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Sunday, November 14, 2010


Out there near the outskirts of life,
in the intervening spaces of society,
the places between the lines,
the ones which require imagination
and an urge to escape,
fit the artists.
At the crossroads of isolation and inertia,
the art for art’s sake crowd lingers.
No longer true bohemians,
they seek control more than abandonment.
Their art form calls, and they answer,
meeting at the nexus of talent and genius.
Persisting through failure on the path to success,
none of them really wish to starve.
Most want to find the yellow brick road,
preaching along the journey, defining taste,
making music to humanize the world.
They create so as not to stand still,
each work moving them forward
a millionth of an inch,
in one direction or another,
from the corner of meaningful and mundane.
Some will find their way home.
Most will trod the path unseen,
forever concealed from recognition.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Two-fer Tuesday again

This week's two-fer prompts are to write a slow poem and/or a never slow poem. Here's my efforts

Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There

Every morning, the same cars drive by,
thousands of them, headed somewhere,
critical books to read,
important people to meet.,
serious work to do.

Every morning, the same cars drive by,
some with evil intention,
others in an opposite direction,
people and things to kill, or to save,
people and things requiring work.

Every morning, the same cars drive by,
most filled with dread, but some hope as well,
sometimes anger, sometimes joy.
Always, there’s work to do.
There’s work to do, always.

Every morning, the same cars drive by,
and one person sits, alone, with just one candle.
Sitting quietly seems hardly enough.
One light feels scarcely sufficient.
More must be done, more movement, more work.

Every morning, the same cars drive by,
alarmingly aimed at themselves.
One person, one candle, one practice,
hoping that the sum of the lights earth-wide
will work this time.

To-do List, 11.09.10

1. Shop for dinner
2. Pay bills
3. E-mail Mike
4. Vacuum & dust
5. Moisturize hands
6. Develop awesome personality

Monday, November 8, 2010

Words of the Day

My friend, Ken,sent me this. Awonderful set of new words.

Every year The Washington Post Style Invitational challenges readers to alter any word from the dictionary by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and to supply a new definition. Here are a selection of the winners:

Cashtration: The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time

Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

Bozone: The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

Giraffiti : Vandalism spray-painted very, very high

Sarchasm : The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

Osteopornosis : A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

Karmageddon : It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

Decafalon: The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

Glibido : All talk and no action.

Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

Arachnoleptic Fit: The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

Caterpallor : The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Looking For Comfort

That dream again,
the one where
you’re away,
just not there.
First an airport
I’ve never seen,
then a house
we’ve never been.
The phone won’t
work. Oh, now yes,
but your number?
I guess.
Wrong again
and now my legs
molasses bound,
my heart begs
for mercy from
this endless chase,
you’re never found,
not one small trace.
You’d likely think,
after forty years,
the dream would end,
but still it appears

Looking For A BCS Bid

A tough loss to MSU
left my Badgers feeling blue.
The mighty Buckeyes came to town
The Sweater’s team went upside down.
From Minnesota, we kept The Axe,
then took Floyd the Pig off Iowa’s backs..
A week of rest, Purdue stands no chance,
we might just make it to the dance.
The Big House remains in our way
and the Wildcats have ruled the day
in years gone by.
All that’s left is to fight and try
to make it through November’s tests,
to elevate above the rest,
To make it to a New Year’s date
In Pasadena, I can hardly wait.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Location, Location, Location

Here We Are

Here I am, at 66.
Book’em Danno died
the other day, just 72.
Natural causes they said.
Not sure where I’ll be at 72.
Not sure if I’ll be.
Man plans, God laughs,
No matter who you are.
No matter where you are.

And today's theme is "containment"


She’s wrapped in the security
of her inner tube, made whole
by his hot breath,
the water around her a mystery,
shaping her form, set by the
limits of her pool.
A hole in the water,
that’s all she might be,
were it not for his breath,
keeping her afloat,
in the pool, in the town,
in the earth, on this marble in flight,
in one particular speck of an
immeasurable space.
Who of us could see her,
held firm in his love, still think
there is no God.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Back again..two-fer Tuesday

Leaving Sedona

As easy as a five-dollar whore,
we signed , we packed, we left.
Six years of second home,
not enough for regrets.
Neighbors, yes,
pals, a few,
friends, none.
It was a lovely scene,
still is, no longer
for our eyes.

Getting older now,
faster than we’d thought.
Time for urban life,
noisy, yet fresh and new,
dusty trails used up,
boots and bikes put away.
New parks and plays, museums too,
replacing canyon maps
with GPS, Dharma’s voice
leading us who knows where.

Get Ready, San Diego

Here we come,
ready or not.
We’re not those
hometown sailors
of your past,
the ones who
never leave,
more like Marines,
home from their wars
money to burn,
itches to scratch.

We’re thirsty,
parched even,
desperate for
a drink of alive,
eager for
new sounds and smells
so bring on the sirens,
let the trucks roar,
we’re taking
the freeway to
what’s next.