Warmer days and imperceptible green buds creep from dry grey sticks

The indecision of a man
whether he be of power
or of the earth
is of his own making

The last snow grabs at new green shoots, indifferent crocus awaken

I will love everyone
Who is just like me
In the name of The Father

I will be tolerant of others
As long as they believe what I do
In the name of The Father

I will not be bigotted towards others
As long as they follow the same lifestyle and make the same choices as I do
In the name of The Father

I will not **** or harm others
Unless they behave in ways contrary to my beliefs
In the name of The Father

I will be open of mind
Unless that causes me to question my beliefs
In the name of The Father

I will fight ignorance
Unless that ignorance serves my purpose and advances my beliefs
In the name of The Father

But
I am a father
I can not believe that any father
Would accept ignorance, bigotry, intolerance, violence and hate
As apt tribute for the life of his loving, tolerant and caring son

So then, in the name of whose father?

I used to read to you
in voices
as an actor would
the actor
and father that I was
in front of a child
and today
I read with you
both in voices
as two actors would
the actors
the father and daughter
that we are
infront of many children
full circle

I remember Buffalo-
Amherst actually, but the suburb not the college town
My nephew lives in Amherst
But the college town not the suburb

My grandmother lived in Buffalo
Amherst really
and my dad too
My grandfather died there, before I was born

We never said we were going to Amherst
We said Buffalo
Like someone from Los Alamitos might say
they were from Los Angeles

But Buffalo was where grandmother was
But not the fun one
The fun one lived in Gloversville
Which is near Amsterdam, my mom used to tell us it was Amstergosh

Still, Amherst had soft boiled eggs for breakfast
a giant oriental rug on which a small boy could play
but just with his Matchbox cars
and a blow-up Sinclair dinosaur

There was the garage with doors at both ends
Perfect for hiding a car
From brothers-in-law
On a wedding day

There was the giant Chrysler
light green as I recall
In the driveway past which the neighbors lived
with their iced tea with mint and lemon

There were Uncle John and aunt Mimi
Who were like my great uncle and aunt
Except they weren't
Just really close family friends

Uncle John was the one who told me at the age of five
"Always tell a woman you need to leave an hour before you actually have to leave"
We were waiting for Mimi to "get ready" so we could go somewhere
She was taking forever

I do remember Buffalo
Amherst really
But I know there is so much more
that I've forgotten

Eyes make love
Heart is soul

I saw a grown-up tonight for the first time.

I had seen her before

Seen her born
after three days of trying
and wrapped
in a warm blanket with just her little face
poking out.

Seen the elation in her face
when she realized she had walked
from her mother
to me
for the first time without her toy shopping cart
in front of her
for support

Seen her first day nursery school
of kindergarten
of new schools in a new town
of High School
of College

Seen her stoically sitting in  my mother's chair
in the living room of the house where I had grown up
saying goodbye
to her grandmother
for one last time

Seen her arrive home with a learner's permit
then with a driver's license
and later
leave the driveway
in grandma's green Subaru
her's now.

Seen her grow for 18 years
but tonight
sitting across the table
at a packed restaurant with lousy parking
in Ithaca New York
I saw and heard a grown-up
for the first time
and with that
the little girl
with the toy shopping cart
was gone.

Spring, snow, spring again
Poor peepers are so confused
Ask now is it time?

I was supposed to have auditions tonight
for a musical I am directing
but it snowed
the show is at the theater where I met my wife
that was in 1991
we were in a play together
I was 31 she was not
We both played witnesses
for the prosecution
It snowed then too but not at auditions

She was the President of the theater at the time
and they needed another body onstage
she doesn't like "onstage"
She prefers to be dressed in black
in the dark
with a notebook
flashlight
and headset
She's doing that for this show too

I've been onstage
I've sprung from a jack-in-the-box
been an aide to the Emperor of Japan
I've yelled at Stella
and hit a priest over the head
with a poker
I've been in a hospital in Burma
During World War Two
but now I prefer to direct
from behind a table
I have a big notebook too
I used to have pads, pencils and snacks
all over the table
but now
it's mainly computers, iPhones and tablets
and snacks

The first time I was onstage
and when I first fell in love with theater
was when I was in fifth grade
my teacher was into theater
and I didn't know it then
but the theater she was "really into"
was the one where I met my wife
the one where I was supposed to have auditions tonight
for a play I'm directing
but it snowed.

On the hook on the back of a door
A pair of faded jeans hang motionless
Soon they will move again
But for now
We are left to wonder

Are they to cover the legs of a farmer
soon to be covered in the dust of the barn?

Are they to protect the legs of a construction worker
destined to wear the scent of concrete and wood?

Will they dance and stand on stage with the musician
drenched in sweat and smelling of cigarettes and stale beer?

Will they go to sea with the lobsterman
and be wet with the sea and smell of the algae that covers the lobster trap?

No

They will soon be sitting in small chairs
and smell of crayon and pencil and several kinds of lined paper
and applesauce and desk cleaner
for I am an educator
and these pants are mine.

The kid is away.
I miss her when she's not here.
She's gone to see friends in DC.
She comes home today
and it will be good to have her home.
However,
since she's almost 18...
I know
that
this is
just the beginning.

boat wake draws lake drops
on rounded rocks
where summers sun erases

Last night's softshells
send vaporic reminders
To take trash out

Re-awakened grass reaches from last week's cut and for today, wins

Bitter north wind propels beach sand across the shell of a late infant

Bright green buds on dead sticks as Hydrangea, like Lazarus, rises.

To be legit
do poems always have to be deep?
Do they need to burst open
spilling metaphor
simile
or can they just be about anything
like the young doe
standing in the woods across the driveway
from my window
like a statue
silent
but for the sound of green maple leaves
being ground between her teeth
her eyes fixed
on the movement in the window
as a middle aged man
writes about poetry.

The old clay jar sits
tied to a tree with worn rope
a small arm sticking from its small opening.
The monkey sits
clutching an orange inside the jar
afraid to let go.
So they sit
both unaware
of the world beyond.
A world of tigers yes
but a world also filled
with more oranges that can be counted.

I tried
I really did
For the second time
I signed up
I logged in
I looked at the syllabus
I clicked "play" on the videos
and I watched

I watched as a group of students
and the teacher they admired tremendously
began talking about poetry
talking and talking
about each word
each and every god  ****** word
"what does it mean?"
"why did she use this word?"
Et cetera
Et cetera
Blah blah blah

and although I wanted to finish the course
this time
I could feel moments of my life
moments put to better use
hugging my wife
talking to a child at college
writing poetry
or
finishing that dragon head puppet that calls from my work table

being ****** away

Tiny tots
in crimson hats ringed with fur
or green and white striped ones
with elvish ears on the sides
pile from the bus
or car
and
subvert
the no religion rule
by waving icons of Christendom
before their friends
at a place where
religion
is supposed to stay
at home.
Is it innocent or are they
the unwitting mules for
Christianity?

After two long days
of water skiers
and screaming kids on floaty things
skipping across the surface at high speed
behind motor boats
both big and small
loud and not so
of plump sun reddened revelers
sprawled on pontoon boats
playing loud music
drinking
48 hours of fishing lines
and hooks hanging at various depths
in anticipation of fish that may never come
of jetskis
that streak across the water
like water skeeters on *******

After all of that
a five day weekend
to rest in the sun
to let things settle

A long weekend for the lake.

Los Alamitos
is where I learned
where kittens come from
babies too
I also learned that ivy
when used as a groundcover
is an excellent place to hide
when playing army
Until the old lady
whose ivy you are hiding in
comes out and chases you off

Los Alamitos
is where I found I could play
The Professor
from Gilligan's Island
with just my dad's white shirt
sleeves rolled up
tucked in to my khakis
my friend
a boy
always wanted
to play Ginger

Los Alamitos
gave me a picture
of my brother on his new bike
free and happy
and gave me a sister
a love of enchiladas
the word Smorgasbord
and two cats
Smokey and Signal
Those where the cats
My sister we named Wendy

Course brown fibers of burlap
woven together years prior
rub against weather beaten neck
sometimes shrugged off
sometimes an irritant
pressed by
weight of a bag filled with rice
at times
to heavy to bear
but a small hole
unnoticed
where single grains slide free
to fall into the dust of the track
where they are mixed with dust
and are only noticed by birds
which carry them away
forever
bearer and bag sway, rise and fall
together
as the journey forward goes
each step
each sway
frees kernels from the confines
now in twos and threes
then a steady pour
from shoulder to ground
the hole is noticed
nothing can stem the flow
the bag grows lighter
but sags against back and chest
and is harder to hold
it slides from the shoulder
carried in arms like a small child
inevitably
the last of the grains falls free
glistening white
falls end over end
gleaming in the sun
and is lost with the others
the burlap is empty
the weight and toil is missed
words of anguish
and
the empty sack
is laid in the sea

Louis Rey smolder bright
Your velvet smoke obscures my sight

It's been near year for me and you
I loved you so while in my youth

But mother's gone since last we parted
From cancer, wait, here's my light

Love
is how
heart and eyes
feel

Many hands make light work
but is that true of feet?

On a crisp clear autumn morning
many feet; old, young, somewhere in the middle
walk along the beach, through quiet streets
In support, memory, honor of those
Who can't remember
and have forgotten why

The smell of grandma's porch was wonderful
but not in the clothes on the line or fresh apple pie on the windowsill kind of way.

Grandma's porch smelled of old paint
of winter even in the summer and of
damp wicker, an ancient outdoor rug, oxidized aluminum siding
and dust from the cars on First Avenue speeding to,
or from,
the Post Office on Main Street at the bottom of her street

These were not necessarily "good" smells
We'd wash them off of our hands before we ate lunch in front of
the TV with grandpa, watching Jeopardy
but the old one not the one with the Canadian guy

But they were good smells to us because
they reminded us of a grandma who allowed her grandchildren to build massive forts
from blankets
and every chair and sofa cushion in the house
TV tables too
As long as they were dismantled before Noon when Jeopardy came on
and grandpa would want his lunch
and the vapor rising from his bowl of Campbell's chicken noodle soup
would wash away the smell of grandmas porch from our noses.

Mayonnaise is not an instrument
it
is gorgeous
is better
is nothing but oil
is on sale right now for $1
is so easy to prepare that one often wonders why
is made with lemon juice instead of vinegar
is on Facebook, sign up for Facebook to connect with I hate mayonaise
is in your extended network
is just fat
and yet
is my favorite Smashing Pumpkins song

If we get
Deep winter snow in March
Was winter "mild"?

Standing in the dewy grass
I hope and pray that they will pass
But they may not
but come to stay

I know not
If I die this day

The Redcoats come a thousand strong
their battle line is wide and long
What's ordained
I can not say

I know not
If I die this day

We stand apart but look across
to the other line and toss
a look of nervousness
then pray

I know not
If I die this day

Commanders yell, Commanders bark
their orders all along the park
but then a shot rings out and in
the confusion, it begins

Standing in the dewy grass
I hope and pray that they will pass
But they may not
'stead come to stay

I know not
If I die this day

The Redcoats come a thousand strong
their battle line is wide and long
What's ordained
I can not say

I know not
If I die this day

We stand apart but look across
to the other line and toss
a look of nervousness
then pray

I know not
If I die this day

Commanders yell, Commanders bark
their orders all along the park
but then a shot rings out and in
the confusion, it begins

Standing 'cross an open field
neither of our lines will yield
one line of blue
the other gray

I know not
if I die this day

Often seems we've fought in vain
and 'long the march have caused much pain
I've left good comrades
along the way

I know not
If I die this day

My brother serves 'neath Mile's Flag
I serve beneath a diff'rent rag
and if I **** him
what's to say

I know not
If we'll die this day

Commanders bark, Commanders yell
and call us to the gates of hell
then all at once morn's silence splits
as men are shredded, torn to bits

My craft rocks gently through the sea
and towards the beach on which I'll be
to face a wall
and see Death play

I do think
I may die this day

"Keep your heads down" Sergeants call
as on us squalls of lead rain fall
some will succumb
and fall away

I do think
I may die this day

As we close on norman sand
to bear the brunt of Swastic hand
around me tough men
kneel and pray

I think that
I may die this day

Commanders shout, Commanders scream
and seconds turn to awful dream
then a bump and ramp unfolds
for many luck no longer holds

Desert sand fills hair and ears
It seems I've been at this for years
It's over now fore
Death holds sway

I know that
I will die this day

The day was normal as it could
we took precautions as we should
but life's one
IED away

I know that
I will die this day

Soon I'll be with others who
have given up their own lives too
for keeping our
home country's way

I know that
I will die this day

And through these fading eyes of mine
I see generations who've crossed that line
and as colors
fade to gray

I know that
I will die this day

All I feel are grains of sand
that arid winds wash 'cross my hands
what happens next
who's to say

I know now that
I die this day.

On the tree, dead Poison Ivy leaves reveal a vine that was missed

Mommy's in a meeting
The meeting is outside
My sister is here also
She loved to run and hide
We're at a friend of mommy's house
It big and really clean
The yard looks like a golf course
Her friend looks like the queen
While mommy's talking grownup stuff
I'll run around and play
Watch me stomp in puddles and flower beds
I'd be happy here all day

Monkey won't let go
with hand around unseen fruit
in *** tied to post
monkey is forever trapped
against his self interest

It seems to me that the smaller the monument
the more likely it is to survive
over time
to be passed over by water
or vandals
but with brevity comes the issue of remembrance

Over my father and mother
and dog Chipper
lie several rocks
just rocks without any label or ornamentation

Which begs the question
is a monument a monument if it bears no explanation
and the monument's creators have passed
and with them the knowledge of why it was placed?

Morning yawns and stretches across aged mountains.
It rolls over, pulling its blanket of mist over their shoulders
and wearily, yet steadily, opens it eyes.
It sighs with a breath that trembles the leaves on oaks and birches
and whispers its way through the countless needles of pines.
It wakens the birds who give song to its breath and announce the new day
to weary hikers, canoeists, climbers and shoppers
still nestled in their beds
still weary from yesterday's
adventures.

A small hungry train
mostly on its rails
chugs kind of quietly down the hall
To a midday fuel stop
with
many other trains
and
for each small car
of each train
a small tray
and for every car
it's own seat

Her work done, mom drags her shell back to pond, the crowd giving her wide berth

Small people with big wide eyes
Little hands point to my head
Grown-ups too smile, laugh and point      
My squid hat does that

My pudding cup won't stand up
It can't support the weight of the spoon

When it's full of pudding it holds it up just fine
but when the delicious ballast is removed
and the spoon placed back in the cup
it tips over
like a small sailing boat
in the hands of an inexperienced crew

It's like the designer of the pudding cup
couldn't conceive of a time
when a spoon would be in the cup
without pudding

So the cup is clutched in hand
then emptied
and discarded like a husk
never to meet table again

and the spoon?
tossed in the sink with a wine glass
and an emptied bowl
until recently full of hot creamy clam chowder
and crunchy oyster crackers

still cradling it's spoon mind you

Counter to reports
Which place it's chance near zero
A lone snowflake falls

I breathe
My heart beats
I feel
I love

Then what?

After breath has gone
and beats have stopped
I what?
Am I mourned?

And if the answer is "yes"
Then how?

Is it a bit of jewelry?
I am not a bit

Is it a coat or hat?
I am neither

Is it a house?
I am not a house.

What I am is;

A tear in your eye,
a smile on your lips,
a sigh.
A memory.

I will always be that but
I am not things.
I never was.

As August matures
My patio grows green
and is a new lawn

If the strongest bully
makes sure you know it
who intimidates and pushes around
to get his own way
to a point where he has no true friends
just nervous compatriots

suddenly

talks instead of terrorizing
helps instead of hurting
befriends instead of beating

do we care what the motivation is
or do we welcome the change

and how long until we trust him completely

Through falling snow bird feeder appears empty, victim of a night thief

Peace shattered
by insanity
holds no promise of healing
just of eventual sorrowful acceptance

It's just not a poem
said an old friend of mine
It can't be a poem
because there's no rhyme*
I tried to explain
sometimes there's a rhyme
or some kind of form
but more often there's not.

With blooms apparent, "crocus patch" revealed as amaryllis instead.

Not shaving could tell people, beware!
It could say
I am grumpy
From a late night argument with the baby
She's seventeen
Or with the misses, she's not
It could say
I suffered some terrible loss
Or got a bit of terrible news
It could say
I am tired
From working late into the early morning
On something important
Or just ******* around with poetry
More likely it could also say
I am just lazy this morning and didn't feel like shaving.