March 14, 2010
Spring blossoms
And shortened sleeves
Summer gardens
Petals and earth
Autumn breezes
And restless leaves
Winter bluster
Comfort in dearth
My mother’s ear
There when I need
My mother’s love
There since my birth
Category Archives: poetry
For My Mom
A Song for the Seasons
January 10, 2010
January embers
Nestled in the hearth
Fueling warmth in our souls
Deep is the winter
For those kept apart
Smoldering love’s captive coals
The winter offers
Little reprieve
From the harsh and swirling chill
February sweets
Tucked under sleeve
As a lover’s delight to fulfill
March breathes renew
Into creatures of slumber
The stirring of motherly natures
Sanguine in spring
The seeds in their umber
Draw up to the season’s allures
Showers converge
Clean fills the senses
Foliage sprouts verdant and lithe
April’s ballet
Through flowery fields
Our sprits encouraged and blithe
May in the slender
Satchel of flowers
Offered to maids in waiting
Suitable tenders
To active desires
Drawn to the pull of the baiting
Lemonade stands
And grasshopper songs
Inspire warm summer musings
June passes slowly
Active and long
To the whim of every soul’s choosing
July soon arouses
Sweat to the brow
As picnics alight on the lawn
Sprinkler rainbows
And firework shows
Carry our courage along
The dog days of summer
Stifle our hearts
We long for the beach and a beer
August vacations
Humid and hot
Alas, a new season draws near
September sends us
Back into schedule
Summer fades slowly away
Rough leather pigskin
The crack of the bat
Warriors resume the year’s play
Autumn leaves
Crackle and fold
Full of fiery brightness
October breezes
Chilly and bold
Our shadows blown steeply behind us
November passes
With giving of thanks
Providing a measure of asking
What does it matter
When passion is frank
And love is not lost in the masking?
Rain and snow
And days of fog
The fleeting of daylight and time
December passes
With festivals bright
And notions of treasures and pine
The Lost Poem
November 29, 2009
Some may disagree, but when you are drunk on a Saturday night and you’re in the mood for a good standby movie, something lighthearted and fun with some good laughs and a little intrigue, “So I Married An Axe Murderer” fits the bill. Mike Myers (of Austin Powers and Wayne’s World fame) plays Charlie McKenzie, a man afraid of commitment until he meets Harriet (Nancy Travis), who works at a butcher shop and may be a serial killer.
Those familiar with the movie are familiar with Charlie’s penchant for beat poetry and his short performances backed by a 3-piece ensemble at a local San Francisco coffee house. His “Woman” poem seems familiar with the customers as he stands before a backdrop photograph of his latest lost flame, accompanied by a familiar, if iconic, jazz riff, as he blurts:
Woman
Whoah man
Whooaaah man
She was a thief
You gotta belief
She stole my heart and my cat
Betty
Judy
Josie and those hot Pussy Cats
They make me horny
Saturday morny
Girls of cartoons
Will leave you in ruins
I want to be Betty’s Barney
Hey Jane, get me off this crazy thing… called love
Then he blows out a votive candle. Funny stuff. There are two more poem performances in the movie. One is after Charlie breaks up with Harriet after suspecting her of being a serial killer. It’s in the same club, with the same musical accompaniment as the first (and likely the same audience), with a large photo backdrop of Harriet behind Charlie:
Woman
Whoah man
Whooaaah man
We had love, not just sex
Is she Missus ‘X’?
I had to run for my life
Jane, get me off of this crazy thing… called love
This time he considers blowing out the votive candle, but doesn’t, leaving it burning on the barstool next to him instead. And then there is the last poem that Charlie chants to Harriet on her rooftop apartment, as he tries to woo her back:
Harriet
Harry-it
Hard-hearted harbinger of haggis
Beautiful, bemused, bellicose butcher
Untrusting
Unknowing
Unlove… ed?
“He wants you back,” he screamed into the night
Like a fireman going to a window that has no fire
Except for the passion of his heart
I am lonely
It’s really hard
This poem… sucks?
Ha, ha… it never gets old. But did you realize that there is a fourth poem in the movie? It never becomes part of Charlie’s performances, but it is in the movie, nonetheless. It is a darker poem; one that shows Charlie’s true fears of Harriet’s presumed identity. Don’t remember it?
When Charlie first breaks up with Harriet we find him sitting by the water at night writing in his black bound poetry book. We briefly see what he is writing before he swiftly scratches it out and closes the book. You wouldn’t be able to read it; the scene goes by so fast. But if you pause the movie just right, the poem is quite telling:
O butcher lady
Killer of sheep
And men
Untrusting
Unknowing
Unloving
THIS POEM SUCKS
Obviously, he revises elements of it and it becomes the latter poem to woo her back, but what a candid view into Charlie’s thought process at the time and what an interesting insert into the movie! Watching the scene at face value, you might think Charlie is pining for Harriet, remorseful for rejecting her.
But really, he is struggling with Harriet’s identity as a cold blooded killer and how he could possibly fall in love with someone so monstrous.
It is somewhat Tarantino-esque.
Wander
November 15, 2009
My ear is a hollow
Through which the wind mourns wistful tears
The leaves on the trees applaud
Their shadows rippling along the worn path ahead
Someone has been here
Someone has been here
My legs move
And I don’t think
My arms swing
And I don’t think
My lungs breathe
And my mind wanders
My mind wanders
A small lake opens up before my eyes
The way the plane of its surface continuously recedes
I could fall
I could fly
But it’s only the wind
It’s only the wind
Blue
November 8, 2009
Fine hair
Bright eyes
Dark trees
Ash skies
Wind calls
Leaves dance
Owls screech
Footsteps
Branch creaks
Wings flap
Whispers pass
Eyes dart
Hands search
Fog parts
Mist laughs
Clear tears
Lost lives
And eyes
Blue
Blue
Halloween Jack
October 26, 2008
Autumn leaves
Crackle and fold
Full of fiery brightness
October breezes
Chilly and bold
Our shadows blown steeply behind us
And so it looms before us. Halloween. The height of Fall. Another chance to whistle past the grave as the season brings about the death and slumber of the natural world. Oh, it is nothing to feel down about. Death, as much as life, defines our experience… makes everything precious. Is it any wonder we have a holiday that celebrates death, in a way. Not just as an ending of things. But as a transition that life undergoes to allow for the birth that is Spring after a long Winter sleep. That transitional gate is Halloween and it’s gatekeeper is Halloween Jack:
Halloween Jack
When the moon glows full
And the night burns black
And a bone dry wind
Covers fresh laid tracks
From a cemetery gate
Hinges creak unoiled
And the earth feels moist
With an unseen spoil
The misty air is thick
With the scent of the dead
And the little ones trick
With a sense of dread
Through the twisting branches
A firefly dances
From the depths of his hollowed out head
What a frightful grin
What a ragged tooth gash
Halloween Jack
Halloween Jack
Head picked fresh from a pumpkin patch
Watch it roll forward
Watch it roll back
Watch it roll back and
Laugh
Laugh
Laugh
Mr. Bones
October 19, 2008
My 2nd October poem this month involves the most supportive part of ourselves… the human skeleton. Besides being a harbinger of death, the skeleton has a lot of positive attributes: it defines our height, it bears our weight, it anchors our muscles’ tethers, it protects our organs. It is a marvel of natural engineering.
The skull is the most fascinating part of the skeleton. It is the fortress of our senses. Our expressions ripple over its surface with fluidity, only to return to the confines of its shape. The face of a skull bears the gamut of human emotion: happy, sad, thoughtful, mad… whatever our inner perceptions wish to project upon it.
So it was that I came home late one chilly October night from the end of a swing shift. The house was quiet with the soft slumber of my companions in the other room. The Halloween decorations were up, including a life sized skeleton sitting in a chair by the living room window. I started reading for a spell, but the skeleton looked to be in the mood for company, so I cracked another beer and spent some time with Mr. Bones:
Mr. Bones
Mr. Bones and me stay up late nights
Just sitting around
I sit on the couch and stare at him
He sits in a chair by the window
Just staring out into space
Right out into the heart of the galaxy
Heavy stars out tonight man
Heavy stars!
And I drink a beer and think
Then I have another one
And I read a couple paragraphs from a book
My favorite author wrote it
But he ain’t saying it
I’m reading it
It’s a story
But it’s crazy man
I don’t know where it’s going!
I can see outside too
Right out into the goddamned street
And the wind is blowing out there
Blowing right on down the street
And there are leaves flying around out there too
Flying leaves man!
And these thoughts
These thoughts are all squishy inside my head
Like butter
And all the while I’m thinking
Where’s this story going?
And all the while I’m thinking
Dig that crazy Mr. Bones!
And all the while I’m thinking
That wind is freaking me out man
And all the while I’m thinking
I gotta get to bed man
I gotta get to bed
And Mr. Bones is sitting in that chair
With a big ass freaky grin on his face
Just frozen there like a stiff margarita with an extra shot
Hold the salt man
Dig that crazy Mr. Bones
Wind In The Mustard
October 12, 2008
October is my favorite month. The shadows get longer but not too long. The days get shorter but not too short. The air gets cooler but not too cool. Summer and Winter balance on the fulcrum that is October. And then there is the wind.
Wind has a special meaning for me. It is scented and sweet. It is free and wild. The wind reminds me of a girl, one who plays with your heart but always returns to remind you that you are alive, just not so large in this world. It is where my soul wants to be. When I die, I want to be taken by the wind.
To honor my love for October, I am posting 3 poems of mine over the next 3 weeks, starting with this one. The 1st is haunting, the 2nd amusing, and the 3rd scary. This first one reminds me of October wind and the passion that can be found therein.
Wind in the Mustard
Wind aboard the bushy trees
On a morning warmly scented sweet
Hope to hear your wakening
Nestled in the breeze
Wind in the mustard field
Such a luscious lonely sight
Hope you make it back to me
On any other night
Wind upon the shutter boards
Clacking against the weathered panes
Hope to see you walking down
That darkly graveled lane
Wind sleeks through a carnival
Brilliant baubles besiege the eye
Strapped upon the carousel
Horses prance and bray
A part of this is eternal
Surely I should see you there
Where the shadows set your eyes aglow
Amidst the straw and steel and flapping burlap
Where the wind engulfs your skin
Your hair and dress play sweet distress
And your touch still feeds the flame
I’m glad you came
Wind in the willows
Hauntingly
Calls your name
The Scratch
August 17, 2008
sleep deep
spread about
warm sun
stretch out
whisker twitch
ear itch
back foot
pink pad
white paw
black patch
leg up
extend claws
head back
scratch scratch
Scratch Scratch
SCRATCH SCRATCH
Cats are awesome, aren’t they?
See you next Sunday.
=^..^=
