The Waist-land

Try as I might, I cannot shake
The image lodged in my head
Of a Porterhouse steak,
Which is about the last thing
I could hope to partake
Of, in this peak moment
In my fast, for the sake
Of proving I can endure,
The long road to my cure...

Last Day Of October

A candy wrapper, yellow, like a leaf,
Tumbles in the harvest breeze, while
The little goblins skip away, in the
Glow of the Jack-o-lantern's smile...

It Was Worth It

With red-tired eyes I look
At the clock,
Lack of sleep
Caused by a real good book...

Afterthought

Waiting for the coffee to brew,
She wonders why things turned out
So strained, last night,
Surely he knew
What it was not about...

Night Shift

Sleep through the day and work at night,
Keeping vampire's hours, under the moon,
You play in the pale-neon light,
But it always seems to end too soon,
As the sun returns, and adults awake,
You lie in the bed the shadows make...

Navy Wife

She holds up his shirt
To her face, and smells
Him, which lessens the hurt
Of being far apart...

Unwashed laundry
Saves a breaking heart.

What Can Never Be Controlled

Seemingly mysterious, invisible,
The implacable urge to grow,
Spring-loaded in all living things,
Is the most dangerous thing I know.

Only when revealed for what it really is,
In out of control kudzu, populations,
Or cancers, does growth reveal its fangs,
And we're undone by our copulations.

No winter arrives to halt, to freeze,
Our visceral drives and desires,
Which run, unchecked, in the cold --
Countless, tiny, white-hot fires...

Seemingly Unaffected

The tiny butterfly alights gracefully
On an autumn leaf, and spreads its wings,
Almost proudly, as if it's summer, not October,
Does a butterfly know such things?

Surrounded, In Okinawa City

Through the window I see the protester
Clearly, he is an angry elderly man,
Part of the worked-up crowd
Blocking and surrounding our van.

He brandishes a printed sign saying:
"We Are Angry" -- the letters yellow
And the background bright red, and I
Wonder whether to tell the fellow
That he's holding it upside-down,
But I don't, and just watch instead
His placard waved inverted,
An old man's excitement and anger fed
By indignation, then converted
Into action, and surely higher blood
Pressure, at this crux of confrontation
Performed for the ranks of reporters
And cameras, drawn to the situation.

And then it's done, he retreats
With all the others, demonstration
Complete, the placards are collected,
He disappears into the streets.

My Muse

A voice that comes from within,
Whispers in the midst of a busy day,
Making me pause for a moment
And listen, to what it has to say
From a world that causes no sound,
The voice offers fleeting thoughts,
Some nothing special, others profound,
My voice from within can be steady,
Even when chaos and confusion abound,
It is my faithful and silent companion
When nothing, or none, are around...

A King Henry Headache

There was a monarch
Who, in the fatal course
Of losing a famous battle,
Really could have used a horse...

So it is with the sorry
State my head is in,
"My kingdom for an aspirin!"

Consequence Management

Flying over green-black mountains,
Through a clear October sky,
We're on our way to offer comfort to
A wounded woman, who doesn't know why
She had to be attacked, after dark,
By two of our young men, who now
Have ruined her life, as well as their own,
Both boys sad examples of how
Lust can lead to desolation -- so we
Fly south to say sorry, and to bow...

An Unexpected Work Break

I lay back, relax, and admire
The blue sky and clouds,
And the wind caresses my face,
As I'm loaded into the
Ambulance, in front of my place...

Happy Wedlock

The secret to marital bliss
Is to smile, and respond to
"Honey do this."

But take care not to reveal
How you really feel,
DVD the game for later,
It's no big deal.

For only pain and woe
Results from tell her "No,
I'd rather have pizza and watch the game"...
After which, the peace of the
Day, will never be the same.

Flightless Misunderstanding

The dream birds go "Yipes!
We're being stalked by
A big head with stripes!"

"No, wait, he's staring
Not at us!" What a fuss,
A case of mistaken scaring.

Art by Mark Harm Niemeyer

In Memory Of A Child Killed By Her Mother

What is so scary about us
Is that when our internal
Moral gyroscopes break,
Or distort, due to external
Stress, things can coalesce to make
That rare and fearful moment
Where we are made free,
To behave most horribly,
A freedom to act that's always there,
A hidden, unbidden, demon
All of us share...

Things Not Being The Same

It seems totally strange,
That despite their knowledge
That things will change,
People feel compelled
To re-arrange...
Their urge to anticipate,
Vice simply wait.

Nineteen Times Three

This is my year.

When It Doesn't Happen

Dropped my dream bucket into the wishing well
Figuring, hoping, there was something there,
Down at the bottom, where the cool ideas pool,
But pulled back up, the bucket was only full of air...  

The Day After Number 18

The day after the typhoon passed
To the southeast, in a rush of gray
Wet bluster, is a crisp-clear breath
Of autumn blue sky, a precious day
Where we would sense the death
Of a too-hot summer -- but locked
In air-conditioned offices, too few
Even notice the quiet miracle caused
By the cyclone's passing through...

Rover's Round Run

Released from the leash by his master,
The dog runs in a perfect circle,
Stops for a look, then does it again, faster,
Flight held in check by the law of the pack,
A dog will always come back.