Happy Christmas.

As there is a dusting of snow,
there is still belief in a man's heart
early Christmas morning.

It is 4:30.  I pour coffee and,
not knowing their religious preference,
wish the cats a happy holiday.

They appear agitated, and I fear they think
I'm waging a war on Christmas so I quickly
change my greeting, adding a scratch

behind the ears for good measure.
They seem pleased, especially when
I realize the food bowl is empty.

My son will be up soon,
full of sleepy enthusiasm, hope.
I turn on the soft red lights,

catch a hint of pine,
and settle into the quiet.
I want to be ready.

Four Foot Something

My wife drops him off early
once a month for student council.

As a third grader, it's his first year
being actively involved.

There is a bit of importance
about him now.  He walks taller.

Even so, as my wife describes it,
when he arrives at school

and enters the near empty hall
he looks very small.

I can see him there
4 foot something and proud,

as the eastern horizon
turns itself to a brilliant blue,

he walks headlong
into the day's responsibilities.

Stood Up

In the cloud filled afternoon,
it feels as if the day never arrived,
as if I'd scheduled a meeting
only to be left sitting
at a table by the window
checking my watch in the half light,
spinning the ice around
my half empty glass.

Suggestions

I have scraped
my windshield
several mornings
consecutively.

Often there is frost
on my lawn as well,
which our cats find
problematic.

Before the snow arrives
there are suggestions
we should dig out
sweaters and shovels.

Whose side are you on?

Businessmen
and their lackey reps
are crying

because they now have to
concern themselves with a workers
human right to good health.

They claim they'll be destroyed
just like when we demanded
safety standards and the 8 hour day.

Boss man John threatens
lower wages and lost jobs
like knifepoint.

He'll be damned
if the cost comes from
his profits or salary.

After all, he only earns
2 mil a year, and so what
if your kid can't see a doctor.

Whose problem is it?
Whose side
are you on?

Lesson

I teach History.

This week I taught the election -
popular votes and
the electoral college,

confusing enough,

but also the peculiar
personal economics
of the school levy.

So I explained
to the trumpet player,
a point guard, the actor and
his friend who paints,
a drummer and a quarterback
along with many others

that their grades are good,
school scores are high,
and their parents should be proud,
but voters didn't agree.

So, those programs you love,
that make you you,
that help you get through,
are unfortunately nonessential.

I am a teacher.
Some lessons
are more difficult
than others.

Election Day

It's 6 a.m..  In hotel rooms outside
Cleveland, Cincinnati, and Columbus an army
of lawyers prepares for battle.

Her eyes

Her eyes always looked
as if she'd just asked
a question
and in the answer
expected
sadness.

A Few Things I Believe (fall 2012)

I believe in the healing power

of Campbell's Soup, and I believe

in 15 minutes of fame.

To avoid bankruptcy 

they're selling Warhol

again and again and again.

I believe there is life on Mars.

I believe in David Bowie,

David Byrne, and David Beckham,

not to mention David Sedaris,

but I believe John Steinbeck

said it best.  Period.

I believe in the beautiful game

despite the relative negativity 

of my fellow Americans.

I believe in the power

of misinformation.

I believe I have been misled.

I believe that the power

of my vote has been

highly overrated.

I believe the leaves this year

contain reds so vibrant, they might

be accused of being socialist.

Fortune Cookie

Your text messages
will be riddled with
exclamation points.

I am here, and youth grows distant.

Your call was a letter lost in the mail,
a curiosity.  I held the phone gently
as if I might lose the signal.  Your voice
had that curious quality of disconnect
made possible by cell phones, like a call
from a great distance, another galaxy.

I imagined we were our younger selves,
long haired and self-assured.

We talked about your dad, motorcycles,
and New York City.  I forgot to tell you
I saw your picture of the Joe Strummer mural
so listened to "Police On My Back."
I felt punk rock urgency, rebellion, youth,
like a phone call from the distant past.

East Falls Black River

There are places
where nature is so loud,
so overwhelmingly immersive
that it becomes possible
to forget my television,
to ignore this bullshit,
and to live something
like a spiritual moment.

I spend far too little
time in those places.

Two American Haiku

          Traditional

White cat chases grasshopper.
I collect 4 o'clock seeds, breathe.  Air 
conditioners make ridiculous silence.



          Political

Adam calls Anne an elitist
because she's got the proof
he's an uninformed idiot.

Bike Ride

A hawk screams above
the loop trail at East Rec as
summer chases its tail.

Always An Uneasy Beginning

     Statement

My son, James, told us
he's a bit nervous   about
going back to school.


     I Remember

I remember being nervous at the start of the year
in elementary, even later.  Will I be with friends?
Will the kids be kind hearted?
It's not that much different now as a teacher.


      Good Omen

When I went in to ready my classroom
yesterday, I found a praying mantis
on the window.  This being the third floor,
I saw it as an auspicious beginning.


     Message

So, I told these things to my son
about my nervousness, as a kid and now.
I told him about the praying mantis,
how I thought it was good luck.


     Response

He listened politely,
but looked unconvinced.
School starts Monday.

Having Gone to the Cleveland Museum of Art Seeking Life and Finding Only Death.

The modern wing was closed
so we strolled through the ancient pieces,
a room full of disembodied heads,
vacant eyes almost sinister,
a young man's headless torso,
shrouds, coffins, headstones
in rooms the temperature of tombs.

Outside in the warm light of day
I breathed deep considering art
and my own mortality.

Illuminated

I was outside this morning

in the humid chill.

Sunrise made sharp contrasts.
The bottom of a tree in shadows
while illuminated at its top, for instance.

I was waiting for something
like an idea, a direction.
My coffee was hot.

A nice contrast to the air, I thought,
and as I tied those two together
a bird screamed,

the tuxedo cat chased
a squirrel up an oak
from shadow into sun.

Everything showed itself
as it is, connected.
I smiled, illuminated.

He Is Burning

He is burning
his dresser in his backyard.

Smashing it to pieces,
he tosses them in.

Flames leap skyward.
Smoke envelops the man.

Where will he keep
his extra large clothes,
I wonder.

Just then he attacks
the remains of the dresser.

Like a maniac
he swings something wildly.

I cannot see weapon for smoke.
He has gone mad.

There are cracks, thuds,
and the splitting of wood

illustrates his anger.
Then it is quiet, except

for crackling fire
and the shuffle of my feet

as I quietly back away.

Nothing On My Mind

I go out into the sun
of my small backyard often
to kick a ball around.

I might kick it up in the air
once or twice, keeping it up there,
dozens of times if I am lucky.

I do this to stay active,
and in the process do no thinking.
It is pleasant there in the sun

with nothing on my mind.
To my neighbors, I am a curiosity.
"He's kicking that ball again."

I overheard one tell another
as he shook his head and scratched
his oversized belly.

Then my ball hit the ground
and I kicked it very hard
at my chain link fence where,

in place of something more formal,
I have spray painted fence posts
to make a goal.

This game from my childhood
makes me happy, even now when I am
expected to think serious thoughts.

The heat of sunshine on my arms and face,
the slight weight of a ball on a left foot,
right knee, right foot, 1, 2, 3, 4, etcetera
before the mad rattle of chain link fence.

I am a curiosity, a man
with nothing on his mind.

Bottle Rocket's Red Glare

The neighborhood kids are hoarding
leftover bottle rockets, I just know it.
They are preparing a final assault
on the suburbs. Good for them.

The rest of us, it seems, are going
down without a fight, overcome
by our own relative misfortune, misinformed
by a riddle of political advertisements.

My own final assault is only a conviction
to vote for the lesser of two evils
and to remember, lots of people have it worse.
Having drawn perspective like a sword,

I leap to charge. A bottle rocket sails
over the neighbor's garage, pops,
then falls to the earth at my feet.
Even well armed, I am not optomistic.

She Is Every Possibility

She's got eyes full of diamonds,
a mouthful of rage,
and she's gotten me to believe again.

She has 10,000 ideas
before 7 in the morning
and she'll smile in the telling

like I am her co-conspirator,
as if we will topple governments,
and we may, if she asks.

Finches

Four finches at her feeder,
a few more on the line.

I had mown the lawn
before she knew I'd started.

There is shade on her
back porch at this hour.

She says a few words
about plant food, a picnic.

I have nothing to say, so
there is quiet, birdsong until

a mad roar of boxcars
scatters our thoughts

like finches from a feeder.

Tomato Pessimism

In my enthusiasm to overcome
heat and drought
I may have overwatered.

I fear
my backyard tomatoes
will bear no fruit.

The pessimist that I am
would turn this failure
to a metaphor for life,

but all in all
things are going quite well,
as long as I deliberately ignore

the loneliness one experiences
while anticipating a future
devoid of tomatoes.

Batting Practice

My son, James, blasted whiffle balls
off the aluminum siding,
smiled a bit at the power of his swing,
and pumped a fist in excitement,
but then the storms rolled in,
humid and electric,
so the Little League games
were cancelled.

Some days batting practice
is for its own sake,
for the whizz of a ball
as it flies past your ear,
and the anticipation,
flinch of shoulders, just before
it smashes into the garage, and
comes to rest in the garden.

Some days batting practice
is simply batting practice,
but every day we must be ready
for the big game.

Partly Cloudy

As I watched,
the sun fought clouds
with ridiculous angles
above house rows
on the eastern horizon.

It brought to mind
the many mornings
I'd arrive to work,
be handed a shovel and told
have at it.

That was a long time ago,
but what I realized
as the clouds surrendered
is that I've never been much more
than unskilled labor,
a not unintelligent bullshitter.

With moderate determination,
and simple tools, I have held
slacker tendencies at bay
to edge out mediocrity.

I am a man with a shovel.
I am a partly cloudy day.

Memorial Day

Music,
feet up,
must remember-
water garden
tonite.

It's hazy.

A south wind
sends flags
sideways,
the desired
effect.

In my notebook
I've drawn
a flag,
a flower,
a reminder.

Challenge

There's a broad blank cement wall

where the freight trains are elevated.

It runs from Cedar west to the old depot.

You know the place-

behind the post office that's now a bank,

by the parking lot that used to be a bowling alley,

beneath the shadow of the chemical plant.

Anyway, there's this broad blank cement wall there

that is desperate for beautification

at the hands of a poet or urban artist.

Not An Inside Joke Exactly

                                                            for Mandy

This morning the air was cool, humid.

As the sun rose,
a cloud drifted to obscure it
creating a celestial moment.

I had the windows down and an elbow out.

Bowie's Life On Mars? came on.
I turned up the radio
and thought of you.

This lifted a smile
on one side of my face,
as if it's an inside joke
you like that song.

Because I know these things,
you can be with me while you're elsewhere
and I can wear my smirk as if
I have gotten away with something.

Way of Life

In the mountains
they have learned
to position mobile homes
in precarious places,
among the clouds, higher
than the unemployment rate,
where clean coal
is like religion,
and religion
is fundamental.

Foul Mouth of My Mind

I wished her a happy Friday
with a smile and a bit of irony.

"Praise Jesus!" she exclaimed
with all religious sincerity.

I was uncomfortable.
It was Friday, the end of the week,

not the sudden cure
for a terminal illness.

Later the copier jammed
which caused her to mutter

"son of a biscuit," sparing us
the true color of her wrath.

I became enraged for her,
at her, so left the room

to spare her
the foul mouth of my mind.

Answers

He tempered his childhood fear
of mathematics with a deep belief
in calculators, relying on them
for all but the simplest of problems.

He'd always lamented their inability
to extend beyond that subject,
a problem now solved by using
internet search engines.

Within the past week alone, he's
Googled "What are the best words
of comfort at a funeral?" and
"What is this lump on my head?"

to great success.  He has fixed
his car with the computer's assistance
and plans to ask its advice regarding
how to grow potatoes.

Undiagnosed

I'm trying
to be an optimist.

Your doctor's appointment
is in an hour.

We haven't spoken
since this morning.

I loosen my tie, and
tap a pencil on a notebook.

My worry has settled
into my abdomen.

It is a dull pain, and
a sharp reminder

that I'm trying
to be an optimist.

A Few More Words About Standardized Tests

As I stapled the last
standardized practice test
my mind went numb.

I stared through glass
onto Middle Avenue and
a bank of grey clouds

who cast peculiar shadows
onto abandoned storefronts.
I thought of my son, 8

years old, bored by instruction
regarding how to properly
pencil in the bubbles.

Important Discovery

Long ago
I found that
skateboard wheels
on pavement
sound like waves,
and sometimes
have the effect
of erasing
all other thought.

A Religious Experience.

I hear the white and grey cat
speak from the basement.

He is always asking questions.
I rarely have an answer.

He is like a zen master
in his way of open questions.

We will sit together on carpet
in a sliver of sunlight.

I am crosslegged, and he watches
me smile.  His head tilts slightly.

Again, he is a question,
and this is the answer.

This Guy I Know.

I like that guy.
He lives straightforward.

He works.
He seems to take care
of his people.

When he is thirsty,
he drinks.

When he says he is
happy to see you,
he is happy to see you.

When he is not happy to see you,
he says nothing at all.

I like that guy.

He is somebody.