Still Here

Spent all summer bathed in monitor light
Search engine hits like soft kisses
The endless sound of keystrokes
My bittersweet serenade

Over the years I have come to need
This aching hunger
When I gaze at the world
All I see is sickening complacency

The soul of a social psychologist
Can slowly grow numb
When his friends are not out in the sunshine
But instead tucked away on hard drives and digital databases

Ever since ninth grade
I’ve known what emptiness feels like
When young and the people you love suffer
The common currencies lose all value

I was a hunter
Searching day and night, unquenchable
Mauling my prey for any quantifiable clue
Any insight that could save us

By fifteen I had left God behind
I had to do something
My eyelids never safely closed
The world was just too much for this little boy

In the intervention literature
All that matters is change
This scrolling on the mouse is just a perpetual prayer wheel
Calloused knees, begging to see others improve

I was born again in those days
The times I felt pain
Were just fingers pointing to the Moon
Reminding me that I am but a reflection of the world

I worked twenty-four hours a day
Cataloguing the ways to make peoples’ lives better
The stress of caring sometimes made me want to collapse
My worried heart, forever afraid I would have nothing to say

The line has always been blurry
Between self-improvement and bettering the world
If I want things to change
I need to always become better

After an entire summer of staring at statistics
Determining the predictors of improvement
I learned most not about the science of human behavior
Instead, it was always about the scientist

If I didn’t believe I could get better
This skin would be a lot colder

Untitled Winter Poem #2

Precious eyes so wide
Lips like event horizon
Flypaper window
Patient, enough
Mom!
Hurry!
Jacket unbuttoned
Tiny hands fumbling with gloves
Head first into the fresh snow

Great Blizzard of ‘91
Me and Joel
Marauding snow banks
Just to get out the front door
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Candy collection plates
Building forts
Forming future projectiles
Wrestling in the soft powder
Laughter, frozen mid-air

In tenth grade I had a girlfriend
Her name was Sarah
February brought chocolates
But not nearly as numerous as the snow
Classes canceled on account of the weather
Teenage love blossoming on account of the same
It was an icy Eden
Where we spent the day
Blank canvas countryside screaming for art
Chasing, through the trails
Teasing, tracing our dreams
Trying to decide on our wedding date
I can still see the snowflakes
Clinging to her eyelashes
Daring me to kiss them away


Today I wait for the bus
Hiding in my coat, yet no longer a Turtle at heart
Part of me waiting for summer to return
Secretly wishing I smoked
Like if the whole world became addicted
We could all put out our cigarettes at the same time
And the snow would just disappear

The past ten years I have not been attentive
The winter went from
Exciting guest
Here for the new season
To plain nuisance
I guess
This is how everything goes wrong
Growing up
Without the realization

Only A Drop In The Bucket

I still recall that beautiful day
No clouds
A grinning sun
The Grand Canyon deserves every ounce of its namesake
Faithful flock to it
The Mecca of the Southwest
They come to gaze
Touch nature and see reflections of our common story

We hiked all over the southern rim that morning
Speechless
For a brief moment
We were part of something so much bigger
But for all the memories of that visit
My most visceral recollection

Mindless masses
Tourists littering empty water bottles
They lay like fallen soldiers
All over the dirt
Filling the garbage to the brim
And next to the trash can?
An empty recycling bin

I guess they were so blown away by the view
So amazed we hadn’t fucked up the Grand Canyon yet
They wanted to play their part in aiding and abetting
The blight of our planet

I could have screamed so loud
That those on the northern rim would have been rocked by the echo
Would have been brought to their knees
We acted strident and obnoxious
While we tossed a few bottles into the recycling
Hoping to make a point
But in the end we only had so much energy
I suppose we wanted to have enough left over to enjoy the Grand Canyon too

I am only a drop in the bucket
Sometimes even that is too much

Our Sweet Fossil Fuel Dreams

The trip to the corner store

Key ignition to shorten shuffle step

Could you feel the drill?

Pulsing through the surface

Pulverizing rock and dirt into specks of dust

The bus ride home

Did it taste like salt?

Did it cover you in black?

A dark blanket wrapped around

A casket carved out of delusions

The bottled water sitting on your desk

Is it reminiscent of a quiet failure

Or the roaring explosion that took 11 lives?

One that quickly dwarfed Alaska

Swallowed the world in its horror

How about that plane ride to New Orleans?

Could your selfish eyes see the 1,866 dead birds?

Did you pay the extra fare?

Not for baggage

But for 463 slaughtered sea turtles?

59 dead sea mammals?

Drill baby

Drill

That is our mess that is making the sea a little less pretty

So much more than an eyesore

Our cute little secret hidden in our closets

Our cognitive dissonance that was rude enough

To awaken us from our sweet dreams

That candle

That lighter

That car

Those are OUR failures

It is our criminal fingerprint

Embedded in the oil

Not Obama's

Not BP's

Ours

And we will not be able to wipe it away any time soon

Ignore The Snow

Her legs were balanced on my thigh as she typed away at her laptop
I was far enough away that I could sneak glances into her eyes
She never noticed
I did not really know her three weeks ago
Hell, I did not really know her now
For some reason, she was just pleased to grace my presence
She seemed satisfied to just ride the wave
We were skating on thin ice, realizing it all the while

Summer has a funny way of making one needy
We need to be outside in the sun
We need to be enjoying beers and tea with friends
We need to smell the charcoal
Taste the burgers and veggie brats
Feel the grass between our toes

The last thing I wanted to need that summer was love
I felt like I had earned a free ride
I had suffered through distances that soldiers could not traverse
I had panhandled on the telephone wires
Under the cell phone towers

And yet, I still wanted it
I still wanted her
I wanted to share in all of the quick heartbeats
The shallow breaths
The sweaty hands
The silly looks

Summer
How we need thee
Even when we do not want it.

Party Like It’s 1773

Evolved with hair-trigger war yearning
Crush other
Fight back
Own all
Yet
Some learned how to
Share
Love
Support
One another

You still loved the struggle
Desire to dominate
Subjugate
Oppress
We thought we left you behind

Cities they began to call them
Short, nasty, and brutish without
We had come so far!
Language, hygiene
Weapons
We still raped
Still clawed with blood dry
Underneath fingernails from past battles

Perhaps
It was a continent thing
Africa
Asia
Europe

The “settlers”
Spread their compassion around
Smallpox on blankets
Stolen slaves and dehumanized possessions
Some
Were opposed
But you could always hear the rally cry
“Slavery must be allowed!”
“Protect the union!”
You heard their protests
Their screams
Their hatred

In the end
They lost
But the spirit of their hatred
Lived on in many hearts
Instead of chains
Just rubber bullets
Dogs perverted to be bloodthirsty
Flags made to inspire fear

Guess what
It did not work
Progress was made
Never perfection
Never
But progress nevertheless

Today
You hold your hate high
Shrouded in tea parties
And news channels
Masked behind klansmen
Like Ron Paul
Like the ghost of Strom Thurman
You can protest all you want
Pretend your hatred of a black president
Your xenophobic demands of birth certificates
Your antichrist fear-mongering
They are just rational concerns
But we see what they are
We remember the plains of Africa
We recall the first cities
The first “settlers”
The slave owners and the
Segregationists
Dress up hatred
Hide it
But we see it

And you know what?
You will lose
In the end
You always do

Some last haikus of the season!

Where have all the grateful gone?

Why me! she repeats
Employed, healthy and engaged
Please! do keep whining


The forgetting

You were a poem
I wrote into memory
Now, even that fades


And this one is from a favorite poet of mine Charles Simic

Watermelons

Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.

Where Have All The Complainers Gone?

Life’s complicated
Good thing no one ever whines
Oops, except right here

Where Have All The Authentic People Gone?

Holden had it right
Fakes, smiles wrapped tight, keep warm
Minnesota cold

Where Have All The Laborers Gone?

Parents foot the bill
Complain, scream, whine, throw a fit
Your life is not fair

Where Have All The Hippies Gone?

Remember Kent State?
Had burning passion for change
Paper or Plastic?

Damn that hindsight--it's always 20/20

In retrospect
It wasn't such a great idea
To make snakes out of balloons

It was harmless
I promise

Provided hours of entertainment
For unknowing children ages 6-8

Little did they know
What the final product
Would look like

(No, it didn't get better after painting.)




And the laughter in the staff room
Hours, days, months
Later

They say I'm no good at sexual innuendo
But I've cracked
A "That's what she said"
A few nice times
Before "That's what she said"
Was hip
Before Micheal Scott



No, not one of my finer moments
As an art educator
And creative leader
Of small children

It was messy
Oh damn!
I've done it again
Spot the sexual innuendo there



So yes, there is a lesson in here somewhere
I've never attempted snakes
Again
In my project forays

Stuck to safe subjects
Like faces
With balloons
Anyone?

I am a horrible person.


An add on--I'm on fire tonight!

Don't stop now!
You're on fire
Tonight
Little did we know
The balloons, er, subjects...er
Whatever...

Were WAY too big
Too rough
Not the right size
Not the right shape
ALL WRONG

It won't fit
If only we would have gotten the
Expensive balloons
The longer ones

What went wrong?
Glue makes the stuff
Less slippery
And more slippery

Is that what you want?
I don't know what I want
I'm just the INTERN!

I bet you are learning a lot
At the CHILDREN'S MUSEUM.
OH YES.
OH YES.
YES.

Can I come back next year?

Church On Sundays

Sure
You didn’t make it into church this morning
Don’t feel guilty
Even God gets hangovers

Happy New Year

Busy hands calmly reloading an automatic rifle
Blank stare slowly scanning for breathing bodies
Little feet struggling to stand strong as blood seeps between toes
At an age where he should have been helping his family with the crops
Should have been playing with his friends
Should have been dreaming of love

Instead, as he draws in air that is finally fresh
He sleeps next to my room with clenched fists
I do not dare imagine what nightmares horrifically parade
Single file line like the army he once marched in
His birthday gift was a merry-go-round of gunpowder
His celebratory song was a chorus of screams

When he was drunk
He would tell me about his experiences
Of the violence that tore open his chest
Like it did his community
He warned me about going back
How he was drawn out of desire to help
How he was afraid for his safety if he were to return

What did he see on that final night?
Just another enemy between him and what he needed?
I could not let him do what I feared he would
But it did not much matter
In the end
They stomped him until he felt at home
Beat him into the knowledge that America and Sudan are different
But they do not always have to be

And what do we tell him now?
To hold his head high?
That in this country his dreams will come true?
That’s the problem
They did come true
The ones that have plagued him for the past fifteen years

This is not a new year for him
It is just like all the rest

Recollecting

Before label and face
I was sardine packed
In the galactic tin
Cozy
Where
Gravity befuddles and
Our models break down
We were all
Catapulted with abandon
One point to
Expansive Ocean
Wrenched from the cold womb
Not yet capable of kicking and screaming

I
Exhaled to build the planet’s atmosphere
Braved land with stomach home-sick for water
Moved from trees to plains
Hunted in tribes
Drove hammer to nail
Was born a thousand times
Died just as many

Recently
Fingered accordion to temper the taste for Finland
Drunken bar-fights to hide the pain of leaving home
Hands callused from tending to the soil
Scars like medals of honor tacked to my soul
I was too strong to bow
God, war, and patriotism
The idols of the United States
Instead we
Served jail time with chin high

Today
My spine appears to be made of titanium
My heart still soft and tender
I lasso dreams just long enough
For others to pop them with a pin
Still remember who I was back then
Often unable to recall who I am these days

Snapshot of Love #4

Maybe
I will let this wind
Enter my veins
Let it carry me
To a new calling

We could
Cross this street
And take the bus in the opposite direction
Go down Lyndale
Until we can’t go any further
Hop onto a different line
End up in one of the suburbs
We could
Smile
For real at first
You
Would stay at home
I would get a few more ties
I would trade my diet
For an all-you-can-eat buffet
You would sacrifice
Red-dyed hair for
Lipstick and fingernail polish
Our house
Indecipherable
Our affect
Blunted

Maybe
You can stay where you are
And
I will stay where I am
Today
Let me ignore the wind

talking to strangers

His ears were red but his eyes were desperate,

a simple question asked with monumental effort:

"Does this train stop at McDowell?"

Yes it does.  Tense shoulders never relaxing,

embarrassment keen.  We never have all the answers.

He had a grizzled smirk that was ten feet wide.

Sunshine brings out spaghetti-strap tanks 

and makes shy men brave. 

"Well, well, that's what I'm talkin' about!"

Hope I made his day.

She had a wispy mustache and a lost little smile.

She carried three bags filled with things, a lifetime of uncertainties.

Stopped me at the crosswalk:

"What do you think of the market?  Do their vegetables taste good?"

We talked as the light changed once, then twice.

He perched on the stoop of a vacant office building,

noticing what I hadn't, as I braked for the light.

"Your bike tire's flat... gonna make it?"

No air pump, but genuine concern.

He stormed through the park, and saw 

the girl on the bench, with iPod headphones and a book.

Her friendly but wary smile ripped the frustration loose.

"Get the fuck out of my face, you stupid-ass bitch."

He is a realist.  A stranger's smile, no matter how polite,

won't improve his lot.

Today Is For Burying Teeth

Today is for burying teeth

One
Outside my childhood library
First kiss
Seventh grade
Skidding nerves
Thirteen years
Her hair
Beautiful blonde
Eyes green
Like freshly cut grass
Her mother
Waiting
The moon
Stage light
Set on us
Tooth buried
Next to the front door

Two
Thanksgiving night
2003
Painful transition
From
World-class flake
To
Other-world dreamer
Her
Driving mom’s SUV
Me
Crawling on my knees
She
Skips on pins and needles
Resembling
A wrecking ball
I am ruined
My tooth
Buried next to the parking lot

Three
Twenty years waiting
Seemed liked forty
You
Perfect piece
We
Fit together
Before
Worry
After
Relief
We never did
Wash his sheets
This one
Buried under the window

Four
Can still feel
Crisp breeze
Yawning sun
You
Gaze at stars
I
Spout philosophy
We
Never had a chance
I’m ok with that
Hope you are too
Perhaps
Best night of my life
Strangers held hands
Acquaintances kissed
Fools
Building futures
With no roots
The final tooth
Secreted in rocks
Hoping
To be carried to the sea
Praying
To be forgotten

I covered them
With the dirt
You gave me
Composed of
Miracles
And
Wishes
May my teeth
Be comforted
By that blanket
May my empty sockets
Now be home
To something new

Today
Is for burying teeth

For Those Who Still Imagine

Give me Don Quixote
Hallowed romantic saint

Give me Godzilla
Before I even knew of pollution

Give me Mutant League Football
All exploding bodies and blood stains

Give me Grim Fandango
Skeletons and Cigarettes

Give me Calvin
The comic-strip character
Not the religious figure

Give me Holden Caulfield
And everyone else that knows
All adults are crummy

Give me Ren and Stimpy
Give me Count Chocula
Give me Ghost Rider

Give me Toejam and Earl
Give me Boba Fett
Give me Jack Skellington
Give me R. L. Stine
Give me

Bilbo fucking Baggins

This is for those that can still remember
This is for those that can still imagine
They have not got us yet

ABC Poem: A Giraffe, an Elephant, and a Hippo

A giraffe went out one day
Before the skies got gray
Could not see the children
Drive their bikes away
Elephant wanted to be Giraffe's
Friend
Giraffe said to Elephant
Hippo is more like you anyway; Elephant replied:
I don't like Hippo; I want you to stay
Just then Hippo approached Elephant
Kindly, will you tell me why dear Elephant
Love yourself and love me too
Much I see myself in you
Never will I mope about
Other creatures look so stout
Privately, we dance and sing
Quietly, remarks about our weight do sting
Repulsed by other skinny folks, we pachyderms
Stoutly boast
Try being fat and leathery for a day
Usually we are quite gay
Very quickly Elephant realized his mistake
Wondered politely over Hippo's way
Xenophobia: it was in fact his flaw
You are truly beautiful; so am I
Zoos around the world will never be the same

Author's note: An ABC poem is one in which each line of the poem begins with the next chronological letter in the alphabet. Try it. It's much harder than it looks! Taking risks here, people.