She's all class
and manners.
The way you imagine
your grandmother was
when she was a twenty-something
Army wife while your grandfather
was eating mud for Christmas dinner
in a trench outside of Berlin.
All smiles and pearly white teeth
and slow dances for one.

I think
The reason I felt
All tingly, when you asked,
"Ma'am, have you fastened your seat belt?"
was this Uniform of yours.
Why else would I blatantly stare
At you walking towards the cockpit,
Wondering if you'll look as good
Without it?

My life is this thing
You can crumple like paper
And you can’t see it
You ball it up in your fist
And disregard the consequences
Ignore the tearing sounds
And the red seeping
Between your fingers
Where the ink hasn’t dried
Don’t worry though,
I’ll unfold it myself
And try to smooth the edges
and mend the tears
It’s okay
I understand
It wasn’t important
To you anyway.

There exists A Question.
A Question beaten down by
Poets,
Authors,
Romantics,
Cynics,
Scientists, et cetera.
A Question oversimplified,
Over-asked,
Overused
Over time.
A Question under-appreciated
Undermined,
Underbought,
Underestimated.
A Question too simply asked
Without preparation for the answer.
Without knowledge of its contents.
Without trust in its meaning.
A Question asked
But not fully perceived.
A Question as to what is
Rather than what it does.
A Question who's answer
Is as complex as its source.
A Question who's action
Is stronger than its being.
I love this question.
I hate this question.
But, I can only do my best to answer.
Because, after all, 'tis only
A Question.

Wont you spare a pleasant flicker
from those quiet eyes
to leap?
That I might catch
and lock away
for me as mine to keep?

I would stash it in a pocket
and gaze upon in brief
should the rare occasion warrant
Most delectable relief

In a second grade classroom
a tiny ant with a treasure thinks only of taking it to his colony.
A big hero he will be.
So he drags a piece of popcorn much bigger than he.

he drags
and pulls
and tugs

On a second grade classroom floor,
the ant's work is hard but will be worth it.
A big hero he will be.
So he drags a piece of popcorn much bigger than he.

he drags
and pulls
and tugs

On a second grade classroom rug,
the ant's task seems insurmountable but he knows of no other way.
So for an hour, he retraces his path backwards dragging a piece of popcorn
across the classroom rug.

He drags
and tugs
and pulls

In the open of a second grade classroom,
the ant feels exposed on the carpet but cover is closer now, he can feel it.
It's just there, where the wall meets the carpet.
A space just big enough to hide an ant.

Closer and closer.

He tugs and pulls and drags his prize closer still
Pulling and dragging the popcorn lurches across the carpet.

His rear legs reach cover
Then his thorax, his abdomen, his head with antennae and mandibles

then

The Problem.

and...

In a second grade classroom
a line of popcorn rests
where the carpet meets the wall.

We are taught to be goal oriented at an early age...

Learn to share and others will share with you
Eat your vegetables and you can have dessert
Finish your homework and you can play outside

Through adolescence and into adulthood, the conditioning occurs unabated...

Practice hard and you will make the team
Score well on tests and you will place into a good university
Keep your nose to the grindstone and success in career will follow

Is it any wonder many religions fit the same mold?

Do onto others as you would have them do onto you,
but, hey, the real payoff will come in the afterlife

Have you ever wondered what would change if the future
was not quite so clear,
perhaps a little fuzzy,
even uncertain?

What if you knew now,
that you would not be given your place above the clouds,
an eternity of bliss,
a value proposition that cannot be surpassed?

What if all there was is what is,
our time together,
our relationships,
our ability to do right on this earth simply
to enable others to grow,
to thrive,
and to be happy?

Would you...change your plans? Change your master scheme?

If and when a judgment day comes,
who will be the more pure of heart....
the one that is once again striving for the goal
or the one that is acting simply for the reason that

it is the right thing to do?

I sit here angry with the writer (myself)
for his overuse of cliches, for his underuse of relatable things
Scorning his very existence.
    "Why would you write, you fool?"
"Ah, It's an escape for you! Who gives you the right?"
No one does.
If you must, continue

I'd rather I heard 1,000 bad poems tonight
than let you sleep without writing a one.