keep me caring a tad bit more

Open the door
And you will surely find me.

It’s all working out–no more need to fret

Ever have a moment like that? Everything
works out just the way it should
And, incredibly, you sit back and worry,
fight back the tears,
tears of incredible sadness, loss
and happiness?

And it happens again. It’s perfect.
And you can’t complain–because you
wanted it this way. You wanted it this way,
Didn’t you?

If you try anything new again, “Someone, please
remind me,” that there are others
who can tackle it–others who can
afford the pain.

Ride on, Ride on, and skip the intro
Don’t expect an easy return
Highway speeds exceed the limit
Exit here to spare your life–
Warn other travelers of what’s up
Head for higher ground to avoid
Colliding headlong into your own
Hopes.

But love them all along the way.

I’ve always liked kangaroos
Koalas, also make me smile
There’s something about
hopping critters, and lazy, arboreal dwellers–
bamboo shoots and joey-roos.
My Australian friends consider
these beasts not so fondly–
“Pests” they often call them, “troublemakers,” too.
Much like our masked raccoons,
antic chipmunk and stellar jays–
Redwood fauna–to live near them may
tarnish one’s thoughts–
We often love what we have not–
And detest what is right in front of us.

I suppose that goes for friend and foe,
For jobs and hobbies just the same
Unless, of course, you like your lot
As I am wan to do.

Note: I work with a few kangaroos–or chipmunks
depending on the day. Except, of course, for my students,
whom I often find to be more like chameleons-I wish they would all grow
up so I can retire and simply be myself.

Thinking (always problematic) led Nietzsche
to conclusions like, “God doesn’t exist”
Remarkably Buddhist, nicht wahr? Poor pitiful self,
that man.

Selfish, the most human word, cringes when we
Speak it. All must be selfish to survive—
Yet, quality of existence, something more ethereal
Than real, not only makes God necessary, but oh, so
plausible.

Why the rock if not the sand
Why the sun if not the shade
Why the child if not the man?

Happiness springs internally-
Selfishly we hoard it until we learn
That a flea market of emotion
not worth a damned penny,
A dollar instead of ten
Will buy that elusive joy from
That rich man down the block.

Knocking….Who is that knocking?
Will you answer?

Beautiful presence; dark hair and eyes
Earnest smile, appealing sighs
Gentle soul, kind and wise–
Captain Sparrow in disguise.
Young man growing sure and strong
Capture the world, take us along–
Sail the seas with Captain Jack–
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
Batman’s cool, but he’s got
nothin’ on you.

I write late at night in order to
decompress, and so that most people won’t
read the weakness in the writing–
but I know this is linked to Facebook
because I linked it so that some of the messages
would leak out
sometimes-
Tonight, however, it doesn’t matter
because what I write
will make no sense
and will end
abruptly–
just like unfinished highways
broken movie reels
sparklers on the Fourth of July.

The moment disappears.

They just bulldozed the first In-n-Out
And young actors celebrate at Jakes
While seniors go to BJ’s
And I am home at last.

Babies are born, young hires
come aboard, young actors taste
laughter and applause for the first
but not the last time–
Graduates salute with their caps
retirees cap careers with minute long,
fumbling speeches; and worn out
bodies rest forever
as the cycle repeats

And in this moment
all are one.
And I sleep.

A whimsical world we live in, child
A whimsical world indeed
For out on the limb the wind will blow
And a whim of luck breaks free

Who would have thought that she would win
except for her circle of friends
Who would have thought that they would lose
Except for those who’d had eyes on him.

Judge not so quickly, nor harshly, too
There’s always a couple who saunter through,
And easy lives sometimes get rough
And sometimes hard lives ain’t so tough
When at the end, the final row
Makes even the strong ones want to bow.

What’s all this about, this
trying to let go?

I never want to let go.
I just want to forget

I love the hold, the grasp, the constant
adrenaline of connection–I never want to lose
that tether.

Feeling, on the other, less impassioned hand,
is something I’ve let go of completely.
I learned it from somewhere dark
that feeling causes immense pain

pain that I’d rather not experience
even at the expense of joy–
I suppose, though cliche, it’s safer that way.

And don’t tell me I’m missing out–
I feel more than sensitive fingertips
of a thousand nimble craftsmen–
my heart races and dies a multitude of
tragic deaths daily. With every struggle, with every
passing injury, I lose an irreplaceable drop of blood–
so, I don’t want to feel any more. I want to stop.

I want to stop.

I want to stop.

Really. I’m trying to let you go.

If I could change a single thing about what I do,
I’d change the way I talk to you.
I’d be more truthful when you ask my thoughts
I’d tell you the other half of all the half truths, and not
So you’ll believe it’s really okay
To choose the more resistant way.
Fight a little harder for what you want
Find your voice. You’re not supposed to be just (like everyone)
You’re different in the most critical ways
You’re gifted child, you’re superb this way

So here we go, just one more time—
There is great chance that you’ll hear me say,
“Walk the walk and worry not”
Because you know what’s best for you
And that is why I’ll hear you through

Life only gets at least this hard,
Enjoy the ride and all the thought
You’ll learn so much as you decide.
Whether or not you agree with me,
I so appreciate your honesty.

That’s it. He died.

But there was more. He woke up
Looked around, and then
smiled because he knew–

He knew–
because he’d always known
That endings are nothing without beginnings
And beginnings are guaranteed.

But then, of course, there’s me–
So afraid of endings that I’ll do anything
to stop the stopping,
Even not beginning.

And that’s why I’m Wowed today,
Because we really can’t control when
he dies.

So, we sit back and look at Emerson’s stars,
gain appreciation for the magnitude of our
complete minuteness in this moment,
and long for days or even seconds more
to gaze into familiar eyes and say
“I’ll miss you” or “I love you” or simply
“Please don’t go”

But he leaves anyway. Alone.
Wow.

Revolutionaries held the flag
That called the King out about his role
And wrote the argument that broke the bonds
Of tyranny, taxes and unrighteous holds

When trivial things cross our daily paths
There’s rarely need to raise up arms
And then, one day, a message comes
And calls us out to sound alarms

“Don’t tread on me,” comes the cry.
“We will not take it from you now,
We’ve had our fill of what you’re dishin’.
Back away or stand your ground–
either way,we’re through with wishin’.
There’s no wrath that can stop us now.”

So, send the sentry, light the lantern
All the years of diplomacy behind
Wasted when you shot me coldly
Right in the back, you shot me only.

But I don’t die. Oops, the jokes on you.

There must be some type of poetic injustice happening. So, here’s the real truth–the world is really screwed up. And all told, it’s the adults doing all the messing up. I need to let cyberworld know that there are some who create wrongs and others who spend their lives trying to rectify them. Here’s today’s example: two young men, talented and bright, perform a scene describing a young man’s “coming out” to his father. The scene reiterates the son’s revelation to several different, and sometimes violent sometimes accepting, responses from the father. No sex, drugs, vulgarity, inappropriate gesturing, nada. Powerful, moving, excellently performed (How do they do that?). Then, after confirming with 4 of the 5 judges that the scene is the top scene in the room, the boys are denied the chance to perform main stage or earn the top award for what is initially called a vulgarity (one character says “For Christ’s sake” and then “screw you, Dad”). Further investigation indicates that the real reason is that while all (we think) of the judges choose the boys’ piece, the State level representative believes that a discussion about homosexuality is inappropriate. I’m sorry, but how can a discussion be inappropriate? How can a discussion about anything be inappropriate?

“I have something to tell you…”

Don’t you want to know? If I shut you down, will it not still be true? Can I tell you that I am completely and utterly embarrassed that the person shutting this down is an educator? His rationale: “I could never get away with a student performance of this at my school; hence, it’s inappropriate.” Honestly, what if the scene were “Dad, I have something to tell you…I’m marrying a Catholic….I’m not going to college…. I don’t like the Giants….I’m marrying a Black woman….I’m cutting my hair….I’m an alien from planet 457….I’m a member of the Tea party…I’m joining the Mormon church….I’m leaving the Mormon church….I’m not gay….I’m adopted….I’m dropping out of high school….I’m a drug addict….I’m not perfect….?

In the end, I am afraid I’ve risked teaching my students a bad lesson. I believe that the “You win some, you lose some,” is a good model to help us grow. Failure is often the most important experience we have in molding our characters. How we respond to failure (or in this case, denied opportunities) often leads to great insights, new directions, or the drive to be better…the “I’ll show you” attitude. But, I trust that they understand that I really love what they did and that no matter the “award,” the fact is they should not have been discounted because of the content.

I hope they know that I am immeasurably proud of them for their work, and that my interest in understanding how this all came about is not to get them a prize, but to help the adults understand what they are doing….They are teaching these truly remarkable performers that the best really means, the best for whomever holds the power…Ah, there’s the rub. Civil rights makes civil hands unclean. And we begin again…”Act well your part, there all the honor lies.” I heard that many times today. Honorable, young men, honorable.

Another not poetic entry because I couldn’t help noting what I heard in the parking lot of the school tonight on my way out. There must be a community band that rehearses at the school on Monday nights because about 30 gray hairs flooded the back parking lot at about the same time as I was saying goodbye to Jay Lee and friends. As I approached my car, I overheard a man behind me say, rather matter-of-factly, that “the flower is determined a year before it blooms.” “Goodness,” I thought, “is he speaking in metaphors?” And then it got me thinking. I know, scary, isn’t it? Anyway, I hope he is wrong. Actually, I hope he is right for the most part, but in the case of my students and even my own daughter, I hope he is mostly wrong. If my daughter had been pre-determined by the events of her past, oh, how cruel the world would be. If my student did not grow beyond what they learned last year, what value could I ever hope to add? Blossoms can be beautiful things, so turning out beautifully when that is what is expected of one seems to not be much of a stretch. On the other hand, if the possibilities are endless, than the best craft has yet to happen.
I know that’s true for Breanna, and promising youth I know. So, while the blossom may have possibilities, we should forever tend the gardens to keep those possibilities wide open.

Hark, thou young and restless tools
Act out the Bard’s reduc-ed works
Crawl laughing, clowning, horsin’ round
And use the brogue with easy tilt
Without Macbeth, a sword, or kilt

And rest assured they knew the plays
of Hamlet, Caesar, Two Nobles, too
Drank the poison and spewed the word
With art of craft and wielded word.

Three boys, no four, to make this play
And ladies fair round out the crew
And Shakespeare lives on stage and school
And black box sings around and through.
Congratulations, you…and David, too!

One more time!

Congratulations cast and crew of “Shakespeare Abridged”
SHS March 31 and April 1, 2011

They move around through enlightened darkness
Hiding purpose from those who see
They play the role with ease and kindness
Bringing joy to those that see

All the screeching, scratching, itching British
Leads the bimbo round the lounge
Watching blindly sneaky burglar
Hopping cross the stage and round.

A troupe of actors take the stage
And dress it brilliantly with grace
A handful of amazing yearlings
All arrayed in youth’s fresh face.

Call the office, hoist the curtain
World’s ills they’ll quickly remedy
Crawl through blackout, laugh again
And there it is, Black Comedy.

Bravo, cast and crew of Black Comedy!
SHS March 31 and April 1, 2011

Have you ever met someone
You find dangerously delightful,
deliriously addicting?
Yes, that kind of charisma
that crawls frighteningly through
your limbic system and without
warning holds you hostage
to their alluring anecdotes
or subtle nonchalance?
While all around you people
seem not to notice that you’ve
been tractor-beamed by some unspoken,
but oh-so-real-force field of human
connection, human magnetism
until finally, you resurface,
acknowledge your almost lost self,
return to mendacity, and then
quickly begin the search again for
that next thrilling ride?

I have.

Plan it now; it’s just beyond
Tomorrow’s setting sun–A good time
with those friends of mine
A moment with the one
Who makes me sing, like little Bre
Like Alex on his best of days
And you, the silly, comic bum
Who looks for fun when there is none
I can’t wait for days with thee.
Get out the walking shoes,
The sunscreen and the map
I’m headed up to where you live
a road trip and a nap–
All make the planning worth the fun
All make the summer days rerun
my youth and camping kick-the-can
the best of days to come.

I’ve had enough from her
and him
Don’t bother me with trivia.
My blood churns with perfect
anger because the stupid
are allowed to roam.

I cannot hope for easy
work or peaceful, subtle
love and life
because I can tolerate
Imperfect men
And failure reigns
interminable.

So let’s rephrase the problem, please
Re-iterate the task anew and learn from
what we just failed to do.

I’ll calm my nerves and let it go–
You call me up; I’ll skirt the row
And be glad that the year will end
With kids I love, with love of friends,
With family dear, with you.

She saw the art within the frame
That Dali painted, that critics praised
And he hated art, and history, yes, he did.
So off he went
The light, the hue
The foreground crisp, the rear obscure
The artist creating love screaming
Impress me
Impress me
Impress me

Her care for him rose high above
She seized the chance to speak her love
He slew her with his openness
He tore her from his selfish kiss
He pushed her down, he risked his fate
From her eyes he drew the snake

Son, you know I know this place
This is my house, my saving grace
With you my life is all I need
Take up the march, just sing the plea
And bring the craft to men again
Your lonely path fraught with misery
Impress me.

Howler monkeys swing through trees
Shrieking loud debauchery

She called him on his crazy farce
His call to smash the frame apart
To slash the canvas that hung proudly
Claiming new love–
She knew him. He pulled her in and
And crashed his love right through her

Screeching love fills every tear
Drunken revelry now disappears

Perhaps he knows what she always knew
That art is more than me and you
It’s cosmic and it’s large and rough and moving
It cannot be false to claim the truth
It cannot conquer me alone without you
It calls and cries and makes her love
Him. Truly love him all of him

Debunk the myth, guffaw humility
Impress me with ingenuity

She tried whatever she could do
To call him forth and speak the truth
Nothing more could save him from the rail
They beat him down and called him frail
And she sang as loudly as before
The art of love is evermore

It’s all been etched and drawn before.
Impress me.

The train roars along
Pushing through without a view
Hurry on, steam up, renew.
The steep mountain grade climbs,
making the descent sublime.

I looked across the plane of white
And saw a face I knew.
Rekindled what I’d seen before and
in my heart I flew– back to that moment
years before, when youth and love
collided.
Where to has the time and yearning gone?
What has caused the soul to blind?

Wake up, oh, weary, lonesome traveler
From where you lay beneath–
Wake up and push the pulsing hammer
Of eternal, supernal, lasting states-
Fire the recollection chamber,
Fire the lasso round that star
Pull me close to that genius-
Ride through Emerson’s saddled wisdom
Bring him back from not so far.

Apocalypse awaits the mindless.
hurting man with just a quip
Unleash the token, Kracken kindness.
Spoil the dream before it gets too far.

Unleash it all upon the page
Unbreak the spell upon the stage
Unwind each clock with gentle care
Bring those children home

Muses fall beneath my breath
Press my thoughts ephemeral
Guide me gently through darkness
Staining ink, my words imprint:

“Lead all endeavors to the right
let each man choose his pathway’s light
Be it dim or bright, the choice be his
Forward moving, despite the fright.

Oh, rock of my soul. Words will come.

Move. Stop. Cheat out. Downstage right.
Out the back door. Pretend. Be.
Amazing. Work hard to pretend–
But then, won’t work hard on reality
Ah, joy. Ah, pain. Ah, escapism stinks.

I just want a cue to leave.

This is not the time–
Action, determined, swift, magnificent
Must match the malevolent moment of earth’s uprising.
Lord, O Lord! or Captain Sparrow, calm the turbulent tides
Settle earth’s rifting crust
Diffuse the energies of broken shadows
Teach us how to help one another.
Stop the talking for just a moment more
to listen for the missing child,
the wanted father, the longed for friend
now awash in icy seas or buried beneath
piles of Neptune’s wrath.

Do not say another word–
Act to save another’s hurt
Find a path to reach the injured
Find a path to head back home.

He laughed, that hideous laugh
Claiming that worry held people back,
No consequence worth thinking about
Could change his course, or man’s no doubt,
That moving forward must occur,
That he alone would save them.
Smarter than all the rest–
he thought himself wise,
scientist, fiend
Ending up dead
inside his dream.

His premise wrong; good prevails
Curtains rise, Mr. Lee details.
He conquers us. Slays us.
Mr. Hyde fails.

Bravo.

To the SHS cast and crue.
Yes, that’s all of you.
Sleep well, for tomorrow comes after every day.

123
Simple really, to count by threes
Forget the title–it’s not the point
Heaven’s realm in three degrees
Traffic signal lights, red yellow green
Passing grades, A B C
Three little pigs,
Banana split ice creams,
Billy goat gruff teams
Three coins in a fountain—

Avatar 3D.

Look, listen, think before you talk
Consider the implications of not walking that surly walk
Take away my tenure, my health care and my pay
Call me a lowly public servant (that’s servant on your brain),
Conjure every lousy teacher you’ve had in all your life
Then blame me for that one stupidity that caused you little strife.
Throw a rock or slur or lemon pie
into my face
Enjoy your ego trip maurading round the place

Then, when things go south and control is lost
Don’t cry to me about the the stinking rot

Honestly, there are things to do–
find something worthwhile to pursue
It won’t be teaching at a zoo.

Why do that when money and respect
Can be found on Wall Street’s deck?

I think I’ll just hop a train–And let the
Robber barons have their way–
I’ve always preferred the open road
To rotten fruit, ungrateful toads.