Emptying one’s wallet for the family fee,
Joining in linear solidarity with the crowd,
Dripping profusely under the blazing sun,
Creeping forward as if slower than a snail.

Arriving at the moving beast’s head,
Receiving envious glances from the tail,
Stepping boldly forth at last,
Following instructions.

Strapping oneself into place,
Shooting forward like a rocket into space,
Spinning endlessly until quite dizzy,
Screaming with sheer delight and fear.

Dropping back to earth,
Speeding faster than a thought,
Leaving stomach far behind,
Enjoying the absurdity of its apparent disappearance.

Exhilarating, yet much too short,
Seeking to repeat the thrill,
Joining the waiting horde,
Staring impatiently from the queue’s tail.

Uncontrollable quivering,
Innumerable butterflies,
Uncertain future.

Concrete set,
Mind at peace,
Course decided.

Beginning from a speck,
Based on promises kept,

Growing slowly through risks taken,
Fed by secrets shared, but not abroad,

Budding gradually into solidity,
Fertilized with love for one another,

Blooming incandescently,
Outshined by nought, not e’en the sun,

Producing fruit which blesses all,
Admired even from afar,

Sending its seeds abroad,
Landed in distant fields they may,
one day,
bloom as well.

Like a moth to flame,
Lured by the unknown,
Will it brighten my way?
Or singe my wings?

Avoid potential loss by never seeking,
thereby ensuring never to gain?
Accept the risk,
in the hope of finding and being found?
Or forever dither upon the precipice of longing and loss?

Will my choice fill me with ecstasy?
Or burden me with regret?
Lead to a fulfilling relationship?
Or an early grave?

I guess I’ll never know,
Unless I try.
But then it might be
Too late.

Beautiful form,
Color of cement,
Rough texture,
Heavy weight.

Thin brush,
Melted white wax,
Pattern applied,
10 minute wait.

Wide brush,
Turquoise and white glazes,
Alternating in bands,
Around the tall vase

Sitting on a plank,
Drying in the breeze,
Sunning itself,
Just another in a line-up.

Dark place,
Intense heat,
Wax burns,
Glaze melts and fuses.

Brief glimpse of sun,
Put out in the trash,
Newspapers below ignite,
Lid closed down tight.

Flames suffocate themselves,
Reducing environment,
No longer oxidizing,
Affects the final look.

Carbon floats, turning
What was covered by wax into shiny black,
Adding lines of black to the white glaze,
Covering the vessel with burnt debris.  

Exposed to the sun once more,
Cooled in the breeze,
Rinsed with water,
Scrubbed clean.

Admired by the crowds,
White vase with black cracks,
Copper bands with hints of turquoise,
Interspersed with black vertical leaves.

Each one different,
Results never predictable,
Never to be reproduced,
Variables too complex.

Raku-fired pottery, treasured for its unpredictable color variation
Why can’t nature’s palette of skin color,
be likewise prized,
instead of despised?

Hi
[How high is it?]

I’m not exactly sure—how tall are you?
[I’m about as tall as I’ll ever be—one day soon, I’ll probably start shrinking. I’ve heard that happens when you get older.]

Well...
[Well, you say? How deep is it?]

It’s hard to tell, since I never used it for water.
[Deep wells are best—why I still remember the drought of ‘34 and all the trips we made to the neighbor’s well after ours dried up.]

I’m sure those were quite the days, but how are you today?
[Today? Today I do as I please...so long as I’m pleased to do as I’m suppos’d to.]

That sounds like a good strategy.
[Thanks. You’re welcome to adopt it—I won’t even charge you for it.]

How generous of you. Thanks. You have a good day now, ok?
[I hope to, because every day above ground is a good day.]

Gray blur in my periphery
Imagination or something real?
Mystery solved within the hour
2nd gray form traveling far

Home no longer sacrosanct refuge
Peace and relaxation a distant concept
Startled shrieks upon their bold forays
Pervasive worry over their next sortie

Fearful defense setting full of trepidation
Will my fingers or their necks be snapped?
Is electrocution—more humane?
Or are they too obese to fit in the tunnel?

How long will this battle perpetuate?
Will the small hordes or large singularity win?
Will peaceful repose ever be possible again?
Or always interrupted by rustling, shrieks, and blurs?

20 techs working all together
10 scientists reviewing all their work
2 techs gone for questionable behavior
3 techs lured away by lucrative positions
3 scientists went on to greener pastures
1 scientist promoted into management

Two-thirds the work force—extra work for all.
Management decrees that:
Worker shortages are not sufficient cause for revenue shortages or excess overtime.
Lunch breaks are mandatory and not to be worked through.
Invite all your friends to work here—isn’t it a wonderful environment?
Just think, we’re getting a new building in 3 years and will double in size.
All your woes will be solved then, if only you survive.

Miraculous is a father’s love
When his child’s screaming in his ear

Exceptional how he can bear
High decibels without complaint.

His behavior emulates a saint:
But instead of changing water into wine

He does something much more divine—
Transforms frustration into joy.

How simple is his ploy
Gently covering intermittently
The source of high-volume sound

His sense of timing is profound
Creating novel, unique rhythms
By interrupting the one-note noise
With silence, not violence

Amazing is his patience
As the magic of complexity
Distracts his progeny from overwhelming woes
And produces giggles in its wake.

Sometimes life’s trials we can take
To create beauty from chaos and
Complex rhythms from discordant noise.

Yet friends will often speed our choice
Distracting us from life’s turmoil and
Helping us see the wondrous possibilities.

All smiles and giggles when six
Turns quickly to fussing and fits
Whenever is said,
“Naptime. Go directly to bed.”

Yet sleep achieves a great feat,
For when they are woken
The grumpies are beat.

If only all woes were
as easily solved.
Imagine a workplace
that had evolved

To give people a bed
Whenever they needed
more sleep for their head.

Can you imagine, “Siesta right now.
You may not metaphorically plow.
Until kindness to rule, you allow.”

If only siestas for adults
Would bring forgiveness for insults.

Perhaps sleep would like magic reduce
The times of backstabbing and power abuse,
The number of errors, but creativity loose,
And lead to more income and clients profuse.

Planned a long road trip
In the name of friendship
Seven hundred miles that day
Home and bed five miles away

Midnight sky with fireworks high
Red “H” on engine gauge much closer by
The sight was quite a fright
No longer feeling such delight

Pulling to the side
My time to bide
Until a tow appears
To relieve my fears

Mosquitos delight
They win the fight
On the interstate highway
Above their lakeside byway

Vibrations move the car
While passing trucks go far
E.T.A. at 1 am
Police set flares at 2 am

2:20 rolled around
At last the car was found
Speedy hookup
Not another hiccup

Left car at garage
Free ride home removed my rage
Doubled the driver’s tip
Reduced the bother to a blip

3am can go to bed
Yet so wired in my head
It takes an hour to mellow out
In four more, the sun from bed will rout

Was it worth it in the end?
Any day, I’d do it for my friend.

Dreaming and drafting.
Sketching and scribbling.
Wedging and working with clay.
Throwing and thinning.
Molding and making.
Drying and drizzling for play.
Firing and filming.
Showing and sharing.

Sleep.
Easy to spell.
Easy to write.
Easy to say.
But hard for the insomniac.

Sleep deprivation.
Hard to spell when hallucinating.
Hard to write with eyes closing.  
Hard to say while decomposing—a rare case, it’s true.
But easy for the insomniac.

Why is it so difficult to:

    Stop for the night,
    Leave entertainment behind,
    Ease body in bed,
    Elude conscious thought, and
    Peacefully rest
    ?