Saturday, March 31, 2012

Tumbleweed (2)

Parked in the driveway, I turn
The engine off, and my sore back
Is a reminder that the money I earn
Comes from gutting it out on the road,
Rolling over long stretches of someone
Else's lands, on highways which learn
You like no textbook can...
But I'm just a a tumbleweed
A free spirit who can't set still,
And the long distance trucks are in
My blood, they take me where they will...
Freedom's foot on on gas pedal,
Riding twelve tons of diesel-powered metal...

(Photo by Geoff Hamilton)


Moments compile
Into a pattern,
A life style,
Active or passive
As needed, while
Events unfold,
Mostly beyond our control,
From when we're young
Until we're old.

Our Backyard

The yard behind my family's place
Is a peaceful spot, a rectangle
Of green suburban space
Shared with the birds who use
It as a sanctuary, while we
Watch them, and have barbecues,
Along with long conversations
About memories and fixations,
While watching the light lose,
Beautifully, its battle with night,
And that day in our lives,
Fades quietly out of sight.

Outside A Steakhouse, Waterloo, Nebraska

Soothed and surprised by
The smell of apple blossoms
We pause, we don't even try
To hurry away from the rural
Parking lot, and instead comply
With an unspoken urge to linger...

Friday, March 30, 2012

The Act Of Creation

When an idea emerges from where
It wasn't before, it's like a blue
Explosion spins-out into the air,
Figuratively; but powerfully, the new
Idea burns bright, a precious flare
Of creation, which will shine through
The muscle-memory dullness of another day...
It hints there's more than you thought you knew,
That there's a happier hopeful way
To walk alert along your mental road
And find what will make your head explode...

Off Time Wisdon

Only when completely freed
From stress and obligation,
Can the time one spent
Be called a real vacation.

A Cat's Gift

Bringing us a backyard present,
The cat comes to the door
Of the kitchen, and deposits
A half-alive rabbit on the floor...

Fly The Friendly Skies

Handsome, antique,
Still functional,
United Airlines stewardess.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Visitors From The South

Iridescent head pointed skyward,
Puffed-up posing for its mate,
The Grackle sings, and sounds
Like closing a rusty gate.

What Does The Sky Really Say?

The magnificence looming above
Seems so much more than bits of moisture
Suspended in the atmosphere
Circulating according to wind and temperature,
Seems much greater, when seen from here...

(Photo by Geoff Hamilton)

Mystery Train

Life can sometimes be complicated,
And one dithers over which road
To choose, all the while being fated
To ride down the tracks, already laid,
On a train ticket others have paid...

(Photo by Geoff Hamilton)

From An Imperial Buffet Fortune Cookie

One of the best things
To do, sometimes,
Is simply to be,
Vice one who climbs
Raging, relentlessly,
Only to grow tired
Of the lies which
Once inspired.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Yard Work

Cutting and chopping in the field,
A tool in my hand for the a task
Which hasn't changed much since ancient
Times, except that I don't have to ask
For permission to stop for a break,
And the breeze feels so cool and good,
As I pause for some minutes and take
Stock of what's finished and what should
Be yet completed, knowing that after
The labor will come food, rest, and laughter.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Buns Of Steel

Late-night T.V. in the land of the obese,
A torrent of commercials that does not cease,
Half-naked hard-bodies touting their appeal,
To pay for perfect abs, and buns of steel,
You're only as good as you look, not how you feel...

A Moment In The Jamie & Amy Hotel

Browsing late-night in an unfamiliar kitchen,
I am quietly surprised, glancing up to see,
Through an unexpected skylight window,
A perfect half-Moon looking down on me;
And I snap a mental photograph inside my head,
An image cool and calming, as I go back to bed.

Thank You United Airlines

I. Three hours and four
Minutes left until it's over --
A flight that feels more
Tedious as time tortoise-ticks
Away towards completion,
And my body now a mix
Of sleepless comfort depletion
And hard economy syndrome,
A pain-price I pay
To get back home...
- - - - - - - - - -
II. Totally eluding my best
Efforts to get some rest,
Strapped, hostage-like, upright
In a cramp-space way too tight,
For decent comfort, but it
Works well for the Airline's profit.
- - - - - - - - - -
III. Jolted and shaken again
In a flying aluminum cylinder,
Two hours of exhaustion Zen
Contemplating the aircraft's
Complete disintegration, when
We hit the clear-air-turbulence.

Suddenly Awake And Aware

The Edward Hopper print hanging,
Heretofore unnoticed, on the wall,
Comes into clearer focus now,
Colors and lines of beauty all
Forming and coalescing nicely,
As my empty digestive tract
Absorbs the boost from jet fuel coffee...

Sea Bird Encounter

On the sidewalk, in front of me, the big sea gull
Pecks-at and tosses a bone, which lands
Hard, but that doesn't do much to loosen
The clinging gristle -- so it stops and stands
There, and looks at me with cat-like eyes,
Wishing, I suppose, it had my hands.

Morning At The Surfrider

Jet-lag-sedated in a hotel rocking chair
Lazy-gazing, bemused and transfixed
By the tropical human cocktail
Being stirred and mixed
In the veteran colonnaded lobby...
Where various shades of untanned skin,
Bulging T-shirts, flowered dress,
Are urged toward their leisure
By the Trade Winds' caress.

The Rules For "Rush And Schmuck"

The game works best with
From four to seven boys
(girls are also O.K.
For PC purposes, but beware,
You have to be able to play...)
Also need one American football
(although a rugby ball could
Substitute), then all is good,
Because now you can play
"Rush And Schmuck" in pretty much
Any kind of grassy area, or yard,
Even when it's muddy green
Or snowy frozen hard...
It just depends on how much
Punishment the young hominid bodies
Can take, and the rules, such
As they are, exemplify simplicity
Of kinetic motion, physical strength,
Will to win, tactical duplicity,
And they are that one boy stands
Over the football, with all the others
Behind him, bends down, without looking
Back, takes the ball in his hands,
And throws/tosses/drops it rearward
Over his head, and when it lands
The fun begins, where the boy who
Picks it up runs toward the designated goal,
While all the others try to subdue
Or tackle the runner, and once he is down,
The runner gets back up to renew
The process, by throwing the ball back
Over his head to the rest of the crew,
Who, increasingly hyped and dirtied await
To test their speed and skills, tempt fate,
To score the miraculous touchdown,
Against heavy odds -- that, is Rush And Schmuck.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Campus Showdown

The protesters scream over-the-top
Insults and accusations at the
Stressed and frustrated riot cop,
Who pauses briefly, considering
Moderation, but let's it drop,
Starts spraying the pepper juice
Into their faces, and doesn't stop...

All done in front of the cameras:
The crying, pushing, and screams,
Make for a compelling political drama...
But why is it all happening? It seems
Is forgotten amidst the posturing & trauma.

Something's Not Right...

Area 51, in the oasis, crouching unseen
Behind the cactus, the spaceman
Plans his next move, for he is keen
To overcome and capture you,
Who are watching this quiet scene
Of succulent splendor, unaware
That the spaceman is hiding there
With extra-terrestial intent to snare
You for research about Earth & Man...
Turn around quietly, run while you can!

A Weekend

Saturday moments, served and savored:
A slow feast of mind-food, hazy
With warmth, and blandly flavored
Feelings, more relaxed than lazy,
This flow-by Saturday lingers, and
Through my fingers falls the sand.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Lost In A Lost Land

Twenty kilometers from the Fukushima Plant,
Everything is empty-cold that lies within
The irradiated radius, where people can't
Return to all that was left behind in
Homes and buildings, which used to contain
Normality -- only lost ostriches remain...

Thursday, March 1, 2012

March Of Time

Two months, two months,
Where did you go?
Memories of the New Year
Barely faded, weeks ago
When 2012 appeared
Freshly arrived, though
Perishable, each day
Consumed, before you know
It's a Friday in March...