Am I Misanthropic 


Well, am I misanthropic ?

I don't know, I try my best
not to be.

I certainly don't hate all
people, just a few of them.

But, upon learning that us
British people, tend to give
a lot more to animal charities
than we do to human charities.

I can totally understand that.

I can easily think of several
people who I dislike.

But, I can't think of any animal
that I couldn't learn to love. 

Moved To Tears

Something about
The jailhouse
Moves me to tears.
Just being a
Fact of life
In its existence
Shows us a failure
Of society.
A failure to keep
God's will and truth,
A sadness in the
Separation of family,
The disregard for
The laws of man,
The corruption and sin
Embraced by society.
But the biggest thing
About the jailhouse
That moves me to tears
Is that I'm in it.

Coming of Age


It grows on us, age does, just thinking about it.
Each year another ring of the bell, yet another
Candle leaking wax as it wanes. At first it is
Not at all subtle. There is the marking of height
On the wall, the recording of weight—call it growth.
Clothes become hand-me-downs. This aging is
A process of reciprocation, we wear it, it wears us
Down and out, until we are worn and memory,
Self-indulgent, reminds as a script for rehearsal,
Repeated repeatedly, again and again, over and over.
The articulation of mind and muscle become softer,
Sagging at the edges. We think to ourselves, this
Getting old is getting old. But when all is said and told,
The thing about age is we will eventually outgrow it.

Reflection

A robin perches on a tree branch,
chirps at its twin in the window,
waits for a reply that never comes.
 
A thud jolts me from the couch,
a feather stuck to glass,
bird dead on the ground.
 
No chirp from my phone,
silence since you threw
your clothes and coffee maker
into a box, ran a marathon
into the future.
 
I look at my twin in the mirror,
attempt the robin’s call,
bang my head against glass,
but I’m still alive.

French Fry Etiquette 

She left me sitting alone in McDonalds
Didn't take a bite of her Big Mac 
Or touch a single one of her  French Fries    
She grabbed her Coke then walked away 
And never even looked back
I thought about eating the fries 
Although I had lost my appetite 
It wasn't because I was hurt by the drama 
She spreads ketchup on top of all of them
Instead of dipping each fry
I'm sure you know
the type 
When it comes to eating French fries 
Her method doesn't follow proper etiquette
Even though it bothered me I never said a word 
Because she gets pissed off so quickly 
And becomes 
belligerent 
I didn't understand what just happened 
It left me totally confused 
Why did she Super Size her order
If she wasn't going to eat the food
We had a date to go for dinner 
I couldn't figure out why she got upset 
I told her she looked gorgeous 
But maybe a little overdressed 
She looked surprised when we arrived 
And said McDonalds you've got to be kidding 
How insensitive of me to take her to McDonalds for dinner 
Knowing her favorite hamburger joint is Burger King

Ashes and grief

Where I’m living these days is
like a second tour of duty in the Nam,
doing a house to house, clearing
the streets, search and destroy,
every place you go, every day you do it,
winning their hearts and minds.
Lots of those boys, then, was lame honky
motherfuckers but they had my ass
and I, sure as shit, had theirs.
Got so tight over there we breathed
the same air, bled the same blood
and anyone who says any different don’t
know squat. Last time I felt anything
remotely like pain was seeing one of those
suckers get dusted catching a mortar
round, waist high and moving fast.
Shit, when the smoke cleared there
was nothing left but a pair of boots
full of blood, two leg stumps still inside.
Like the man said when it’s over,” it’s
all ash and grief.” Only difference now,
The Man catches your ass, he gonna
lock your ass up. Man coming after me
better had been good and dedicated cause
I’m playing hard to get and planning on
staying that way.

The Eagle

 
The day was like a poem—
 
clouds, fluffy and lyrical, the sun
blinked on and off like a strophe.

An eagle had nested, we’d heard,
in Mill Pond, about a mile from
our place on Walloon Lake.

Our kayak skimmed the water like a swan
about to fly.

Water lilies carpeted our way into the pond—
ash and oak witnessed our paddle strokes,
aspen trembled their greetings.

From the sky, she scudded wing-over, under a canopy
of care, constructed for her brown fledgling— 

a canopy invisible to us, but clear
            as sun-gleamed talons to her. 

The beasts below in their slim conveyance radiate
danger, malevolence, power. 

            Once they were nowhere,
            these invaders,
            now they are everywhere. 

Low over us her yellow beak shredded
the air we breathed. Her flight mapped

domains of opportunity and oblivion.

Our hearts pulsed in primitive rhythms—
a cadence of grace, awe, and fear
in this world we share.

 

My Grandma


My mom’s mom
had bound feet
When I watched her
washing them daily
I was awed with disbelief 
The cruelly twisted bones
broke all my imagination
as a five-year-old
who normally could imagine
much easily the entire
Milky Way

To See a Sunset
 

Here’s what I’ve learned:

You have to be facing west, not east.

Trees get in the way. Buildings, too.

There can’t be too many clouds
or too few.

You have to be there at the right time. 

You can’t wait till that recorded episode
of NCIS is over.

You must get in your car and drive
to the appointed spot early.

And once you get there,
you can’t be looking at your phone,
reading that long article in The Atlantic.

You must look up. Give your full attention
to the dreamy colors spreading across the sky,
pink streaks deepening to red,
layers of orange blending between.

And when the sun has finished
its stunning show, you can go home
knowing exactly why
you haven’t seen
more sunsets before.