Now that you're done
you're not
not really
actually you've not even started

Oh sure
you're done with the free part of your schooling
and with childhood
but take it from me, you can make childhood a skill to build a career on
but life as a big person
and I don't mean fat
is just starting
like in the movie Silverado
when Scott Glenn opens the door to his shack on a mountain
and sees the world before him
except you don't have to have a gunfight to get out
like he did
but that was just a movie and we are talking about your life
still that is a favorite movie of mine
So yes
your life is just beginning
and as much as it will hurt me when you go away and live it
I knew this day would come
that you would go
that our lives would forever be different
and mostly separate
I'm taking for granted that you'll be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas
just stay in touch
throw in an awful joke about the civil war and giraffes once in awhile for good measure
and after the "that was an awful joke" comments have faded

think of me
and smile

Oh

and don't forget to call your mom once in awhile or I''l hear about it.

By a thread
Twisting
vacant shell
oh spider
gone

An old green motel chair
sits on a flagstone porch
overlooking a lake
and a gap in the mountains
the center of which frames
another peak.
The chair has outlived
three generations
of my family
who are drawn here
to this spot
in West Virginia
where a mountain is reflected,
mirrored in fact,
in the lake
created by my great-grandfather
for that very purpose.

One snowflake is quite fragile
and it's said that no two snowflakes are alike
yet when they join together in the millions
they can form an avalanche that changes everything
just like people can

It's Opening Night, it's Opening Night
excitement, butterflies and stage fright
there is so much to do
please don't miss a cue

30 minutes
thank you 30

It's Opening Night, it's Opening Night
sound effects, butterflies and stage fright
Oh, the costumes are grand
actors know where to stand

10 minutes
thank you 10

It's Opening Night, it's Opening Night
lighting, butterflies and stage fright
lines have been learned
set pieces to turn

5 minutes
thank you 5

It's Opening Night, it's Opening Night
stage liquor, butterflies and stage fright
the call is to places
and make-up's on faces
the props are all set
but we're not ready yet

house lights out

open the curtain

bring up the lights

and

we're off

Over time
the scar ripped through the ground
ragged and with menacing edges
becomes less so
dust settles in the tear
nearly filling it in
edges are worn smooth
and after a while
two people
one on each side
can meet again in the middle

Today,
two thin gleaming lines
run parallel from
her
to her family.

Two more,
lead from her family
to her future.
But,
not today.

Patriotism is normal
alive and well
vigorous
flying high

Patriotism is voluntary
is love of
is love of country
is a love of and devotion for one's country

Patriotism is when love of your own people comes first
racism
more than flag
too often the refuge of scoundrels

Patriotism is as dogmatic as the old
a kind of religion; it is the egg from which wars are hatched
conviction that this country is superior to all other countries
no excuse for stupidity

Patriotism is alive in america

A friend I've never met in person
Prolific in his work here
Work that is good
Posts a note to say he's been wrecked

Wrecked my wind, water, sand
wrecked by chance
Is he ok?
I don't know

The note said only
He'd be away
with all that he'd saved
with his tablet and guitar

All that he'd saved
Away for awhile
Now my news feed is empty of his work
Save for the note that says he'll be
Away

small waves speckle shore rocks and summer sun erases

There is perfection in the perfectly sauteed shrimp,
pink and plump and juicy.
Marinade clinging to the gentle curve of its back...
specks of lime zest and tarragon...
slide slowly down the sides,
a hint of tequila,
of honey
curls their way from pan...
to proboscis
and I smile.
Then...
gently with tongs...
turn them over....
...
...

The persecutor feels
persecuted
because the persecuted
speak out

pill bug
no insect

small crustacean spends entire life
on land

pregnant
carry young in a pouch in her belly

rolling herself into a ball for protection
from the likes of a harvestman

Easy to like
Easy to hate
Crooked or
just enabled?

Upside down and
cupped by dehydration
an autumn maple leaf quivers in
the cool
fall breeze

then a

puff

and it scurries to meet its kind
at he edge of the drive

Rage
is back
is all the rage
is the talk of the town

Rage
is a bully
is everywhere
is roaring down main street

Rage
is the wrong way
is a beast that kills the spirit
is never free

Rage
is
a form
of blindness
of discarding one
of needs, wants and self interest
replaced with hatred and selective deafness of facts

Rain
Roof
Hole
Mop

The deluge is cyclical
and the dry between gets shorter
The rain pours down
Sometimes straight
Sometimes slanted from the left
Sometimes slanted from the right
Sometimes from two directions
Other times from all at once

The only constant?
We can't help but get soaking wet.

At a new home, warm air and sun bring forth random daffodils

The reality is;

That mom is gone
That I am the oldest now
That there are things to go through
That there are things to get rid of

and to sell and

that's going to

hurt.

The wind is cold this morning
and howls.
Frustrated perhaps that there is so much to do.
To move powder
from roofs,
decks
and lawns.
Heaping it in great dunes
against my windows,
on my porch
and at my door.

Before my morning eyes have opened
a chorus of birdsongs tells me
that after days of wet
the sun has pushed away the night
and finally replaced the wind and rain

She went away my little girl
sure she was seventeen
but she'd always been around
my kid
my daughter
my friend
yes, singing

She was always responsible
smart and funny
musical and funny
emotional
kind, apathetic and funny
yes funny

Then she went away
today she returned

Different

More poised
More confident
More
Grown up
Less a teen
more an adult

Different

And yet
still
wickedly
brilliantly
funny.

My pants had a hole in the pocket where I carry my keys
and

after a week of picking them up after they had slid down my leg to my right shoe

and another week of carrying them in my left pocket with my phone and glasses transferred to my right
they are too big to fit through the hole
I decided to sew the hole closed

To do this I bought a "sewing kit" at the supermarket
It contained thread, needles, a tape measure printed on tracing paper
that little wire loopy thing that helps you thread the needle
and a pair of ridiculous scissors.

The label "scissors" carries with it certain expectations
Cutting of course
and finger holes that actually fit your fingers

It's like when you order a hot dog
you expect a tube of meat in a longish bun
not a wilted salad between two stale rice cakes

The issue was that these "scissors"
met neither of those expectations
that one has when picking up scissors

They seemed to be stamped out of a new alloy
of aluminum foil
and mylar balloon

The "blades" didn't actually meet
and the holes for fingers
would present an obstacle for any escaping green pea

I did use them and finally
after some sawing
cut the thread

I was going to complain
but thought of who had probably made them
this pair of ridiculous scissors
and pictured

the child or man or woman
in a sweaty factory somewhere
probably hungry

They might work long hours
for meager wages
and

I sit in a comfortable life
and complain about ridiculous scissors

A river runs as rivers run
Just where it wants to go
You can build a dam
Canal or trench
But you cannot stop the flow

And if divert it you succeed
by cutting course through stone
there will remain trace
where its been
and the truth of course be known

If those who make the rules
about what kids read
and when
think that non-fiction is best
and that neither fiction
nor poetry
has a place in the lessons
of older children
then the chances are
they'll never see this
because this isn't factual comment
it's a poem,
that's all.
or is it?

In a basement office
the thunderstorm is felt
not seen

When the bond between a family
is removed by chance
and scattered to the winds
the family may come apart

As a child I walked, no ran, downtown
a dollar grasped in hands that wanted to move small plastic armies
to Woolworth's for a bag of soldiers in Gloversville

Then as the places that made things left
and Main Street began to starve and it's abandoned bones bleached in the Adirondack sun
We drove to shop, like everyone else in Gloversville

Standing once proud and full of life
Then left to decay and die
The resurrection of the Schine brings light to Gloversville

In the midst of the abandoned and empty
a spark grows to a small flame
and a more vibrant life returns to Gloversville

My hope for you

Is to grow
to have a life
out from under the weight
of legacy
of tradition
of the memory of pain and death
that surrounds you

But I can not make you see
the hope I have for you
if your eyes are closed to the future
while your heart is chained to the past

bloodshed
in the name of religion
against color
because of differences
due to gender

hate
due to religion
in the name of color
against differences
because of gender

intolerance
because of religion
due to color
in the name of differences
against a gender

prejudice
against a religion
because of color
due to differences
in the name of gender

senseless

I tend
to be
a short form
kind of guy

Explore
Plant the seeds
Of change
Shut up and compost
Breathe
Choose to be Eco
Contribute
Rock the trip
Green is easy
Do not microwave
Hot

Instructions are not
necessarily followed better
if sung with no rhyme or reason
just tell them straight up, kids will listen.

The little dog sits
staring out the large window
to the street
beyond

where he is a wolf on the Steppes
a jackal on the Serengeti
a coyote of the Mojave

But for now
he sits

Sleepless
Tossing
Turning
Exhausted

Me
alone
thinking big
too big to sleep
yet in sleep I free my mind to wander

On the green of old hotel
carpet

Multi colored
snakes

gather like a
pride

of lions around
food

where only two can
dine

at once

February cold sneaks beneath my floor and grabs bare feet through tile

Snowfall brings
peace
quiet
this winter's morning

A soldier's life's fleeting at best
fore in battle there's only one rest
The rest is unwanted
For field will be haunted
as under a stone cross they're blessed

I am sorry
I am sorry
I am sorry for your hurt
I am sorry for your loss
I am sorry for your fear
I am sorry for your anger
I am sorry for your sleeplessness

I hope that time will heal your hurt
I hope that you can understand that others share your loss
I hope that your fear of the new opens your eyes to the opportunities before you
I hope that you can see past the anger to the love we have
I hope you can understand that the sleeplessness is shared too
I hope
I hope

I am sorry for no card
No flowers
No chocolates
I was sick but that is no excuse

I do love you
I do

I am the child
running through a sunlit field playing airplane
My arms outstretched
Taking me me were the wind points me
Singing la la la
While you remain firmly on the ground
Centered and steadfast
Eyes to the future

My arms always fly me back to you
To the warmth of yours
Because
Every day
For twenty years
You've shown me
That despite my failings
My shortcomings
The hard times
Lean times

That you love me too.

How do you split a memory
equally so that each can have an equal part?

And what of the memories that only one
shared with the departed?
Like the three years when I was the only child.
Do I get those?
What of the four years before the third of us was born?
Do the first two of us have to split those.

What of that trip across country,
we all were there with mom
in the car,
at that motel in Kansas
with the pet dog, cat and rat.
How do we split those?

I ask because splitting the house
Has been so difficult
painful
hurtful
and agonizing.

And it's just a thing
not a thought
or memory.

I'd rather we keep the memories together.
In a that faded blue cardboard box on the shelf
And when pain and hurt are washed away by time
we can pull them out
sit around the table
and share them together.

In a small formation of ice
grasping to a New England stone fence
sits a seed
frozen
held there through no fault of it's own
frozen
held
unable to grow
to reach for the sun
until Spring's thaw

I saw a sticker on a car coming home from work this afternoon.
One of those "international ovals" that used to indicate a foreign country
like France, Switzerland or, if you believe the TV commercials,
Detroit.

Now they stand for everything from the local swim team
to the driver's favorite species of dog
although pinning it on the driver might be unfair
probably better to say the owner.

The sticker I saw today, and it was a sticker not a magnet,
it was stuck on the window,
was OLF and it made me miss mom more than yesterday,
Mother's Day, did.

OLF stands for Our Lady of Fatima, the local Catholic Church
and it was adorning an SUV of appropriate size and sticker price for these parts.
Mom always called Fatima, Saint Olaf's because everyone around here calls it OLF
so it wasn't her fault.

Every time I, or my wife, politely corrected her she'd reply,
"I know" and then promptly call it Olaf's ten minutes later.
So today waiting for the green light on the way home
a little sadness as St. Olaf's SUV reminded me of mom.

and
I laughed.