People say I’m always late,
And that I always make them wait;
I take so long to arrive,
They could **** me with their eyes.

I don’t mean any disrespect;
And if I could I would correct
This awful quirk of mine,
Of never getting there on time.

Could I have a broken clock?
I wish I knew the method to unlock
The secret to a scheduled life,
And thus avoid so much strife.

I’ve tried the systems, plans and schemes,
To change my life has been my dream;
But interruptions plague my day,
Distractions lead me all astray.

It’s not that I am unaware
Of Time’s passage or don’t care.
No, I savor every minute;
I wish I had them without limit.

The seconds pass, I feel them go;
I mourn them all, you know.
I want to hold them, keep them fast;
Not let them slip into the Past.

And that’s the reason I’m a mess
At schedules and the rest;
I can’t work fast, I can’t resist;
The weight of Time I can’t dismiss.

I hope the world will understand
Just why I botch up every plan.
Confusion is never my desire;
Each moment’s like a jewel to admire.

I ask your patience, if you please;
I’ll try my best to appease;
But if I’m late have sympathy,
I mix up Time with Eternity.

Sometimes I wonder what you ever have seen in me,
You stayed for 30 years, through thick and thin,
Enduring all my flaws, loving patiently,
Despite my disappointments and my sins.

It hasn't been an easy road, I know,
I've put you to the test more times than not.
I've been a less than stellar beau,
I wonder did you ever want me shot?

I'm sloppy, weak, unkempt and always late,
I haven't been the best at earning cash.
Could this be what you wanted in a mate?
I often think I've made our life a hash.

I know I make you laugh once in awhile;
Is that enough to keep you coming back?
A chuckle here, an unexpected smile,
Does that make up for everything I lack?

I hope I give you something more than that,
Perhaps a sense that life is not so grim.
A lift in spirit, a peppy morning chat,
Something to make you shake your head and grin.

My contribution to our life is small,
Diversion and distraction certainly,
A joke or two, a pratfall, that is all
I've learned to do, I'm sure you would agree.

You've given so much more to me it's true.
A rock, an anchor, a shelter from the gale.
One thing's certain, I can count on you;
You have a love that never flags or fails.

I'm grateful for you every single day,
There's not an hour goes by that I don't wonder why,
You've stuck so long with me, but anyway,
You did, and till the very day I die
I'll say a prayer to God above,
Thankful for your crazy stubborn love.

If we never met,
If our paths never crossed
I'd have been zoning out in the void,
a lonely particle.
Me would be the only reality
in that cold dark emptiness.
But we bumped heads,
stuck together,
and BANG!
A universe,
beating hearts,
love.

Coffee is what I need;
Without it my eyes will bleed.
I’m unfit for humanity,
On the edge of insanity;
I’d rather drown in lava
Than forgo my morning java.

Some folks don’t need the jolt;
They wake up with plenty of volts.
They’re pleasant and they’re perky;
Their tongue doesn’t taste like beef jerky.
They’re polite and have good humor,
And filled with love, it’s rumored.

I’d love to arise like them,
And not have to always depend
On coffee to start my day;
But alas, I’m not that way.
So give me a cup and you’ll see a change,
When I get that caffeine in my veins.

She sailed across in 1882,
From a town in Cork called Skibbereen.
To work and save was all she knew;
Just a lass she was, only eighteen.

She wed a fellow ****, a charming sort,
He sired three children, then he left.
She had no lawyer had no resort;
He left her broke, marooned, bereft.

My mother told me stories of her Irish Gran;
She said the woman had a brogue;
When she got old her hair was white as sand;
The no-good husband was a rogue.

My mother asked her many times about her life;
“What was your childhood like in Skibbereen?”
“Ach, it was nothing but hardship and strife;
The times were harsh, and meals were lean.”

She never went back across the sea;
Never set foot in her country again;
Lost touch with the whole of her family;
Was penniless at her life’s end.

And now my mother too is gone;
She died with one regret;
She never got to see the place;
The house where her grandmother slept.

My mother, I did what you could not,
I made this trip for you.
I touch the stone in the very spot
Where the root of our family grew.

It’s nothing much to look at, a ruin in a field;
But I take a moment and grieve;
This is where our fate was sealed;
When that girl decided to leave.

She left her homeland, all she knew;
Sailed off to the great beyond;
The one thing she could never undo
Was the rupturing of the family bond.

My mother, you made us hold our family dear,
To promise our love so strong;
Was it because you saw so clear
Your grandmother’s pain so long?

I bow my head and say a prayer,
And ask for a portion of grace;
For you and her, travelers over there,
In a foreign, mysterious place.
I hope you’ve met her in that land,
And maybe now you understand.

I had no No in my vocabulary,
No veto power,
No nix, no nullity, no negation.
I was the King of Affirmation,
Yes to this, yes to that.
I thought No would cut me off from love,
Friendship, belonging.
I couldn’t say that word to anyone,
Not nobody not nohow.
I was the Wizard of Yes.
The Emperor of Agreement.
The Yes Man to the universe.

What was I?
A character in someone else’s play,
Puppeting my way through life,
Following a program I did not write.

I had to have a word that was my own,
A firm, strong, stubborn word,
To crash the program, buck the tide.

Now I’m ready to know No.
For No has that stopping power.
No is the Final Word.
No tells you in no uncertain terms,
What you really want.
This is me, it says.
These are my boundaries.
This is my true and real self.
I’m in love with No.
No, No, No, No, No, No.
I like the way I say it, and I know
That only by shouting my No
Can I say Yes to Me.

I am a simple plain-speaking man;
No fancy words for me;
I find the words close at hand;
Not in the dictionary.

I know the four dollar words quite well;
I’m not afraid of them;
I know the meaning and can spell,
On that you can depend.

It’s just that I have always found
The simpler words will do;
I don’t need a multi syllabic noun;
The short ones seem more true

I hope you never think me dim,
Or that I cannot think;
Because my verbiage doesn’t throw in
All but the kitchen sink.

I like those blunt old Saxon words;
They’re like a hammer blow.
I won’t be like the common herd
And flaunt my knowledge so.

I think as deep as other folk,
I ponder what and why;
I just prefer words that poke
You right between the eyes.

Shakespeare had a certain gift,
He wrote such elegant lines.
Teachers take all day to sift
The meaning of his rhymes.

I wish I had his inborn skill
To write sonnets and much more;
I wouldn’t stop until I filled
Bookshelves by the score.

Alas, I cannot make those schemes;
My genius is much more plain;
But I can use these simple memes
To express my love again and again.

“I love you,” says it all for me.
I’ve said it only to you.
I offer these words with sincerity;
They’re simple but they’re true.

I’ve got a list of things to do
Demanding my attention.
I’ll whittle it down to just a few,
But first I want to mention:
The way the light falls on the leaves,
The shapes of clouds in the sky,
The wind that rustles in the trees,
And the flight of birds going by.
I know I should be ticking off
The items on my list,
But I would rather take a walk,
Distractions I can’t resist.
It seems that all those silly tasks
Could wait for another day,
But this afternoon will never last,
So I’d better go out and play.

I’ve got a list of things to do
That’s longer than my arm;
As soon as Item 1 is finished,
It’s time for Item 2.
I never get a break it seems,
I’m always on the clock.
Would you believe I feel this stress
Even in my dreams?
My day is just an exercise
In busywork, I think.
I have no time for pleasure,
Or a joyful surprise.
But today is like a work of art,
The flowers are in bloom.
Isn’t that a gorgeous sky?
Such beauty fills my heart.
To heck with all those mindless tasks!
I’m tearing up my list!
I’m going to savor this fine day:
Enjoy it while it lasts.

The itch
of poetry,
I had it bad once,
Like a teenage allergy that bedeviled me
and then it was gone.
I thought I’d outgrown it.
No words
could make me sneeze
or make my eyes water.
I went many years immune to beauty,
with no urge to speak.
Never so much as a phrase, a word,
tickling me.
But I can feel it coming back;
the itch of words
that must be scratched out
or they will fester.
Come back Muse,
and scratch my back.

When the cinders cool and the answer seekers
pick their way through the charred rubble
what will they find? A medieval carpenter's chisel, a pair of rosary beads, pigeon droppings, the down from an angel's wing, the tears of saints.

Such a day as this
Will never come again;
Don’t look for future bliss,
Or think about what or when.

Enjoy the moment, let it fly;
It’s all you’ve got, you see.
Don’t hold it or even try
To think of eternity.

This Now, this very drop,
Of Time’s ongoing stream;
You cannot hold or stop
The ever flowing dream.

Ghosts are all that went before;
Phantoms lie ahead.
Stop thinking of forever more;
Future and past are dead.

Look at that sky above our heads!
Have you ever seen such a blue?
It will all be gone when this moment has fled,
There will never, ever, be two.

Just think of it, we’re kings and queens,
The instant is our domain.
Our kingdom is the fleeting scene;
We drink the cup, no drop remains.

I touch your skin, my hands caress
Your gorgeous body’s curves;
I will not fail this timely test;
I’ll hold nothing in reserve.

This moment is ours to use;
Without questions of why or how;
Let’s grab it and light the fuse,
Explode in the glory of Now.

I’ll take two minutes’ time,
A dare to make a rhyme.
I don’t know what to say,
But somehow I’ll find a way
To grab the words I need,
With all good speed.
I don’t know why I care,
Or why I take this dare;
Turn my brains around,
To make a lovely sound.
It’s just a game with me,
I do it naturally.
What better thing to try,
To keep my mind spry?
I only had two minutes,
But there! I did it.

all alone
writing this poem on my phone
hoping I hit the right keys
and I can squeeze
just one good metaphor
out of my tired brain
something that will not bore
something that will make you sure
a spark has passed between us
before the curtain of night
descends.

He doesn’t understand, she thinks. It’s a sin to waste money.

She doesn’t understand, he thinks. Life is too short to worry about dollars and cents.

Life is long, she thinks. Start saving now, and our money will grow.

Who worries about the future at our age? he thinks.

It takes discipline, she thinks. You can’t eat candy every day.

Saving is like eating raw broccoli every day, he thinks.

We all need boundaries, she thinks.

I can’t live in a box, he thinks.

I would love to buy that red dress, she thinks. But I have too much self-discipline to do that.

She would look good in that red dress, he thinks. Maybe I should buy it for her.

He would probably buy that dress for me, she thinks. If I told him I wanted it.

She wouldn’t want me to buy that dress, he thinks. She’d say it was self-indulgent.

Would he buy the dress for me? she thinks. Would he do that?

She’d say it was sinful to buy that dress, he thinks.

If he bought the dress I’d have to take it back, she thinks. We need to save our money for a house.

She would take the dress back, he thinks. We’re supposed to be saving for a house.

It’s such a pretty dress, she thinks.

I guess I’m finally becoming an adult, he thinks.

I guess he’s finally becoming an adult, she thinks.

****, they think.

When I get out of quarantine
I’ll give away these ***** blue jeans,
I’ll wash my hair, I’ll drive somewhere,
I’ll breathe someone else’s air.
Oh what a happy day!
When I can put the games away.
I’ll go out to eat,
I’ll hug everyone I meet,
I’ll shake a stranger’s hand!
(I’ll do it because I can!)
No more six feet separation.
No more stinking isolation.
No more sanitizing
(That’ll be quite energizing!)
No more conference calls.
I’ll get away from these four walls.
I’ll be quite done with Zoom,
And sitting in my living room.
Let me make it clear, I’ll be outta here, I’ll throw away this screen!
When I get out, really out, when they finally, really, totally say --
I’m finished with this quarantine!
At least till next flu season.

It's lovely
how green the trees look today,
their leaves rippling in the breeze like
a woman's hair. Springtime always made my sap run
hot, the energy blasting like a bolt
through my limbs. Now that randy charge is
a small steady pulse, faint but still there.
I take what joy remains, thankful for the
germination.