Awesome Poem

“From a young age, our parents impressed on us the values that you work hard for what you want in life, that your word is your bond and you do what you say and keep your promise, that you treat people with respect. They taught and showed us values and morals in their daily lives. That is a lesson that we continue to pass along. And we need to pass those lessons on to the many generations to follow. Because we want our children in this nation to know that the only limit to your achievements is the strength of your dreams and your willingness to work for them.”

Awesome Poem

I told my wife 

“I’m going to write 

a poem tonight.”

And then 

Caroline brings this prompt, 

and it didn't seem like a prompt,

at all.

At least, not one

to inspire 

a poem, 

at all. 

I've started to notice,

more and more,

how some things tick me off. 

As we read the prompt,

together in unison, 

I  found myself 

somewhere between 

being ticked off, 

(very) supremely ticked off,

and wondering if 

these words were part 

of Michelle Obama's 

wonderful speech 

the other night (at the DNC).

Today 

I read 

she had no political intentions 

in her speech—

unlike the others 

she followed.

And yet, 

after the speech, 

many said, 

”she ought to be president.”

The prompt seemed dated, 

perhaps it was from 

the Cleavers 

in the 50s. 

My wife said at dinner 

something about how,

if we had better schools, 

things would be different. 

We ended up realizing

it would take about 

three generations 

to really make a change... 

A profound 

change,

that is.

I think this tirade started 

with her 

wondering 

how so many people 

could vote for 

a bully. 

I told her 

that the odds were…

he'd win.

Oh…. 

My friend just texted me, 

“”write something awesome.”

If I didn't know better,

I'd….

So there, 

I tried to write 

an awesome poem. 

And then I wanted to say

“I'd pick my nose”

and you can't say that 

in a poem. 

In high school, 

did you ever read a poem 

about nose picking? No!

Or even about bullies, 

or the Cleavers? 

I heard the other night,

on NPR, 

a poet was told 

he had a terminal illness.

He became very depressed 

and wrote 

the best poems of his life. 

I thought, God, 

grant me 

a terminal illness. 

Oh, just kidding, God.

Let me try again:

The lime I stole from

the Zen center was so

delicious, it made my 

smoothie so great that

my friends drank it 

with such gusto—

so much gusto, 

in fact

that I didn't have 

any left today.

That's a dumb poem. 

Glad there are only 

two minutes left.

I can blame 

the advancing clock 

on my not writing 

anything close to awesome. 

Or I can blame it

on my lack of

having a terminal illness, 

Or maybe 

I wasn't raised right, 

like my neighbors, 

who had their mouths, 

washed with soap,

when they swore.

Lost and Found

I search and search... The perfect this and that. One day it is searching for the perfect diet, then the perfect exercise, then the perfect shampoo, then the perfect friend. The dissatisfaction is looking for the perfect me... How would I really like to be, what would I like to know?

I totally confused a man at the free sample sushi table at Central Market today. I've never seen it without someone handing out samples before. There is a little story here. A few weeks ago I was handed a piece of sushi by an Asian looking guy. He said, have a kamikaze roll. I wondered if he knew what it meant and finally found out that it also referred to a drink that was a mixture of various ingredients.

So I figured that kamikaze must have more meanings than the one who gets in an airplane and rams it into an enemy plane, killing all. 

Today the chef/pilot was nowhere to be seen. I was a little worried about him. 

An old man was there, also waiting for a sample. I put a sample in a cup and handed it to him. He declined the gift, and so I ate it myself. Then he said, “Oh, that was very nice of you." So I said, “Yes." I think I more surprised him than anything... but probably should have responded better.

How would the I who I'd like to be respond? If I'm already me, who was it that was responding? Would/should we be the person who'd we like to be? Since our friends like us as we are (I don't think they'd wait around), would we have to find new friends?

Suzuki Roshi said, “You are perfect just the way you are... and you could stand a little improvement? Could both parts of the statement be true? If I am perfect just as I am, why do I have to do anything? And also, why do I have to change.

A high school classmate recently wrote, “You don't marry the perfect spouse. You marry to become the perfect spouse.” But where do you start? I’m full of loose pages and frayed edges and need a lot of tender conservation.

I certainly often think it is better on the other side of the stream. I waited breathlessly until I could get a drivers license... but by the time I did get it, at 23, it wasn't such a big deal. And I waited breathlessly to get through with high school, to get through with college, to have a real job, to retire from the job, to this and that. I waited breathlessly for what would make me happy. All things on the other side of the river. Where is the boat to take me across?

Wait, the wise man says that I'm already there. Can't he see I want to be on his side, where the grass is greener? How can I be satisfied with this stuff that isn't the perfect this or that... or is it?