Daniel, Living Poet

Best of PSIFF fest 2012

2012-01-15T18:15:00.001-08:00

Glad to Have Seen Them:

Apartment in Athens - 9
Shakespeare High -10
Pariah - 8.5
A Separation -10
Salmon Fishing... - 9
Unfinished Spaces - 8.5
Headhunters - 8.5
Sacrifice - 8.5
Love in the Medina - 8.5
super-secret sneak screening - 8.5
Jose and Pilar - 9.5
The Sound of My Voice - 8.0
Perfect Sense - 8.0
Postcard - 8.0
Le Havre - 8.5
Rose - 9.0
Asma’a - 8.5
The Kid With A Bike - 8.0
Blood of My Blood – 9.0
Abu, Son of Adam - 8.5
Three Quarter Moon - 8.5
Haywire - 8.5
Las Acacias - 8.0
The Girls In the band - 9.5
Simon and the Oaks -9.0
Almanya-Welcome to Germany - 8.5
Starbuck - 9.0

So-so:

Flowers of War ... overblown & I hate Christian Bale, but loved the women and the action scenes - 7
Declaration of War ... over wrought, over acted, over narrated - 7
Elite Squad ... "Headhunters" was better, if you want a body count - 7
Man Without A Cell Phone…ho hum - 7.5
Thin Ice…predictable, tv fare - 7

Yikes!

Once Upon A Time In Anatolia - 6.0 (but, maybe I just wasn't in the right frame of mind for such an existential piece)

Sorry to have missed them:

Superclassico
The Story of Film
Rumble of the Stones
Sonny Boy
The Snows of Kilamanjaro
Diana Vreeland
Wunderkinder
Cracks in the Shell
If I Were You
When the Night
In Darkness
Chronicle of My Mother
Monsieur Lazhar
In Darkness
Pina
Beyond
Happy, Happy
The Turin Horse
Elena
MichaelPetrucciani
Bullhead
Mulberry Child
Bert Stern: Original Madman
Bitter Seeds

Most enjoyed Films of 2011 (so far)

2012-01-03T16:28:00.000-08:00

with a large number of films yet to see, here are the films I most enjoyed this year:

Midnight In Paris
Drive
The Artist
My Week with Marilyn
Harry Potter 7
Louder Than A Bomb
Moneyball
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
The Debt
The Help
Bridesmaids
A Separation
Le Havre
Apartment In Athens
Shakespeare High
Pariah
Jose and Pilar
Rose
Asma'a

Honorable mention, close but no cigar:

Ides of March (ho hum)
Margin Call (ho hum, ho hum)
The Descendants (didn't move me)
The Tree Of Life (self-indulgent)
Hugo (loved the 3-D effects)
J. Edgar (a one-trick pony)

Yet to see:

Iron Lady
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
Shame
Cave of Forgotten Dreams
Melancholia
Beginners
The Guard
Martha Mary May Marlene
War Horse
City of Life and Death
Win Win

Blue Mirror

2011-12-12T06:41:00.002-08:00

She asked about the blue mirror we
had moved a few times but never
used, so I told her the story of how,
from the time I was four or five,
my mother would put it on the four
by five cedar chest we used as a
table, and at Christmas time, we’d
put snow and little people on it to
make a festive scene.

I’m 67 now, and through the years,
a lot of stuff has disappeared, like
lamps and photos and baseball cards, and
people, too. I’ve lost dogs and cats, some
car keys, the home I grew up in, even
my mother, who died suddenly one
September, and we didn’t have Christmas
after that for a long time, what with
sadness, and later, war, for me.
I never lost that blue mirror, though.

Then I met her, and I had very little
stuff, but I had her, and that was enough
for me. Her family was big on Christmas,
and, after we returned from our December
honeymoon, her baby sister put the
ornaments on their tree, the ones made with
a glitter and a glue stick, the ones with
everybody’s names on them, and we were
the last ones to go up, smack dab in the
center front, to much oohing, ahing and smiling.
My dad was there, our first Christmas in
forever. It was cold, really cold, but
our hearts melted.

So, the blue mirror, remember? After
we moved to a town with lots of folks,
one where we could have visitors, we
started to decorate excessively. Too much
was still not enough, with wreaths and
themed trees and garland and such. she
said we should bring out the blue mirror and
make a scene, so we went looking for
fake snow and little trees and people

Then Department 56 happened,
and a train set happened,
and more Department 56 happened,
and I built display tables and drilled holes
and did dangerous, overloaded wiring
and it was big and grand and good,
and all of our friends loved it,
and more Department 56 happened,
and a storage locker to hold it all happened.

I think I mentioned that I’m 67 now,
those boxes and tables got heavier,
that wiring got more painful to connect,.
we’ve lost a few more people,
there’s this talk about voluntary simplicity.
Still have that blue mirror, though.
I think soon we’ll start a new tradition,
borrow from the past, bring out the older,
garage sale the newer.

But, then, there’s the crazy
Krinkles accessories,
and all the Santa ornaments,
and the clowns
and the reindeer
and the angels
and…oh, what the heck, one more year,
and I think we can find room for
a blue mirror

Dawn

2011-12-12T06:41:00.001-08:00

Driving down the winding blue highway
from Beaumont to Hemet,
looking out at the San Jacinto valley,
the westernmost mountains to the left,
the car-filled plain to the right,
not another soul on his road,
he marveled at the complex dawn,
so many layers, varied tones, even textures,
black becoming purple begetting rose
before the sun took its first glimpse of the ocean.

Sunset gets all the press, he thought,
probably, like the early Beatles,
due to advance agents.
Oh, sunset has its own virtues,
if one likes that garish kind of thing,
beach goers gathering in hoards,
oohing and ahing,
pretending to see a green flash,
quickly dispersing to watered down happy hours.

Dawn gets little notice, few raves,
a shame, really, but also a saving grace.
It might not be the same
If the press got a sniff of it,
people setting alarms, gathering in roadside view areas,
flipping down their shades at the first sign of yellow,
probably adding some kind of Bloody Mary rite to it.
No, let the dawn stay hidden,
a gift for the early risers ,
those who pull over and write an ode to its beauty..

Jumping the Gun

2011-11-07T07:18:00.001-08:00

Apparently,
Christmas now trumps Halloween.
Amazingly,
the fake trees and lights were on sale in September.
Really.
Truly.
Sadly.

Nostalgically,
it was bad enough when it leapfrogged Thanksgiving.
Statistically,
we’ll soon see department store Santa’s in early July.
Regrettably.
Ruefully.
Honestly.

Hopefully,
a new “occupy” movement will begin.
Actively,
we can sit-in at Sears and Lowe’s and Wal-Mart.
Aggressively.
Strongly.
Madly.

Sunday in the Parade with Friends

2011-11-06T05:06:00.001-08:00

sunday, 6 November, 2011.
it's my usual o-dark-thirty time,
and it's chilly, maybe even cold.
not Wisconsin frigid, nor Seattle dank,
but cold for here, for this time of year.
how shall we dress today?
long pants? long sleeves?
gee whiz, my Pride Parade look is
shorts and a tee ("gay, fine by me")
PFLAG ball cap, no ear flaps.
none of this matters, of course.
my pals' daughter Suzi's in town
and grown men beam. grown women too.
has to be some warmth in that.
can't imagine a life without friends

Later, Steve

2011-11-01T19:54:00.000-07:00

Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow,
he said, as he left his body.

Been there, done that, long ago,
in this, my current body.

What have I done since to prepare,
or what should I - anybody?

The Things We Need the Least

2011-10-30T20:49:00.001-07:00

Not hidden, available
for all to see,
the things we need the least,
confront us, visibly.

Drought in Ethiopia, obviously
Famine in Uganda, unnecessarily.
Genocide in Tibet, historically.
Disease in Haiti, rampantly.
Devastation in Japan, climactically.
Now Alabama too equally sadly.

A $434,000 gown,
an $80,000 cake,
a Rolls Royce ride to town,
a $1,000,000 ring,
London’s $50,000,000 bill,
$6,000 suites,
and $500,000 flowers.

Not hidden, available
for all to see,
the things we need the least,
confront us, visibly.

Are you kidding me?

What Brought Me Here

2011-10-30T20:47:00.001-07:00

There is nothing I would change
about my life, even if I could,
because it all brought me to you.

There is nothing else I would build,
not from paper, stone or wood,
except that which created me and you.

There is nothing I could say,
even if I should,
that speaks louder than the me in you.

Contentment

2011-10-30T20:44:00.000-07:00

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.

Changes

2011-10-30T20:43:00.001-07:00

All of a sudden, it seemed, everything shifted.
I mean, now I look at myself in the mirror,
never have gotten stuck doing that before,
It’s my body, all right – skin grafts, check,
stitching scars, check, sagging lower belly, check.
What the hell, it’s a used body, this one, well used.
No, it’s not the body, at least not the externals.

There’s movement and change, I think maybe growth.
Never been a churchgoer, but I’m there now.
They don’t call it a church, it’s the Unity Center,
but what’s in a name, really? It’s a church.
There’s singing and praying and meditation.
There’s sermons and thoughts for living.
It’s a church, all right.

Even my dreams have been altered,
by cosmic forces or aging nostrils, who can tell?
Hopes and aspirations still abound, different now.
I’ve bought enough stuff, sold enough homes,
moved enough times, looking, seeking, reaching.
Now the goals are inward, searching for that place,
no, not a place, waiting for that spirit to touch me.

I’ve been poor before, really poor
No food, no money, no job, no ideas,
always been afraid it could happen again.
Careful as I am, it’s not going to show up soon.
How, then, will success be measured?
Perhaps it’s in how well I manage change.
Maybe it’s in just letting the change occur.

Whatever’s coming, there are a few things I know.
I want to laugh too much.
I plan to cry when it’s necessary.
I intend to be happy, healthy and at peace.
So, it’s not really change that’s due, at all.
It’s simply transformation.

See Ya later

2011-10-27T17:40:00.001-07:00

Recently returned from my Cancer Tour,
surprised at how much we laughed,
how little we cried…actually, not at all.
There was the prostate in Sonoma,
the one no longer present,
and the pancreas in Napa,
a little smaller now.
The brain in the East Bay, pretty bleak,
having inherited its doom
from the lungs and the liver.
There are, of course, people
attached to these afflicted organs,
friends of long standing, 50 years, more.
I don’t remember what we talked about.
Talking wasn’t the point, not really.
There was more being and having than doing going on.
I know that no one said goodbye,
not even when I moved on to the next town,
or back to mine.
I had thought I’d tell them all about when I died for awhile,
on that hillside in the jungle, far from home.
No one’s ever heard the whole of that.
And they still haven’t.
I don’t know if goodbye is important to say,
not like thank you, I love you, my life is better because of you,
those you better say before you can’t.

Please Give

2011-09-21T18:23:00.001-07:00

Please Give

– after Kay Ryan

If it please God,
let it be less about me
and more about them,
the ones without.

If it please God,
let my wishes go,
except the dreams of peace,
the ones with hope.

If it please God,
let my goals not matter,
but for the sharing with
the ones who need.

If it please God,
let me be smaller
but have the gifts be great,
the ones from the heart.

If it please God,
let my days run no longer
than I am useful and caring,
the ones filled with kindness.

The Work of Poetry

2011-08-17T06:19:00.001-07:00

Take a commonplace, clean it and polish it, light it so that it produces the same effect of youth and freshness and originality and spontaneity as it did originally, and you have done a poet's job. The rest is literature. -Jean Cocteau, author and painter (1889-1963)

A Lifetime of Reading

2011-08-16T16:01:00.000-07:00

Boswell's The Life of Samuel Johnson
Homer's Illiad and Odyssey
Plato - selected works
Aristitle - Ethics & Politics
Sophocles - Oedipus Rex
Virgil - The Aeneid
St. Augustine - Confessions
Shakespeare - complete works
Henrik Ibsen - plays
George Bernard Shaw - plays
Daniel Defoe - Robinson Crusoe
Charles Dickens - too many to count
Aldous Huxley - essays & novels
Voltaire
Edgar Allen Poe
Mark Twain
Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Crime and Punishment
Heorge Orwell - Animal Farm
Joseph Heller - Catch-22
Alice walker - The color Purple
Anne Frank - The Diary of a Young Girl
Miguel Cervantes - Don Quixote
Ernest Hemingway - The Old Man and the Sea
Ralph Ellison - Invisible Man
Ken Kesey - One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Hermann Hesse - Steppenwolf
John Locke
David Hume
Thomas Hobbs
John Stuart Mill
Reinholdt Nietzsche
Nicolo Machiavelli
rene Descartes
Henry David Thoreau
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Jeanne Jacques rousseau
Blaise Pascal
Poets: Donne, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Eliot, Frost, Auden, Wilde, Whitman, Blake, Browning, Yeats

"Zookeeper" Movie Review

2011-07-10T17:32:00.001-07:00

Not so much a review as a commentary on other reviews, we loved the experience of "Zookeeper" - great summer fun, loads of laughs, a deliciously sappy love story, likeable characters and completely unbelievable, like an animatronic special effects film ought to be. I don't care if it's not the serious, indie film of the year - that can wait for the fall Oscar candidate runs. It's summer, it's hot, the kids are in the cinemas, and this is what it's all about. By the way, we can't wait for the Smurfs, the Muppets, Harry Potter 8, Cowboys and Aliens, Palnet of the Apes, and Puss N Boots...nothing like sharing a movie with kids.

Words of wisdom

2011-07-05T07:11:00.001-07:00

Jean Cocteau died of a heart attack in 1963, at age 74, within hours of learning of the death of his close friend Edith Piaf. His epitaph reads, "I stay among you." "Listen carefully to first criticisms made of your work," he advised writers and artists. "Note just what it is about your work that critics don't like — then cultivate it. That's the only part of your work that's individual and worth keeping."

I'm Addicted

2011-06-23T05:27:00.000-07:00

Started watching "A Game of Thrones" on HBO and, as is my wont, researched the author of the books on which it is sourced, one George R.R. Martin". Turns out there are 4 books in print, another due in July, and his fans want him to finish the series with two more. He's more than a little annoyed by their clamoring, knowing he's "old and fat", but he's working on it. Anyhow, the books are long and complex, with hundreds of characters and medeival fantasy terminology, but ultimately a character-driven tale, quickly addicting. Oh, and there are dragons, too, but not in the beginning. They are all on BOMC2, where you can buy hardbound copies for $12.95, no shipping costs...a great site for other books as well.

Serena

2011-06-23T05:26:00.001-07:00

I mention Serena to someone
at least once a day.
This is today’s, and it gets to
a whole bunch of special someone’s.
Hurray!

She used to be Maxine, my Serena,
before she felt the call.
I think it started with a whim and
a prayer, a weekend retreat.
That’s all?

She’s Reverend Serena now, it’s
unlikely they call her Rev, no doubt,
at that abbey up north near Shasta Mountain.
So far from me, can she hear me?
My shout?

I mention her when I think of her,
really, I do, every day.
for the simplest of reasons, because
I’m a better man for it, or at least I try to be.
So I say.

She left me a book 12 years ago,
when she left me,
told me not to be greedy with 163 pages
of Zen Seeds. I just finished it.
Whee!

She’s a Contemplative Buddhist,
my friend.
I think about that a lot.
She’d find that more funny than ironic.
How Zen.

ShortFest - y'all come, ya hear

2011-05-25T10:33:00.000-07:00

ShortFest returns to Palm Springs, June 21-27, 2011. This a a don't miss event, way fun and entertaining. The price is right, the hotels are dealing, and it is not yet the blistering heat of summer. All of the films are screened at one theater complex, The Camelot, and what makes this festival so great is that the filmmakers all show up. They are an exhuberant and creative group, so the theaters are full of energy and appreciation. Hope to see you there.

It's Movie Time

2011-05-25T10:19:00.000-07:00

Ok, Cannes is over and the usual heavies have become known:

The Tree of Life
Drive
Melancholia
The Artist
Footnote
We Need To Talk About Kevin

and not so heavy, but Euro-worthy: Woody Allen's Midnight In Paris

We'll probably see them all, but in the general release summer fair, we hope the trailers are indicative of some future fun:

Cars 2
The Zookeeper
The Muppets Movie
Mr. Popper's Penguins
The Smurfs
Rejoice and Shout

and, of course, Harry Potter 8

For you Netflix fans, there are some great releases:

Blue Valentine
The Best of Ernie Kovacs
Casino Jack
Like Dandelion Dust
Rabbit Hole
I Love You Phillip Morris
Waiting For Superman
Kabei: Our Mother
Patrik, Age 1.5
Another Year
Ballerina

Life Happens

2011-05-13T10:23:00.001-07:00

When did it happen,
that all my friends got old?
Not all of them, but most.

When was it, exactly,
that running became impossible?
And, recently, walking sort of hurts.

When were the years
that my parents died?
I think I’ve now outlived them.

When did we stop traveling,
was it after that long September?
Maybe we live now where we used to go.

When was it, I wonder,
that bananas lost their flavor?
Though I think, lately, they found it.

When was it, at which point,
that I started looking back,
trying to remember?

Perspective

2011-05-10T05:52:00.001-07:00

I am happy that I live
in a place where
the rescue of ducklings
from a storm drain
received the same headline as
the burial at sea of
a mass murderer.

Aiming to Please

2011-04-26T21:55:00.000-07:00

He knew it best to
follow his gut when it
came to his scribblings,
to let his stomach tell him
the truth, when his need
for approval tried to
lead him astray.
Pretty eclectic in his
reading, he still liked them
sweet and short, to the point,
but slanted a bit, too.
I mean, who needs to actually
employ that word
in a poem about love?
That’s not to say that
that Browning woman didn’t
have a lot to say, having
led an interesting life.
And those beat poets
followed a well-walked path,
letting their need for read,
and sometimes weed, get them
to a place where they used
more words than they
themselves needed.
The more recent laureates
and near-laureates
seemed to get it, Ryan and Collins
leading the young century with
brevity and wit.
He knew it best to
follow his gut, but
those damn buttons,
send and post and share,
so easy to push, so easy to
let them lead him into temptation,
when he knew to follow his heart.

Unbroken

2011-04-26T14:46:00.001-07:00

As inevitably as spring
leads to summer,
fall follows.
As assuredly as heart
leads to joy,
love follows.
As completely as
love leads to sharing,
peace follows.
As securely as
peace leads to calm,
life follows.
As predictably as
life leads to death,
new life follows.
As inevitably as fall
leads to winter,
spring follows.

Falling Up

2011-04-26T14:41:00.001-07:00

Falling up requires towering imagination,
like a book read backwards,
with reverse pagination.
What if rain fell upwards?
I see it clearly, can’t you?
Then how would a rainbow assemble,
perhaps as the brightest horseshoe?
I know some folks must think it quite stupid,
then some folks think love comes from Cupid.
Niagara Falls would have to flow up, not down
but your own falls wouldn’t lead to a frown,
falling up, it’s the new falling down.
What about physical laws, you say?
Ignore them, they’ll just float away.
Gravity? Schmavity .
And those dreams, hopes and wishes
which today float away?
They’ll naturally fall back to your heart,
where they’ll stay.

Done

2011-04-26T14:40:00.001-07:00

It’s old men who send our young to war.
I don’t listen to them anymore.
It’s time to stand up, say nevermore,
it’s old men who send our young to war.
I’ve seen the play and ask once more,
what the hell are we fighting for?
It’s old men who send our young to war.
I don’t listen to them anymore.

Prayer is not Enough

2011-04-24T11:10:00.001-07:00

If we would savor the drink of peace,
if we would drink from the cup of
change in the world,
we must put something on the bar
besides our elbows.

If we would make a difference,
if we would overcome conflict and toast
reconciliation and enlightenment,
we must be doing
as much as being and having.

Pray for peace, always,
a blessing which must be earned.

and sometimes edits are even more than enough...

2011-04-23T16:44:00.000-07:00

Just Right

Away from the easel, I see that it’s complete,
yet my life is still a work in progress.
Maybe too much green, perhaps a dab of cerise, and yet,
away from the easel, I see that it’s complete.
Some lush strokes, others thinner, the whole of the canvas
what matters, not every mistake should be fixed.
Away from the easel, I see that it’s complete,
yet my life is still a work in progress.

Too Much is Still Not Enough

2011-04-23T08:46:00.000-07:00

Standing back from the easel, I see that it’s complete,
my life still a work in progress.
Maybe too much green, perhaps a dab of cerise, and yet,
standing back from the easel, I see that it’s complete.
Some lush strokes, others thinner, the whole of the canvas
is what matters, and not every mistake should be fixed.
Standing back from the easel, I see that it’s complete,
my life still a work in progress.

Nothing is Separate

2011-04-22T16:18:00.000-07:00

There is a Santa Rosa plum tree,
which I planted,
on the 118th day of 1975,
over the septic field
in the more-or-less-an-acre
at 6045 Hyland Way,
Penngrove, California.

There is the world
as it is and
there is the world
which we see.
I am certain, however,
that I am in that tree
and that tree is in me.

Despite the Tears

2011-04-21T16:22:00.001-07:00

Non, je ne regrette rien,
so sang the little sparrow,
second thoughts one thing,
non, je ne regrette rien
still another, even when she lost
her child, her love, her sight,
non, je ne regrette rien,
so sang the little sparrow.

Love Me for My Faults

2011-04-21T08:16:00.001-07:00

Oconomowoc High School,
Class of ’62,
fifty-year reunion coming,
so very much to do.
New clothing must be purchased,
something dark and slimming,
my barber’s consultation
on the matter of beard trimming.
Check my Google pages,
make sure they’re up to date,
must impress my old friends
with poetry first rate.
Have to join a gym,
lose forty pounds of fat,
can’t show up obese,
there’s no doubt of that.
Reservations to be made,
hotel, car and fly…oh crap,
on second thought, perhaps
I’ll just have another piece of pie.

ten by ten, 10 x 10

2011-04-21T05:56:00.000-07:00

we are challenged to write a poem with ten lines, ten syllables in each line. My efforts:

Greek Wedding

There’s magic in a wedding, Big Fat Greek,
or otherwise. There’s mystery as well,
to the old folks, no surprise. There’s uncles
and aunts, cousins distant and close, nieces,
nephews and yia yia’s, parents and brothers
the most important of all. Midst the din
and the joy, just a small touch of madness,
make no mistake, there’s also great gladness,
laughter and smiles, the start of life anew,
abracadabra, now one made from two

--------------------------------------------

Friends

One of us will die first, one left behind.
One of us will remain, it’s just the kind
of trap we’ve woven for ourselves, this spin
of the wheel, however we feel, it’s in
understanding this we can have the best
of our lives, this friendship thing, the real test
not in who dies first, in who longer lives,
but in the now moment, this is what gives
joy to the two of us, the daily win,
not in waiting for our lives to begin.

Message Found In a Desk Drawer

2011-04-20T10:41:00.000-07:00

Thank you for completing me,
this not being the last thing I
ever did, yet it was
left hanging,
waiting for your role.
Did I die well?
I had given the matter great thought,
well, frequent thought at least,
perhaps not so profound.
My preference would have been
for the least untidy end, free of trauma,
for me, to be sure,
but even more for the discoverer.
I had thought it would be best to be
asleep at the time, but maybe not so,
possibly at my desk,
one last comma to insert,
or to remove.
I did not want it to be in public,
strangers made awkward by the intrusion,
but my fondness for my loves
led me to wish for not at home.
Ah, the dilemma.
Well, no more.
What it was, it was.
Do not be sad, please, as I am not,
having seen some of what is to be,
the great mystery, the hopeful maybe.
Be well, and do great work with small things.

Nothing Easy About Love

2011-04-19T05:12:00.001-07:00

There’s an underneath to most things, perhaps
all, though a bother at times to see, there
is a will, I think, to be observed, to
be witnessed, maybe even deciphered.
Not too deep, the work not a drudge, the path
most often direct, at times a little
to the left or right, if we would see the
wonder of it all, the truth, the beauty, the
cracker jack prize. Sometimes the surface has
a crust to it, needs a little probe, but
be gentle, if you would make your way inside,
coatings of love and fear equally fragile.

Like Magic

2011-04-18T05:35:00.000-07:00

There’s magic in the desert,
winter becoming spring,
presto, change-o,
feeling like summer,
abracadabra,
wildflowers amid the cacti,
snowbirds on the wing.

The town’s becoming ours again,
like days long past,
when only Angelenos came,
and then just for the weekend.
Not like now, so many Canadians
and their loonies, but they depart,
rushing home for their medi-care.

No need to shop at seven-a-m,
we can take our time about it,
like during the real summer.
No need, either for those shirts,
you know the ones,
with “local” for a logo,
timeshare hawkers off to Mexico.

Closer to the heat now,
pretty soon we’ll button down,
but not yet. This is prime time,
not quite Easter, still room to
pretty ourselves up for the last big holiday,
but summer lurks, like a beast,
just around the corner.

One Small Thing

2011-04-17T10:47:00.001-07:00

Not for me, the grand concepts.
I mean, I know that poverty
is cyclical or situational,
but that guy on the corner?
He just wants a sandwich,
maybe a beer.

Not for me, the great concerns.
I mean, I know that orphans exist,
and child care’s too costly,
but that girl on the swing?
She just needs a push,
maybe a hug.

Not for me, the larger issues.
I mean, I know the snowcap is melting,
but insomnia won’t help.
All I can do is turn off some lamps,
light one little candle, and hope others do too,
that the sum of the candles will light up the globe,
maybe my life.

Strangers

2011-04-16T09:42:00.001-07:00

I don’t know the people in this photo,
creased and wrinkled,
black and white.
Oh sure, there’s my mom,
but the others?
Maybe air force, or high school friends,
perhaps merely the people from the block.
There’s no one left to tell me,
All gone now,
like the negative for this photo,
creased and wrinkled,
black and white.
I‘ll never know the people in this photo,
yet I can’t let go.

A Few Good Friends (a triolet)

2011-04-15T22:49:00.000-07:00

He has always been my friend,
even when I did not see him.
He is special amid ordinary men.
He has always been my friend.
Though we are parted now and then,
by work or play or wanderlust whim,
he has always been my friend,
even when I did not see him

I'm Nothing Without My Friends

2011-04-15T22:48:00.000-07:00

Lovely neighbors as friends at the away place,
who toss newspapers that I forget,
it confuses the burglars who linger around,
and they’d water the plants in the ground
if I asked, plus they’ll stash a delivery,
yet they don’t come uninvited, not yet.

Make-believe friends at the home place.
It’s a country club, you know.
Not really my slice
but the architecture’s nice,
and strolling to dinner
beats a DUI every time, for sure.

Fabulous friends in my causes,
In my hobbies, really close buds.
We screen movies, talk books,
read poems, compare cooks,
paint and take hikes, and
march with pride in parades.

Too many friends are gone now,
some dead, others simply away.
There’s one monk in an abbey,
whose courage I envy,
and I mention her often,
usually once every day.

If it were not for friends,
there would be no me.
Everything about me is
a reflection of them, I am sure,
life would go on, no way as pure,
but my profile would be nothing to see.

White

2011-04-15T22:47:00.001-07:00

Father of two fine lads,
each a father now.
Packed a lot into
a too-short life.
Radioman, Marine,
buddy through and through,
A small-town boy,
a universal man.
Covered a grenade,
allowed me to have a life.
Remembered every day.

Life's Work

2011-04-14T15:34:00.001-07:00

Ain’t none of my business,
this aerobic poetry thing we do,
in life, I’m a geisha,
a servant through and through.

Ain’t none of my business,
this wordplay of ours,
all day, I’m what my wife needs,
except this in early hours.

Ain’t none of my business,
reading poesy and prose,
I’ve menus to plan, and
meals to dispose.

Ain’t none of my business,
IPhoning Poetic Asides,
I have a house to clean,
shopping for my bride.

Aint none of my business,
catching tweets from that Brewer,
the laundry awaits, the day’s
not getting newer.

Ain’t none of my business,
being glib or dramatic,
but let me own up to it,
I’m a poetry phanatic.

Three Shadormas

2011-04-12T16:02:00.001-07:00

Early Palm Springs Stroll

Pink mountain
tops give way to rose,
by noon, gold,
or lemon.
Later, before purple night,
pale citrine hues.

de-licious Addiction

Shadorma,
hugely addicting.
I would rant,
but I can’t
they are luscious little dreams,
like chocolate creams.

I’ts a Greek to You

My name is
Dionisios.
My dad’s dad
was one too.
Not Dionysus, the wine god.
My drink is ouzo.

Good Intentions Are Not Enough

2011-04-10T10:22:00.001-07:00

I will not sit idly by,
Allowing all those hurtful words,
the weak should not be made to cry,
if they are harmed, then we cross swords.

I will not sit idly by,
by my quiet allowing bullies to berate,
to abuse the weak, as they often try,
and when they do, I won’t hesitate.

I will not sit idly by,
hearing hebe, spic, nigger, dyke,
faggot, cripple, crybaby cry,
rag head, slope, slut and kyke.

I will not sit idly by,
or I would be the same as them,
I will not allow these words to fly
without response, never again.

O-Dark-Thirty

2011-04-09T06:50:00.000-07:00

It is o-dark-thirty and I am flying,
death surely on its way,
how quickly nothing else matters.
It‘s 0230, and I’ve been blown up,
thinking, this is what it is to die,
that’s all that’s left to matter.
There’s no fear, only sadness,
but not even one thought for me,
just for the tears of the ones who matter.
I meet my mother,
dead for nine-plus years,
and I am no longer matter.
She says, go back, you can not stay,
there’s still work for you,
you must attend to matters.
It’s easy now, to understand,
the work is peace, the goal is peace,
that’s all that really matters.

Name Dropping

2011-04-07T13:18:00.001-07:00

It’s the Buddha’s birthday today.
I don’t know how we know that,
But it is. It just is.

What if his most recent incarnation
is in a poet, and not just any poet,
but in Billy Collins, a rhyming superstar.

Or maybe he’s in Garrison Keillor,
a lover of all things poetic,
and a mighty fine hot damn poet himself.

I’m pretty sure he
wasn’t in Wordsworth,
though it’s his birthday too.

It’s more likely
to be Ravi Shankar,
ninety-one today.

He could, I suppose,
be in that poet Moskowitz,
wouldn’t that be a hoot?

Don't Tell, Show

2011-04-06T17:47:00.000-07:00

I’ve cooked a lot of meals
in my time,
Served more than a few of them
to friends.
Never once did I place the recipe
on the serving platter,
though I sometimes say it could have been better
if I only had more time.

Don't Worry, It Gets Better

2011-04-06T17:46:00.000-07:00

Bullies grow up to be laborers,
nerds grow up to be rich.
Jocks grow up to be fat,
wimps grow up to be phat.
Cheerleaders’ days are numbered,
goths have a whole life ahead.
Straights can look forward to marriage,
gays can look forward to some things
taking longer than others.

Will-o'-the-wisp

2011-04-03T08:48:00.000-07:00

It is said that,
sitting under the boddhi tree,
Siddahartha Gautama saw,
not hundreds of figs on the ground,
but thirty-thousand past lives.
The boddhi itself requires
three thousand years to form its shape,
and humans have but a moment
to find meaning, even when they look.

Had I missed this turn of the wheel,
what matter?
Someone else would have gone to war,
another might have written peace haikus,
many more could have done my work,
it is all simply chopping wood,
it is all no more than carrying water,
it is not mysterious,
the thing we call our life.

My scars are not real,
memories an illusion,
money in the bank as firm as dreams.
Divorces, poems, blood and tears
are no more our life
than silent films are Ken and Barbie.
If you can’t stand the heat,
says the one with the heater,
but even he is an hallucination.

I think on nonexistence a moment.
Does the earth fall from my feet?
Must I reach for my balance?
No, I go on.
I go on.
I go.

Hey, From Palm Springs

2011-04-02T07:26:00.000-07:00

I know you’ll laugh
when I tell you it’s
a cool morning, only 68.
I’m feeling pretty cool, too.
Haven’t drunk the country club kool-aid.
Yet.

The History of Love

2011-04-02T05:42:00.001-07:00

There is nothing I would change
about my life, even if I could,
because it all brought me to you.

There is nothing I would build,
not from paper, stone or wood,
except that which created me and you.

There is nothing I could say,
even if I should,
that speaks louder than the me in you.

How to order

2011-03-22T05:06:00.000-07:00

my buddy, Rich,said he'd like to order a set of nesting bowls with a haiku, but he did not know hwo, so...

Multi-colored bowls
nesting in perfect sequence
life’s joyful mixture

I Love Tupperware

2011-03-22T05:05:00.000-07:00

It’s time I think
for a Tupperware party,
with food and drink,
camaraderie hearty.

I’ll buy the orange bowls,
you get the blue.
there’s red, there’s yellow,
and new purple too.

Stick with the original,
best in all nations,
no thin-skinned knockoffs,
no weak imitations.

For years of service,
bell tumblers are best,
the hamburger shaper
also passes the test.

You have servalier bowls
and tiny pink smidgets,
vegetable keepers
and measuring widgets.

If you’re game for a party,
as ripe as can be,
just look for a host
and RSVP.

A poet writes, I answer

2011-03-16T14:33:00.001-07:00

76
by Philip Schultz
My bones aren't what they used to be; my eyes ache,
as if I've been reading an ancient text by candlelight.
My back and knees creak. I'm happy if the car starts
and I can walk the dogs along the ocean which looks
a little less robust. It replenishes itself with stretching
and long cleansing breaths. The sun is another story.
It's beginning to show its age. Perhaps we've enjoyed
enough springs and everything is getting a little redundant.

67
My bones are better than they once were,
fragile as a child, broken as a young adult,
strengthened now by age, by effort.
My eyes see more, and better too, and when
they’re tired, they rest, not needing to
gather every word, sometimes happy to simply
watch a young couple in love stroll by.
My back and knees know how to bend, and how
to lift, to stay away from trouble in its many forms,
because my ears no longer hear the proud demands
of youth. The sky is bluer than it’s ever been
and I have yet to see a lake that did not calm me.
I am warmed by the sun of the West, and can’t
wait to see what each new daily appearance brings

Valentines Day, 2011

2011-02-15T05:02:00.000-08:00

Where Is the Love?

Love is everywhere,
in the coffee in the morning,
in the movies that we share,
in the songs that others sing.

Love is in the air,
in odd spaces so it seems,
in the cats for whom we care,
in wishes, hopes and dreams.

Love is not so rare,
not very far away,
seen by those who dare,
beside the place I stay.

Love is always there,
when it seems even not to be,
for you the Mrs. fair,
standing next to me.

Raina & Art, 2010 (barely)

2011-01-06T06:16:00.001-08:00

There’s magic in a wedding,
Big Fat Greek, or otherwise.
There’s mystery as well,
to the old folks, no surprise.
There’s uncles and aunts,
cousins distant and close,
nieces, nephews and yia yia’s,
parents and brothers the most
important of all, midst the din and
the joy, a small touch of madness,
make no mistake, there’s
also great gladness.
There’s magic in a wedding,
most would say it’s from love,
some believe it more mystical,
a mother smiling from above.
There’s laughter and smiles,
the start of life anew,
so fresh, full of heart,
perfect hopes for the two
now made one in a way
only magic could bring.
For their future, to their promise,
we pray and we sing.
There’s magic in a wedding,
we’ve all played our part
so abracadabra and shazam,
here’s to Raina and Art.

A Sevenling Poem

2010-12-15T08:28:00.001-08:00

Recalling 30,000 past lives,
the Buddha sat under a bodhi tree,
at one with all things.

My old laptop crashed,
the new Iphone drops calls,
technology drives me crazy.

It’s a short drive, will I choose madness or light?

The year (so far) in film, 2010

2010-12-13T12:32:00.000-08:00

In the homestretch now before awards season, and a few enjoyable films are worth mentioning. "True Grit" will make for a terrific holiday outing when it is released during Christmas week. Jeff Bridges does a sensational job in the John Wayne role, and Hailee Steinfeld is sure to be nominated in the supporting categories, though her role is really a starring one. We laughed so much at the sharp dialogue that we'll have to see it again to catch the parts we missed. The ending is rushed a bit, but it is still an A to A-minus. "The King's Speech" is a wonderful story, with fabulous writing and the acting of Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush and Helena Bonham Carter is out of this world. BAFTA's galore, for sure. "Black Swan" got mixed reviews in our house, with Barbara giving it one of her rare A's, and me thinking it was creepy and overheated. Hard to knock the training and preparation of Natalie Portman, however, and the ending made us gasp with ir's spot-on suddenness. "The Town" and "Inception" were crafty, smart films, but not the kind which Hollywood usually rewards. "Harry Potter 7-a" was disappointing and incomprehensible if you had not read the books. "Hereafter" bored Barbara but I liked it, thinking of it as Clint Eastwood's European fim. "The Kids Are All Right" was okay, but really just a soap opera. We laughed and enjoyed "Red", but is simply summer fare. We have not seen all of the notable animated films, but "Toy Story 3" did not let us down. The film most likely to be below the radar until critics' lists come out is "The Social Network". The story and characters are compelling and credible, which is good, given that it is based on a (continuing) real life drama. "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo" and its two sequels are must-see action for those who have read the books, and that includes about half the world now. There are many films we have not yet seen, and some of them will have to wait for Netflix, what with the holiday season and the Palm Springs International Film Festival hard upon us, but we'll be listening for comments on "The Fighter", "Somewhere", Another Year", "Winter's Bone", "127 Hours", "Get Low", "Waiting For Superman", "Biutiful", "Rabbit Hole", and "Bluie Valentine".

Artists

2010-11-14T15:55:00.001-08:00

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.

Two-fer Tuesday again

2010-11-09T07:56:00.000-08:00

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

Words of the Day

2010-11-08T05:11:00.000-08:00

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.

Looking For Comfort

2010-11-07T17:42:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-07T17:38:00.000-08:00

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.

Location, Location, Location

2010-11-05T06:04:00.001-07:00

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"

2010-11-05T06:02:00.000-07:00

Contentment

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.

Back again..two-fer Tuesday

2010-11-02T08:27:00.000-07:00

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.

Valentines Card, 2010

2010-02-11T09:08:00.001-08:00

Hoping we’ll be old coots,
walking hand in hand,
less so from affection than
to help each other stand.

Hoping we grow old together,
sharing aches and ague,
passing gas without apology,
couldn’t hear that, could you?

Hoping we’re the ancients we love now,
some sagging, gravity the king,
my hair white, yours still red,
some vanity still reigning.

Hoping we’re the elders,
wise and otherwise.
Time remaining all that matters,
all arguments small-sized.

If that future’s not ours,
these days must fit our plans.
Let’s use them up completely,
in every way we can.

Let’s eat unwisely, sometimes
and drink more than is fair.
We’re not rich but we can act so,
at least one day each year.

Today’s that day, for certain.
Which other would we choose?
You’ll always be my Valentine.
You’ll always be my muse.

It's Valentine's Time

2010-02-10T19:30:00.001-08:00

I'm working on a lengthier poem for my sweetie, but for now...

I love it when we kiss and
our noses bump and
we laugh

Life, Or Something Like It

2010-02-04T08:12:00.000-08:00

Approaching sunset now, the dawn
too many years behind. The night
waits, lingering behind the evening star.
It was noon a mere while ago,
brightly shining with hope,
plans made with future surety,
more time than dreams to fill it.
Time spent seems but trumpery
when placed beside time remaining,
too much wastage, squandered
could haves, elusive promises.
Five or seven friends remain, a thousand
cronies gone the way of fumes, still
time for eight or nine, likely no more.
Poems have always seemed like
words in flight, now more earthly,
too often murky, poets in high dudgeon,
even as they confuse sunset for the dawn.
Still, there’s work to do,
and time to do it.
Living in the past yields little that is good,
mostly excuses, redrafted memories and
rust-pitted trophies.
Future has a sense of promise, of mission,
too many maybe’s as well.
What’s left is now, today, this moment,
sunset, dawn and dark of night the same
gift of opportunity, like a poem, somewhere
between a dream and a nightmare.

The Year in Film, 2009

2010-02-02T08:18:00.000-08:00

In my experience, 2009 was an average year for films, with few peak experiences. Most of the contenders for annual awards would struggle mightily against past winners. Even the standouts (or, should I say, “my favorites”) won’t make my Top 100 all-time list, though they fair well against the year’s competition. My general release favorites included The Hurt Locker, Nine, Up, A Single Man, The Road, Precious, An Education, The Blind Side, and maybe, Up In the Air. Small films that I liked, were Captain Abu Raed and One Peace at a Time, a documentary. The Palm Springs International Film Festival was its usual…a fantastic experience, with delightful fellow film goers, from near and far, but also reflective of 2009, in general. Some superb experiences, made whole by the appearances of writers, directors and some actors, a few excellent films, many very good ones, and the expected clinker or two, most often in the case of a country’s submission for an Oscar. This year’s clear winner of the PSIFF “razzie” is Dogtooth, an offensive and inane Greek import, though it had competition from the unfortunate The Misfortunates. My favorite small film was Letters to Father Jacob, the most enjoyable epics were Bride Flight and John Rabe, and the documentaries were simply sensational: The Most Dangerous Man In America, Learning From Light: I.M. Pei The Great Contemporary Art Bubble, and The Art of the Steal to name a few. The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo did not disappoint, and the theaters were packed with many who had read the book. Sony plans English versions of all three “Girl…” novels…unfortunately, this probably means we will not get to see English subtitled versions of films two and three on the big screen. Other festival films we were glad to see included Rabia, Mother, Villon’s Wife, Chameleon, Mediterranean Food, Air Doll, Slovenian Girl, The Last Days of Emma Blank, Glorious 39, The Swimsuit Issue, About Elly, The Over the Hill Band, Vincere, North, and Excited. Films I missed, but will be look for in limited release or on Netflix include: Nobody to watch Over Me, Red Ridng trilogy, The White Ribbon, War in Wintertime, Welcome, A matter of Size, For a Moment, Freedom, Only When I Dance, My Dog Tulip, Medal of Honor, The Other Bank, Today’s Special, The World Is Big and salvation Lurks around the Corner, and Waking Sleeping Beauty.

Greed Is Good

2010-01-03T12:06:00.000-08:00

Grab hold of all the love available
squeeze it, cherish it, hold it tight,
be greedy about it, go ahead, be a hog,
and then, go looking for some more.

When you’re all full up,
let a little –or a lot- slosh over,
let it spill on your family, your friends,
and then, let some fall on strangers.

Get a grip on all the kindness nearby,
savor it, milk it, taste every morsel,
be ravenous about it, go on, lap it up,
and then, go looking for some more.

When you’re satisfied,
let a little – or a lot – be passed on,
let it go to people near and dear,
and then, let some go to strangers.

Go out - or in - and find some happiness,
wallow in it, feel it, be warmed by its glow,
crave it, cling to it, exult in your joy,
and then, go looking for some more.

When you’re contented,
let a little – or a lot - be shared,
let it be felt by the ones who mean the most,
and then, let some go to strangers.

That was some decade, huh?

2009-12-31T06:58:00.001-08:00

What a rapid ten years it has been...Y2K turned out to be OK, and my fear of no money was vanquished by my fear of dying on the job. never heard of a blog in 2000, and now I are one (?). Palm Springs and Sedona and writing groups and neighbors who like my cooking, and, always, Barbara. Film festivals and film societies and Netflix and TCM, and, always, Barbara. Hiking and painting and essays and poetry chapbooks, and, always, Barbara. New friends and old friends and comrades and allies, and, always, Barbara. Macy's and Chico's and Nordstrom's and Saks, and, definitely, Barbara.

What shall we call the next ten years, the teenagers of this century? I hope it is not a repeat of past centuries, with war the dominant thought, with silliness and depression not far behind. Maybe it will be years of the personal. Money and riches and material things haven't worked out too well, so maybe a more intimate and inward approach beckons.

For me, and for my friends of similar ages, it has to be personal, as we learn about aging on a day-to-day basis. It isn't that we resist aging so much - after all, we all have those pesky mirrors in our homes - it's more those daily surprises, a new ache or pain, a new victory for gravity, a new reason to feed the kitty of hypochondria. One thing for sure...we have all lived longer than we have left, and Time Remaining deserves some thought and conversation. Should we be more spiritual? Is there Service to perform? Nothing wrong with happiness and fun, either.

There's a lot I don't know, but one thing I have learned to 100% certainty...friends and family are everything, and communication is even more than everything. When someone enters your mind, don't pause for even a minute, See them, call them, write them, and tell them how your life is better for them having been in it. No time to waste, not a second left to dawdle. Hop to it, it's the Touching Teens!

Live a Good Life

2009-12-15T04:39:00.001-08:00

Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones. -Marcus Aurelius, philosopher and writer (121-180)

Stopping By Palm Springs on a Sunny Day

2009-12-14T14:13:00.000-08:00

This village mine, for ten years now
is making its most seasoned bow
to guests and locals, everyone,
its snowcapped peaks and sunshine wow.

We’ve grown accustomed to the sun,
we feel entitled, everyone.
The nights, while cool, still hold their cheer,
no holding back the year-end fun.

Our friends back east are very clear
about what matters, what is dear;
it’s family, and friends who please,
kept close at hand, in hearts, so near.

The snow is deep, and white, but please,
I have promised not e’er to freeze,
and rays to catch, snowbirds to tease,
and rays to catch, snowbirds to tease.

(yes, indeed, an homage to Robert Frost)

Invictus, The Road, A Single man, The Lovely Bones

2009-12-10T08:15:00.000-08:00

Invictus - now wasn't that a fast 134 minutes...very enjoyable...could have easily become sappy and heavy handed, but it didn't...particularly liked how Damon and Freeman disappeared into their roles...Eastwood took a sport that 98% of the audience knows nothing about, educated us in terms of what we needed to know very quickly, then proceeded with a perfect metaphor for the human condition of South Africa, circa 1994

The Road - tough to watch, like Precious, but, unlike Kenneth Turan, I think the payoff was worth it, and it did a fine job of translating Cormac Mc Carthy's written work

A Single Man - one of my top fims of the year, serious and thoughtful, yet also stylish, and Colin Firth & Julianna Moore are not to be believed, they are so good at their craft

The Lovely Bones - better than average, but a lesser light than the others coming out in awards season, though Stanley Tucci is so good he is unrecognizable

Another one from Mike

2009-12-08T10:38:00.000-08:00

How does love feel?
Are you able to see
Or touch or taste it?
Why do I know so much?

I know love and live with it
In my heart and deep somewhere
Else. I know love and look
For it in every soul I meet.

Love is part of humanness
And I know it well.
But why do I know it?
Is love insistent?

I think I know. Love
Is a question about who
We are. Who I want
To be and who you are.

Early December

2009-12-07T10:57:00.000-08:00

It’s been a peaceful month
in the low desert,
where the locals are old,
the snowbirds are grateful,
and the poets are all in good form.
It’s been a month of happy returns
and thanksgiving,
of many old friends
and a new few.
We live mostly for today,
knowing the gods will laugh
at foolish plans beyond
breakfast or lunch.
Winter’s not yet here,
at least not on the Badgers
calendar I got for the 25th time,
my annual reminder of
how wise we were to move,
yet how much we miss
our childhood friends,
our youth,
now mostly x-ed out,
just a few more weeks to
the midnight dance at nine p.m..
Yes, winter’s not here, but
don’t tell my aching legs and
shoulders that at dawn.
That’s our breath we see
in front of us in the morning,
leading the way to the newspaper.
No complaints heard, however;
not so much that they aren’t made,
just not heard.
There’s much to be learned in this age,
at this age as well.
A little loss of sound can be a blessing,
a chance to return to the
remarkable self-absorption of youth.
This month is a time for connection,
reconnection as well,
visits, phone calls, letters, cards and
e-mails, in that very descending order
of intimacy, and it really is too bad,
what that e-mail thing has done to
letter writing, ancient and loving art.
Visits require some degree of readiness,
at least a clean bathroom, but
phone calls, especially the random ones,
can find you in your pajamas,
heck, even on the toilet.
Cards are okay, when one does not
have time for a letter, but
letters have more heart, give more time
to the writer to be reflective,
like a poet,
searching, reaching, looking
for just the right words.
A writer of letters gets to reflect,
to muse a bit about the addressee, to
remember precious moments, to dream of
better moments yet to come,
maybe even to plan some, and say so.
It is a peaceful activity, letter writing,
perfect for the cocoa and comforter
days of year’s end.
We’re older now,
no longer big consumers;
rather, giving stuff away,
the things that have piled up
in closets and storage units over time,
so Black Friday means nothing,
Cyber Monday even less.
We still go to the parties,
ooh and aah over trees and menorahs,
eat too much cheese,
drink just the right amount of wine.
We arrive late, leave early,
talk about the coming film festival
and wish each other well.
We’ll tiptoe through
these next few weeks, and
soon, the new year will come
and we’ll make it our peaceful own.
My sweetie, the cats and me.

It's Awards Season at the Movies

2009-12-04T07:55:00.000-08:00

It's that time again - awards season at the local cinema, and, as usual, the Palm Springs International Film Society is ahead of the game. So far, we have screened many of the predicted contenders, including A Serious Man, Up In the Air, Precious, The Lovely Bones, A Single Man, and The Road. Still to come are Nine, It's Complicated and Invictus. Some fabulous individual and ensemble performances, many faithful presentations of literary works, and story lines which keep one talking, long after you've left the theater. Looking forward to the holiday films as well - Avatar, Sherlock Holmes, The Imaginarium og Doctor Parnassus, and The Young Victoria. The Palm Springs International Film Festival starts in earnest on January 8th, and there's no better event for filmgoers, where the most enjoyable conversations occur while standing in line.

Did you stop writing for the holidays?

2009-11-28T15:43:00.000-08:00

A couple of my friends who don't like paging through blogs noticed that I "haven't been writing much" this month, and point to my last post being on November 9th. Well, the truth is that I have been writing and posting every day, but it has all been edited into the "November Chapbook" heading...one haiku per day, each with the word "peace" in the third line. A couple more days to go, then we start the re-drafting and sifting/winnowing phase, selecting 10-20 of the haiku's which best make up a chapbook. I think I'll use those which are the most traditional, and which reference the seasons in a progressive, summer-fall-winter-spring-summer kind of way. Of course, my friends who now read this "November Chapbook" post will think I have been taking it easy, writing only 17 syllables a day. To that, I recall the story of Oscar Wilde attending an evening soiree of some type and speaking of his long and tiring day. When asked what he was engaged in, he mentioned that he was a poet, leaving his listeners in doubt about whether or not he was having them on. I mean, just how exhausting could poetry be? He was asked just what he had done to tire him so, and he replied, "I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning and took out a comma, and this afternoon, I put it back again."

A Poem from Mike

2009-11-09T12:00:00.001-08:00

My precious friend, Mike, is given to writing brilliant poems and sharing them with me, usually with the comment that they "are not very good". He's a very smart guy, my pal, but an idiot when it comes to evaluating his own poetry. As you'll see, his work is heartfelt, touching, and, often, a call to action. This past weekend was Pride weekend in Palm Springs, and Mike and his darling Carol are co-chairs of PFLAG in the area, so we march in the parade every year. This year was especially wonderful, because the high school kids from the Gay Straight Alliance joined us, and they are so energetic, effervescent, and hopeful about the future, and their joy is quite contagious. Anyhow, Mike was telling me about how the two of us are at the age when we are rightfully concentrating on completing our final years with style, compassion and grace. Somehow that moved him to consider the day at hand and he wrote the following:

I hear often the sad opinion
That God no longer talks to us
God is not in his dominion
And one must be autonomous

This is not true for me
God is often guiding my
Life and I often see
Clearly my destiny.

The inner voice has never been
Ambiguous but clear and direct
The way is obvious and open
I never hesitate or introspect.

Defy ignorance and literalism
Abhor bigotry and lazy learning
Celebrate the joy of life’s prism
And good always gaining.

God is always with me.
Directing my feelings and I
Know that he leads me
To where I need to be.

The odd thing is that God said
Do not believe in me but rather
In the goodness that could be
And the hope that beauty and truth

Will be the conquerors of existence.

Art Quote of the Day

2009-11-09T11:58:00.000-08:00

At the Palm Springs Art Museum members reception last week, glass artist Lino Tagliapietra was asked by an audience member how long it took to create one of his intricate glass works.

Lino paused for a moment and replied, "About an hour, plus fifty years of experience."

The Prisoner

2009-11-03T16:39:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite televised series is The Prisoner, starring Patrick McGoohan, and dating to the late 1960's

http://wbx.me/l/?p=1&u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.theprisoneronline.com%2Fforum%2F4-the-village-music-a-props-%2F783-any-maps-left%23889

AMC is scheduling an updated miniseries version, starting 11.15.2009...can't wait to see it.

November Chapbook

2009-11-03T16:22:00.000-08:00

On the wonderful Poetic Asides board of WritersDigest.com, my fellow poets and I are writing a poem a day, in response to prompts. We will then edit our drafts, select our favorites and create a chapbook, just for fun (and for the ones judged the "best", a little momentary glory). My personal challenge this month is to write 30 Haiku's, all with "peace" in the third line.

1. Entering Something New

Summer’s final breath,
ravens scouting this year’s nests,
monks still pray for peace.

2. Looking At Something From a Different Angle

Autumn’s first breezes,
humans spy as we build homes,
wrens find peace mid-air.

3. Something Positive and/or Negative

Seeking awareness
before winter’s arrival.
Peace may still flow in.

4. Maybe...

Maybe Walking Is Sitting

As winter draws near,
perhaps we’ll tread consciously.
Peace is every step.

5. Growth

Progess

One needn’t look left,
and neither need one look right.
Peace is straight ahead.

6. Something/Someone Covered

Winter’s fire is banked,
air dancing above hard coals
At peace in my bed.

7. Plant

Kiva

Sowing loans, not alms.
planting hope in the world,
one peace at a time.

8. Should (Tomorrow Come)

Preparing to die,
there’s no remedy for death.
Peace always awaits.

9. Slipping

Living On Planet Awesome

Turning towards others.
Living with an open heart.
Sliding into peace.

10. Love & Anti-Love

My Deepest Love

Soft blue, like the sky
in the first kiss of sunrise.
Peace, carried by doves.

My Deepest Hate

Nobody hates war
more so than the warrior.
Semper fi. Peace, out.

11. Construction

We Are What We Build

A flyer of kites
knows the currents and eddies.
The kite knows true peace.

12. If Only...

If Only Life Was Different

Spring is not summer.
Pickles can’t be cucumbers.
Peace is who one is.

13. Renewable

Reborn

She sang of summer,
winter’s grip soon forgotten.
Peace always trumps fear.

14. Lines

Living in Balance

There is a fine line
between truth and illusion.
Peace lies on the edge

15. Hanging

Natural Selection

Turning toward others,
living with an open heart.
Peace hangs out with love.

16. Clouds

louds of December

Clouds of December,
painting paths and rooftops white.
Peace in the village.

17-A. Explosion

Passage

On life’s final day
comes an explosion of light.
Be at peace with it.

17-B. Implosion

Enlightenment

Collapse of the self,
the blowdown of illusion.
Peace freed asunder.

18. Slow

Okauchee January

Frosted serenades
accent winter’s frozen sleeps.
Dawn’s peace comes slowly.

19. Attachment

Looking for Enlightenment

One need not suffer.
Pain is forever a choice.
Elders opt for peace.

20. And Then...

And Then He Came Out

Strutting, hands on hips,
May child in his mother’s dress.
Peace at rainbow’s end.

21. Invention

All of man’s seasons
bring natural inventions,
peace the best of them.

22. Emergency

Elders learn by fall
that summer’s crises soon end.
Peace will come with calm.

23. Noise

Living mindfully
in the holiday bedlam.
Peace is a challenge.

24. Everybody Says/Nobody Says

Everybody Says "Heaven", Nobody Says "Let Me Die"

No dark without light.
No seasons without changes.
No hope without peace.

25. Temperature

Cold Is Not Separate From Heat

Life is as it is.
No need to create anew.
Peace is snow and sun.

26. Thankful

Days of thanksgiving
abound with friendship and joy.
There is bliss in peace.

27. Shape

Be Here Now

Unconcsious living,
in another shape or time.
Peace eludes one’s grasp.

28. Through This...

Through This Life

There’s but one question,
summer, winter, spring and fall.
Will one work for peace?

29. A Number

One is not separate
from the earth at any time.
With peace, all are one.

30. Something That Will Stick With You

At all times, choose life.
Choose friends and love and sharing.
Most of all, choose peace.

Open Mike

2009-10-22T22:07:00.001-07:00

He has a wonder filled heart
and finds hope in the oddest places,
in the smile of a toothless bum.
the wagging tale of a mangy mutt.
He never met a vegetable he didn’t like,
especially the purple ones,
and wines, tried them all,
zins, cabs, even innocent merlots.
A hospice volunteer,
he has no fear of death,
heard too many reports of
waiting friends, tunnels of light.
He’s made music a challenge,
no genre a mistake.
Opera, jazz, blues all have
their place, their perfect right
to serve as background, foreground too,
in Mike’s discovery of life this turn,
his unbound search for new
and different joys.
No man alive loves animals
more than he, naming most
birds in flight, laughing at
dogs at play and kittens with their toys.
He donated blood to see how it felt,
then threw away the donut to taste hunger,
went home and baked bread for the smell,
and ended his day with canvas and brush.
He reads fact and fiction,
has friends gay and straight,
transgender as well.
He sometimes looks tired,
but that’s just how he’s seen
by our eyes, not his.
Too much is still not enough
in his full, artful life.
Overextended? Who says?

Where are your new poems?

2009-10-22T18:14:00.000-07:00

So, my friends are wondering if I'm ill or bored or if I have been taken for ransom, since the wordslide has become a slow trickle. The truth is that I am working on producing two chapbooks of my earlier work, one on the lighter side, the other a bit more dark. It is a creatively draining process, this chapbook creation, and has not left much for new works. I remember reading about Oscar Wilde attending an evening soiree and telling another guest of his exhausting day. She could not believe that poetry could tire one so much, and asked exactly what he did. His reply: "In the morning I removed a comma, and in the afternoon, I put it back."

Getting Off One's Ass

2009-09-29T21:04:00.000-07:00

One poem for one in angst
One dollar at one store
One can to one food bank
One card to one sick child
One call to one official
One book to one small town
One well for one sick village
One brick for one new dike
One shot for one new life
One step is all one needs
One Kiva for one world
One peace at a time

Art Quote of the Week

2009-08-24T07:23:00.001-07:00

If you told me to write a love song tonight, I'd have a lot of trouble. But if you tell me to write a love song about a girl with a red dress who goes into a bar and is on her fifth martini and is falling off her chair, that's a lot easier, and it makes me free to say anything I want. (Stephen Sondheim)

A Monk in the Marketplace

2009-08-08T15:56:00.000-07:00

Sitting quietly, watching
the hummingbird highway
in our backyard sky,
speed freak avians
zipping and diving,
narrowly avoiding collision,
not so much rivals,
more contestants in the
labor to survive.

They feed or die, those
tiny-hearted birds,
twenty beats per second.
Mandevilla bloom
becomes their arena,
long beaks dueling for
one flower, until they
spy our four-hole feeder,
competitors no more.

Sitting quietly, watching
the laptop screen
on our backyard table,
variable speed poets
warping and weaving,
neatly creating their art.
Not so much competitors,
more partners in the
need to express.

They write or fade, those
big-hearted bards, one hundred
April images per hour.
Poetic Asides
becomes their stage,
longing for what’s due
their flowing thoughts, yet
loving each other’s works,
competitors no more.

Writing about feelings

2009-08-04T09:20:00.000-07:00

One of the most helpful guides to writing poetry I have found is Ted Kooser's "The Poetry Home repair Manual". He offers many useful insights, and since most of my own poetry is from my personal experience of life, his comments on writing about feelings are particularly valuable to me:

"Poetry would be a lost art if there were laws against writing about feelings, and the Poetry Cops would be very busy pounding on poets with night sticks... (still), to write a poem that is not just a gush of sentiment but something that will engender in its readers deep, resonant feelings, you need to exercise restraint to avoid what is commonly termed sentimentality...(however) the the absence of emotion is not what readers go to books of poetry for. we want some human heat. Each of us who writes must find a balance between restraint and expressions of feeling...One of the hardest things to learn is how poems can express strong feelings without expressly stating those feelings...Some poets have gotten the idea that they can say things about their feelings in poems that most of us wouldn't feel right about saying at the dinner table, as if writing a poem gives you permission to talk about things you wouldn't talk about in public. But we need to keep in mind that writing a poem is public, too. Your reader is right there on the other side of the table, politely and patiently listening to you. How long do you dare go on about the misery your hemorrhoids are causing you?...Self indulgent poetry almost always disappears in time, a victim of its own failure to engage the needs and interests of others. It takes a grateful audience to keep a poem alive. Expression of feeling ought to be measured against the reader's tolerance for such expression."

(500) Days of Summer

2009-08-04T08:37:00.000-07:00

Let me start by saying that I have no idea why the creative forces punctuated the title in the manner they did. In fact, in a charming, heartfelt, and sometimes wacky summer movie, a number of days appear on the screen, but never "500". This is a fun, romantic comedy with a serious side. First-time feature film director Marc Webb uses his music video background to great advantage, particularly with small, hard-to-detect symbolism, in his choice of music, background, and even the books that people carry or read or talk about. There were a few things I could have done without - the wise-beyond-her-years little sister, the excessive use of karaoke as filler, and the narrator telling us things we should be able to see for ourselves. Beyond that, this is a delightful way to escape the summer heat. Zooey Deschanel is the big name, and she plays her role as the pleasure-seeking, honest and self-reliant Summer in the same way she plays every role, understatedly and consistently. The film unreels, however, from the point of view of romantic lightweight Tom, played nicely by Joseph Gordon-Levitt ("3rd Rock from the Sun", "Brick"). He is believably sad, less comedic than the writers might have liked, but, overall likeable. The film is achronologically presented, the story of the 500 days of their relationship, with Summer being up front about being in the now, and Tom wanting her to be "The One". In truth, he wants her to save him from his mediocre present, and she does, though not in the way he would hope. There is a fabulous use of split screen about three-quarters of the way through the film, a few startling but well done homages, and the final line must have been questioned for a long time by the creative team, but it works. Go see this film, before it is swallowed up by the noisy giganta-flicks of August, or the Oscar seekers of September.

Quote of the day

2009-07-27T07:21:00.000-07:00

"Damn, and just when I was starting to get it!"

(Edgar Degas, on his deathbed)

just for fun

2009-07-18T07:09:00.001-07:00

My Medicare Card Came Today

The mail has been lighter,
junk mail withdrawal.
It’s the economy, some say,
Wall Street schemes caused
it all. Most of my business
I do on the ‘Net,
no stash of stamps,
no envelopes, yet,
there are some things
requiring a physical touch, a few
magazines, but really not much.

One item required physical form,
no e-mail, fax, or twitter would do.
My Medicare card came in the mail
today, a benefit surely, a loud
comment too. I’m not really old,
still I’m well past my youth,
more than half-lived, no denying
that truth. I still find my do-list
gets longer each day, and this card
in the mail says there’s less time to play.

No use in denial, too many
mirrors in my home. We
think friends look older,
they’re the same age as me.
I laugh when I think of
how young we could be
if we didn’t have tokens
of aging like this, this benefit pass,
half-misery, half-bliss.

The Day I Died

2009-07-17T22:03:00.000-07:00

I died that day long ago,
very far from home.
I lived that day as well,
seemingly unready for
what’s next. My mother’s
light came to tell
me to return, my time yet
incomplete, my tasks
not filled in full.
This life’s final pace
was not for me, hovering
then, above my mortal shell,
though self would have it so,
this turn required more.

I died that day long ago,
thought I was going home,
not sad, no fear, no swell
of clinging to
what’s here. From tunnel
bright a chiming bell,
calling my reunion to
the work undone.
Time enough remained
for service and, yes,
pain as well, for lessons
still to master, before
this life’s final peace
brings an end to war.

The Carnival Came To Town

2009-07-17T22:01:00.000-07:00

It was sixty years ago
in our small Wisconsin
town, a drinking village
with a fishing problem.
For every need,
just one store, plus
five churches, one diner,
thirty-two taverns, no less,
no more.

Idyllically between wars,
our fathers back from
overseas, our mothers in
the home once more.
Rationing over, yet
victory gardens still in
vogue, but Swanson’s
frozen dinners had
their place for sure.

We had comics, radio too,
Der Bingle songs
from Sammy Cahn and
pin-up girls galore.
Slinky’s, Silly Putty, and
cowboy stories filled our
days, a fat-tire Schwinn
our greatest treasure,
save sun and shore.

Then came the day the
carnival came to town.
We’d know it for weeks,
the posters and such, with
clowns, a Ferris Wheel
and games all around.
We’d practiced with ring-pegs,
darts thrown at balloons,
and bean bags tossed at
boards on the ground.

There were wrestlers, most
famously old Gypsy Joe,
and those were no ladies
tugging tops down.
There were goldfish
in small bowls, a ball toss
to win, midst the noise
of the barkers, the joy
of the clowns.

But the thing I
held on to most fondly,
recalling even now,
were the smells, the
exotic perfumes of the
popcorn, the corn dogs
and, wow, the cotton candy
they spun out of nothing
but air.

It was the best of
a life filled with smiles
more than frowns.
I have dreamed of it
since, but especially now.
In a life too complex
it’s a joy to recall the
day that the carnival came to town.

Don't Just Sit There

2009-07-14T15:32:00.000-07:00

One is prompted to consider the putting out of fires, real or metaphorical, and one responds obliquely

The world is aflame
with malefic direction,
alarmingly aimed at
itself.

Hotly armed people,
unafraid of detection,
freely pursuing
their end.

Sitting quietly
in cool observation
seems scarcely
enough.

Yet sear on burn
with hope to extinguish
has forever
misfired.

Lighting one candle
with pacific intention
feels hardly
sufficient.

Still, the sum of the lights,
the best protection
for our dreams and our future,
ourselves.

Amazing Young Artist

2009-07-12T10:54:00.000-07:00

We first met Alina Eydel when she was not yet a teenager, and bought two of her works at the La Quinta Art Festival. She is a young woman now, and continues to grow her concept:

http://www.alinafineart.com/

Film Noir Lines

2009-07-12T10:30:00.000-07:00

I love film of all types, but film noir lends itself to some of the greatest dialogue going...here's a site with some samples:

http://www.greencine.com/list?action=viewList&listID=4143

Nobody's Worth That Kind of Money

2009-07-02T08:38:00.000-07:00

Stockbrokers don’t drive no stock
Chairmen don’t build no chairs
TV hosts don’t serve no snacks
News anchors don’t sail no ships
Weathermen don’t build no vanes
Athletes don’t play with kids
Movie stars don’t shine real light
But
Teachers really teach
Nurses really nurse
Waiters really wait
Poets really write
Garbage men really toss the trash
Postmen really deliver
Pedicabbers really pull their weight
Messengers really get the word out
And Moms, well moms really save the future

Found Money

2009-06-23T05:14:00.000-07:00

What would one do if a million dollars was suddenly theirs, tax-free?

Found some change,
In the usual way,
under the cushions,
on housecleaning day.

Received a dollar
in the daily mail,
please fill in the query
about this thing that they sell.

Got five bucks more
from my Milwaukee sis,
with blessings for frolics,
no problems with this.

Won ten at lunchtime
at cribbage I’m hot,
no place to spend it,
so into the pot.

A friend gave me twenty,
he paid back a loan,
I don’t really need it,
now what have I done.

One hundred was entered
in my bank account,
a reversal of charges,
of just that amount.

Now, if a thousand
should slyly appear,
I’d likely be happy,
I might even cheer.

But, man, with a million,
(no taxes at that),
I’d shake like my Chevy,
right after a flat.

My life is too good
to be spoiled by money,
with wife, friends and cats,
I’ve no need, but my honey

might say something different,
might jump at the luck.
She’d know how to use it,
with aplomb and with pluck.

Our families would profit
And friends would all learn
how generous she is
with fortune unearned.

Her charities likely
would gain what they need,
especially stray kitties,
oh my how they’d feed.

Our housing is perfect,
no reason to change,
location, location
must not rearrange.

But Macy’s and Nordstrom’s
And Chico’s, for sure,
would garner new sales
they have such allure.

Yet after the rush
of a bounty so vast,
we’d come to reality,
hopefully fast.

There just isn’t much
we don’t already have,
nothing to wish for,
nothing to crave.

So let that big bonus
find a home with another
and leave us in peace,
in love with each other.