Sweet & Sane

I turned dark and shrivel-hard
My first time in the fire,
But through your pain
You're sweet and sane.
That's strength that can inspire.

Quarterback

I wasn't born a quarterback,
But I can run this play.
Ignore this urge for long enough,
and It will go away.

Quantifiably Amazing

I've just done some calculating.
You are quantifiably amazing.
I'm always putting things off,
Or I won't let them drop.
My unwillingness to appease
Inspires others' unease.
I talk nonstop, or in silence write rhymes
At the most bizarre, awkward times.
I choose bizarre, awkward themes.
At least, that's how it seems.
I have a selfish, unchristian worldview,
Plus way too many things to do,
Yet you stick by me anyway.

There's nothing else to say.

Every Word

Marbles scattered, been mislead, mind twisted,
Trust beaten and abused.
If I believed every word people say about me,
I'm sure I'd be really confused.

Pacifying Prayer (re-write of Psalm 23)

Spirit of Ultimate Inspiration,
You are generous in all things.
You bring me refreshment and comfort.
You restore calm to my life.
You recreate me repeatedly, relentlessly, rewardingly.
You guide me to be better than I am
In accordance with your plan.
You keep me from the temptations of my own soul,
So I may not destroy myself or others.
Your power and mercy and faithfulness
Fill me with awesome, peaceful relief.
You enrich me with growing wisdom and a family
That safely anchors me in this culture, stormy and unsavory.
Lead me to a greater faith in you, God,
So that I may be part of your family.

Stranger

Toothsome stranger, strolling slowly down the quad.
This smile's not for friendliness, or for your handsome bod.
I'm grinning about games, girls, glory or God's love,
Particular pleasures from below or above,
Something I saw, or heard, or said, or got to do.
You returned my smile, but it was never for you.

Decent

Under my breath
(And under my hand)
I catch my self cursing
A decent man.

Gentlemen

They say that gentlemen prefer blondes.
I suppose that's fair.
I'm more of an asshole, with six things I
Look at before hair.

Why I Write, Part x+18: Break the Rules

The sonnet's line is five beats long, and then
In couplets rhymed, a prison-verse where men
Serve metered time.

Break the rules and the law.
Break their rules and my mind.*
With uncaged verse, raw, perverse,
With references even Google can't find.

Why I Write, Part x+17: Little Monsters

Conceived in soul-dark, all alone,
Then pushed into the light,
These monsters, little verse-bodies
Are mine to bring to life.

Creating is an act of faith.  I
Know not my creations' plight.
Know not which friends will call them pets,
Nor who they'll spring to bite!

Christ and Rasputin

When it came to Jesus' dying,
He was quick to go.
Old Rasputin chose to cling,
But what else did he know?

Old-Fashioned

It falls to me to do the paying.
Since I will also be asking,
Could you give me a sign or something?

Why I Write, Part x+16: Pronounce Me

The doc won't have to take my pulse
To pronounce me dead on arrival,
Just observe my pen stop moving
In its dance archival.

Fools

Lovers, as a species,
Are rendered fools by time.
Once I would have killed for you,
But I can't remember why.

Why I Write, Part x+15: It's Better Than Editing

My words on my page
Fill me with rage!
That's not what I meant.
That's not how it went!
My work must be a pain to edit.
Every thought my pen hits
Turns to shit.
I don't know what to do about it.

Why I Write, Part x+14: To Use My Words Up

How many words do we get in this life?
The gossip I've heard says it's more than enough.
Well, I think gossip's a waste of time,
But I'd still like to use mine up.

Kicks

Rush in like a storm
Before I get warm.
Kick the seat
Out from under me.
React, remaster, rearrange.
I want everything to change.
Surprise me.



Not likely.

I Don't Care

Your smile's your pride, like you, pretty and bright.
Your habit in life and fashion: to keep everything light.
I wear the face that looks at least five minutes late.
I've no regard for matters without a little weight.

You won't hear a single word to cloud over your day.
Misfortune's something you ignore until it goes away.
I respect your right to close your eyes, but that way's not for me.
I keep mine open, straight ahead, and what will be will be.

I told you as soon as I heard.  I knew that move was wrong,
But once you chose your latest path, you had to move along.
Worry didn't keep me up.  I just preferred the night.
I don't care if you were happy, as long as I was right.

Hot and Cold

You don't have to tell me
That I run hot and cold.
Asleep before I met you
I moved too fast to hold.
The one good thing about it:
I change before I get old.

Deal

Let's make a deal
Before now is then.
Tell me how you really felt
and I won't bother you again.

Hide, Pt. 2

Little things said,
I almost go off
Half cocked.

Watch or listen to things
That make others sick,
But I like it.

Gives me ideas that I have to hide.
They can stay or they can go,
But no one can know.

The Goddess Knows

Recluse by reputation,
Always leaves an awkward impression.
Trying to write his way out of a depression,
Though none of his own work could ever impress him.

What has he done to deserve this?
Ask the Goddess.

Tit for Tat

The meals and gifts were why you stayed?
I cannot be upset by that.
I'm quite familiar with the trade
Of tit for tat.

Motivates

It is your kiss that motivates
When to your rooms I climb.
The warm embrace of loving lips
Can haunt in absent times.

Moving Day

The pleasure of profound relief
Enlightens moving day.
I purge my soul and cleanse my life
When I give things away.

Why I Write, Part x+13: Inevitability

You say I'm inconvenient.
I guess that's probably true,
But when the muse drops rhymes on me
What else am I to do?

Recovery

Do I (Don't I) deserve to be
Happy?
Those moments, that happiness,
There's someone I'd like to share them with.

How could I share my good days
But protect her from my cold haze?

I have good days.
Distressed,
But God-blessed,
I don't know what to say.

All Sides

How beautifully ornamented the college life can be!
Bound on all sides by things to read, people to see.
How do I tell between goals and temptations,
Between honey traps and pure motivations?
If I found out, if you told me, I'd know which way to go,
But sometimes, I think, it's even better not to know.

Why I Write, Part x+12: Writing Is My Life

Writing is my life.
So it goes.
Sometimes it stops.
Life is on hold
Until the other muse drops.

Little Jack Horner

What to do when the world
Makes you Little Jack Horner?
When it makes you turn back
and Go sit in the corner?

Should I surrender to life?
Demure, mild and meek?
Just forget the rewards
I intended to seek?

In this way, I win by wanting less,
But never thus win any grand success.

Should I resort to my rage,
My great soul-searing hate?
I can go further, best anything
When aroused in this state.

Or perhaps I'll seek aid from
My faith in a higher power.
But what if this route is His will?
I'll be turned back again in an hour.

Should I fight back by peace or war,
Greater risks and rewards would be in store.

Placeholder

If I get older,
But don't get bolder,
In my own life's story,
I'll be but a placeholder.

Values

Metal disks have no God-ordained value.
On paper alone, one does not survive.
We have appointed an economy to judge us,
To assess the value of our very lives.

Scramble Up my Brains

I always say I want my life
To show me something new,
But all the things I never change,
Say that might not be true.

I try to figure out the truth,
But seldom see I gains.
I think about it, write about it,
and scramble up my brains.

Hindsight

Mom was always telling
Us not to fuss or pout.
If you never give in,
Then you never give out.

Teenage life taught us
Determination needs control,
To stop talking, stop digging,
Once we're in a hole.

Both lessons were half-right,
The other half were wrong.
You never know which way to go,
'Til hindsight comes along.

One Man

What can one man do?
It is true,
That one person alone can do nothing at all.
No dent is made by the head in the wall.
If there's nothing I can do alone,

Should I go home?
Some say yes, and others no.
Ghandi, Oprah, Dr. King and many others,
Change the world by uniting their sisters and brothers.
Rome was not built in one day, by one man,
But someone was first to give the command.

It falls to the quality of the man,
And the nature of his philosophical demands.

Nerve

How strange!  I'm not a stupid man,
But never found it weird
That when I tried to talk to you,
You always disappeared.

It seems the conflict of my brains
Has put me in a bind.
My desire that your love I'd gain
Has left me wholly blind.

I hate myself for wanting you so badly.
It takes a lot of nerve,
To pursue someone who doesn't want me,
Someone I don't deserve.

Best to Listen

Nature speaks to me
Softly
In ringing, resounding rockfalls,
Or burbles, brushy rustles,
She fairly bustles.
She winks with pools that glisten.
I do my best to listen.
I think I know what game she's playing,
But I have no idea what she's saying.
I curse my dull ears, because
Her conversation's scintillating.

Dickens Would Dig It

New places and new people sometimes excite me.
I can ask for new roles to play,
But no matter who I meet or how I ask,
My stories all end the same way.

Why I Write, Part x+11: It Keeps Me Up at Night

Either it keeps me writing,
Or it keeps me up at night:
I could write about the same things
'Til I'm gray, and never get it right.

Not a Faith

There are no atheists in foxholes,
Nor believers among the walking dead.
I want to know the Spirit of God,
Not a faith to get me ahead.

Why I Write, Part x+10: The Struggle

Much credit is to the muse, no doubt:
She puts treasure in, so I must dig it out,
But the struggle that keeps writing fresh, for me,
Is to rise above my inborn learned mediocrity.

Two Paths

Two paths converged on a airplane,
and I, I did not ask the right questions.
It was fate, it was fun, but now it's done.
Here my chance to network ends.

Unripe

Love is not for those who anticipate it.
Words the open notebook never find.
Watched glasses sit empty; Watched pots never boil.
Inspiration is the gift of the unripe mind.

'Tis Better Not to Crash at the End

They say the birds are lucky,
and the lovers too.
They soar while us earthbound and the
Wild skies are blue.

But I am quite at home here
On the cold ground, and
Those others seem ungainly when they
Inevitably land.

No Attempt

If no attempts were ever made
That had a chance to fail,
Then romances would die unripe
and ships would never sail,

But if we attempted everything
That might end in success,
Then gamblers and romantic fools
Would leave the world a mess.

Why I Write, Part x+9: My Whole Mind Is Alive With Verse

My whole mind is alive with verse,
With meter and with rhyme.
The state I enter renders me
Unreachable at times.

The Gift

I'm sorry I laughed when you said
That "You-and-I" should be.
I'm sorry I had any doubt
That you could value me.

A false hope might have ended me,
Though that's a poor excuse.
I imagine there's no greater gift
Than the embrace I get from you.

You temper my most frightful moods
With a gently soothing hand.
You encourage me to be
The man you think I am.

But Dear, I have one thing to ask
and Darling, answer true.
Tell me if there's any way
To share that joy with you.

The Altar

Forever is a length of time
My mind cannot conceive.
Should I commit to something in
Which I may not believe?

Why I Write, Part x+8: Batting Practice

I swing hard every time I write.
Chicks dig the long ball,
But many times I'll swing and miss.
They don't dig that at all.

Sometimes I hit it high and deep.
Sometimes I get off track.
The only path to sure success
Is take a lot of cracks,

And so I will keep writing these.
Verse does not stop for Death.
I only end my poem here
So I can catch my breath.

Apollo

You never know who Apollo will strike.
To him, our race are game.
He'll do his will, and that of the fates,
But you don't have to help him aim.

I Never Know

I never know just what I do
Until my deeds are done.
The horror of having no control
Is matched only by having some.

Home

Home is never dearer
Than in absence,
Except in late return.
Comfort rekindled
Alone can warm
Before the cord-wood burns.

Unrhymed

I push you away,
But not far.
It is only to
Pull you back again.
Intertwined,
If only for the time
Our bodies rhymed.

Family Style

We are spaghetti:
Twisted, sauced, tangly.
Pull us apart and
We snap easily.
We are all spaghetti,
and Tasty.

Stereotypes

I'm often predictable in my habits and my ways,
In dress, music, writing, or the games that I play.
Or, at least, that's always what you you say.
I expect to be treated like a stereotype today.

Who drew these lines along which we lay?
You and I write the parts that we play.
If we live and mock our own tropes, that's okay,
But let's try not to get carried away.

Labors

Everything you eat and drink should be just right, just so,
Not a grain of salt or ice cube out of place -- oh, no,
And everything you wear has to match just right,
No matter that you're just wearing it to bed at night.

Anything wrong with our place, I must mend fast.
Faucets dripping or screws finger-loose leave you aghast.
You need consoling every time you cough or sneeze.
You are the thirteenth labor of Herakles.

The trials' of Zeus' son were rewarded with fame.
The world over we still know his mispronounced name,
But for me, the gods had a greater prize in store:
Your love, and being with you, which is its own reward.

Shame

It's a shame you never knew
How strong you really are.
Always dismissed your own rare
Endurance and steadfast heart.

It's a shame I never knew
You better than I did.
Admiring your courage, never knowing
All the fear you hid.

It's a shame you never thought
You might deserve more.
Ten years gone, and gone with you,
But the wound's still sore.

I'll keep singing this song.
It's always the same.
It's still a shame.

Briskly

Speeding along at high RPMs
In the car and in my mind,
With a gaze that passes briskly
As down the road I glide.
I travel the country with little
Regard for the countryside.

Clean Out Your Ears (A "Poem in Dialog")

"I didn't ask you over to sit on the ground.
Let's turn on the console, kill time, mess around.
And some music!  I like the old stuff the best.
Something classic that passed Chronos' long test."

"Playstation?  That's worse than just lame.
Nobody who's anyone plays video games.
As for music, you should clean out your ears.
That sound has been out for the last fifty years."

"Look, I can turn the music down if you pout,
Or just crank it up 'til you get the hell out.
So what if you think that my hobby's a waste?
It's like your music; in fashion, but a matter of taste."

I don't care a bit if you judge me.
Feel free to criticize the choices I make.
Just pick my real accomplishments,
Or my real, important mistakes.

Hide My Mind

Irritated, offended, disrupted, discomposed,
In any state of consciousness at any selfish time,
With friends, or from loved ones,
I always have to hide my mind.

I cannot be programmed, categorized, or referenced,
For better or for worse.
Resisting predictions, discipline, regular practice
Is my talent and my curse.

I push new friends and old away,
Horrified that they might someday seek and find and see
My hidden cauldron of instinct, shame:
Pathetic, patronized pride or uncharitable insensitivity.

Revealing my selfish unconvention to the world
Would drive everyone I love away.
Change I've tried, and made, in every way but this,
But if I hide him, me can stay.
Thus I exist.

Greener

I've missed home since the moment I left.
My mind's deadened, body's sweaty, heart's bereft.
It isn't as though I had wanted to leave.
I was swayed by my love for the people I'll see.

My idea of a perfect winter vacation
Features less emotional-cognitive heat constipation.
Long to be here, but not in this place, and I realize
The grass is almost never greener on any other side.

Welcome

I will not invite Death to climb
Up into my heart,
But He will be welcome when it's time
For me to depart.

Green and Alive

Trees shade the halls where dragonflies hover.
Lizards in motley scramble for cover.
Feet clad in sandals skim ground clad in clover.
Come join the wood-court before it's paved over.

I don't know how you can stay in there.
Rows of racks, shirts and pants -- who cares?
Come feel the sun and the shade outside,
Where everything is green and alive.

Won't you come join me, and can I ask why?

Normal

I guess this is normal,
But normal ain't right.
I should have seen this coming,
Should have dodged this fight.

I guess this is the end of us,
So boring it's profound.
The things we build, the lies we gild,
Just to bring them down.

Wait for the Answer

Why is the grass green?
Why do the stars gleam?
Where did mommy and daddy get me?
Hurry, tell me the answer!

Why do the girls say "no"?
Why do these classes blow?
Where do I want to go?
Oh, I know all the answers.

What am I here for?
Why was I born a have-more?
Why do the good die young?
I'll wait for the answer.

Exceptional

I was a boy, hypnotized by a girl.
Everyone knows how this ends.
Life took me by the arm, pulled me aside,
Taught me "the Helens of the world aren't your friends."

I suppose that's been the reason why
I've always remembered you.
You took me by the arm, pulled me aside,
Told me "there are always exceptions to rules.

Cheerfully Behind

You're an intoxicant, I'm startled to find.
You drive all pretense of rational thought from my mind.
You drive man from schedule and meter from rhyme.
How to explain your effect on the passage of time?
If I can't both stay with you and fulfill these plans of mine
Then I'll stay with you and fall cheerfully behind.

A Poet Who Refuses

I've come to accept that
I'm not a hip guy
A poet, doesn't drink coffee,
And still writes in rhyme?
A man out of step
With culture and time.
Joy comes from embracing
A definition of "I".

Ash Wednesday

Ash-crossed hand on the wheel, steering.
Brake lights on in front of me, and I'm jeering.
Teeth out, roaring, fists gripped tight,
"Are you actually gonna drive tonight?!"

Why so cross, un-christ-like rage?
What have I got to resent at my age?
And what am I driving away from so fast?
Coult it be hate for the man that I am in my past?

Why I Write, Part x+7: Something Borrowed

Something old,
Something new,
Something borrowed,
Something blue.
I'm wedding old stories
To my young point of view.

The language is old,
But my phrasing is new.
Such themes I must borrow
To write poetry blue!
Imbedding my brain-scat
In something that's true.

A Simple Explanation

For favors, little timely things,
A simple explanation:
I want to recruit
A volunteer muse.
I'm taking applications.

The Shelf

I smile, and you smile back,
As one best greets a friend,
But smiles and a greeting
Is always where it ends.

Each day forces me to put
My truth back on a shelf.
So every day I suffocate
A fiber of myself.

I don't know how long I'll hold out,
Still hands and tongue and eyes.
I'll play my part: familiar, safe,
Keep you from asking "why?"

But soon you will not have to ask
About that weary shelf.
I'm just a man who stores things.
It's who I've made myself.

Missing

Charismatic, well meaning,
But a flake,
Perpetually playing the role
Of someone else's mistake,

Blissfully oblivious,
Nonchalantly unaware,
Of who he's really hurting
While he's there.

"Have you seen this man,"
Asks the poster on the wall.
How can someone be missing
When no one misses him at all?