Monday, December 31, 2007

Happy New Year Grinch



In keeping with this special
day, the one that closes
the year, we should go
to a party, or at least
open a bottle of champaign.

But we'll just stay home
and I'll draw a picture.

I remember, when our kids
were young, our baby sitter
was upset with us for not
celebrating a good year.

She brought over a bottle
of whiskey for us.

I want to retain
my full resources when I
celebrate. And luckily
we don't have to stay up
until midnight, since Times
Square is on a different
time zone, and,
obviously,
we are dead beats on
another wave length.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

The Chair



He found the small metal
chair with the red seat.

It allowed him access
to all that was just
out of his reach.

He'd carry it around,
climb up on it, and
rearrange our world
to perfect all kinds
of skills.

Looking on were
all of us, totally
clueless about
what was going on
in his golden head.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Waffles and Milk



He doesn't exactly
know the words for
waffles and milk,
but we read
his moods, from happy
to hungry, and then
start trying out this
or that, hoping to hit
the nail on the head,
eventually.

He seems to get his
needs met, somehow,
without an ability
talk. I wonder how
much of our talk
in the bigger world
is really needed
for our happiness,
or even, just our survival.

Friday, December 28, 2007

Toys



Maybe toys came
from the days when people
didn't have much stuff,

or even when all
that they had was
human sized.

So the Indians
would make a
little bow and
arrow to teach the kids
to hunt,

or a doll to
teach the kids
how to take care of a
baby.

I've noticed my grandson
is much more interested
in my things than he
is in the toy closet.

Lucky he has my spare
cell phone. It is one
of his favorite pastimes.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Thanks, but no Thanks!



Sometimes
I ask for help
and regret it.

Not that the
helper was
not well-intended
or even skillful
in their craft.

It is just that
sometimes we want
the job done,
and we don't want
to do the work
involved.

So I asked my
former accountant
father-in-law to
help me set up
a financial system,
only to realize
that I'd have to
rebuild my mental
transmission before
I could shift that
many gears.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Pecans



My daughter brought
bags of pecans for
everyone, carried from
her Texas pecan tree.

Her aunt brought
one gadget for breaking
them open,
and her grandpa brought
another.

We worked feverishly
to crack open enough
to get a cup of pecans
for a pie or whatever.

I drilled a new
hole in one of
the gadgets but it
didn't do much.
The pecans were too
slender and long.

In the end, hours
later, we were
failed piece
workers. My daughter
said that next
year she was going
to rake those
nutty nuts into
the compost pile.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

An Hour



In an hour my son, daughter-in-law, and
grandson come for the holiday.

The plane is now in the air, heading
west at record speed, I’m sure.

I guess the pilot gave up
or at least delayed
his XMAS for the occasion.

We haven’t seen my son and his
family for a couple of
months.

I don’t expect that they have changed,
though certainly my grandson, not yet
a year and a half, will be into new
things.

The XMAS sun blasts through by
bamboo shades, reminding me
not be somber on this day.

Their plane arrived early so
I stopped writing and went to pick
them up.

As soon as we were home from the
airport, my grandson went to the
toy closet and picked up a cup.

I think he was more interested
in a holiday drink than play.

Monday, December 24, 2007

'Tis the Season to be Jolly?



Christmas eve, and I went to the grocery,
two hardware stores, a bookstore, and the
car wash.

I didn't go to all these places to
to check that everyone was jolly.

I knew that some
of the Christmas hype is just that,
and some people have a mean and
tired look on their face in this
special time for celebration.

I didn't want to write about
my disappointments,
from the squenched up faces
to the aggressive driving
of shopping carts and automobiles
because I didn't want
to perpetuate the sourness
I was experiencing.

But then joy came
as one woman
passed me with her cart
in the grocery store.
When she saw that
I was looking at her,
she broke into a smile
as big as they come.
I smiled back.

Yes, it is the season . . . .

Sunday, December 23, 2007

No More



I"m not going to write
a poem today, I thought,
until my dog started to
bark in protest.

I tried one about the
holiday trance
we are all in,
"getting and spending,"
but that is old hat,

and then the phone
rings, and it feels
like it's my daughter,
but it was the
wrong number.

And sometimes the
honeymoon is over
and friends tell you
what they really think
and you feel like shrinking
to the size of a
head of a pin,
wishing you didn't say
or believe this or that,

and then you escape to the
country to see how
the trees survived
their first snow of
the season and you
see them basking
in the sun, and loving
the bitter breeze, with
their dark brown bark
glorified by the bright
blue sky and accented by
the fluffy white clouds.

On the whole, the trees
always stand up straight,
don't they?

Saturday, December 22, 2007

The Bed of Rocks



I'm not sure what a rock
can see, nestled in a bed
of sister and brother
rocks.

There isn't the option
of deciding to jump on
a bus and take off to
the west or the east.

Though, inadvertently,
the bus might pick up
the rock in his tire
and take her to some
unknown place, to
find a distant
bed of rocks.

We had a dog who
was called to separate
certain rocks from
their neighbors.

She would spend countless
hours picking up this
rock and that, dropping
certain chosen ones into
a new pile.

Though we tried,
we could never understand
her methodology, but
believed there was
a method to her madness.

When her back was
turned, however,
we returned the rocks
to their next of kin,
only to watch the
dog patiently extract them
once again
from their families.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Memories



How often we think of
things past, like the
milk man who drove his
horse and buggy
down my street in
Chicago or the time
my friend got bit
by a cheetah.

Our lives seem to
accumulate
these events
some educational,
some fun,
and some we'd give anything
to erase from our memory bank.

Are we this
volume of stories
that fill our
minds and hearts,
or are we here, now,
listening to our
inner voice and
looking out the window
noticing every incident
that shaped every branch,
every bent browning blade
of grass, and every dent
in the cars and trucks
passing on the road?

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Conflict



The world seems
to teeter-totter
between "what's the weather"
and "when will the war end."

I've often imagined what
the weather might be if
it was fixed by legislation.
Could we all agree on the
ideal weather, and, if so,
would we waiver a week later
and ask for rain, or fog, or even
a blizzard to help the sale of
firewood.

On the war issue,
it is interesting
we continue to engage in war
irrespective of the data
that millions die in such endeavors.
Are we kept in uniform believing
that it will be the other guy,
or the other guy's son,
that will die?

Wars don't just take place
in war zones.
Everyday we see them
at work, at play, and in the home.
Resolving these minuscule wars
can be as challenging
as diverting WWWIII.

"Is it warming up any out there,"
she asked as I came in with my
hat in one hand and my scarf
in the other."

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

The Second Hand



The second hand,
on my electric clock,
patiently moves around and around,
every minute,
every day,
every month,
and every year.

He takes just a little energy
to do his duty, and,
like Sisyphus, never complains,
despite his boring task.

I suppose he makes the minute hand move,
which in turn makes the hour hand move.
This wouldn't amount to much
but these movements determine
when we work,
when we eat,
when we play,
and when we sleep.

If I was a second hand
I'd take frequent naps when no one was looking,
and then speed up at dawn
to get to where I am supposed to be.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Late Afternoon



My house is shading the snow
on the east. The dogs have
made numerous tracks during the
past few days, and the 40˚ sun
has done is best to shape the
snow by melting her edges.

It is about time for the dogs
to be fed, so they remind me
to make sure they are still on
my radar. I quietly say "food"
and they leap off the porch
to devour their dried pellets.

Looking north, I see shadows
as tall as their trees.
The branches are slow dancing
from enough of a breeze to
make the wind chimes play.

Our parakeet is discussing
the weather with his mirror.
It is an animated discussion
with some disagreement.

The dust bunnies commensurate
one another in anticipation
of the holiday preparatory vacuuming.
Realizing that their destiny
is to become one with the
inside of a dust bag is more than
most of them can stand, so they latch
on to one of the dogs hoping to be
taken outside in their quest for
immortality.

Now, later, the breeze is gone and
only one ray passes
through the tree from
the setting sun. At a second
glance, even it is dimming to
become a gentle apparition.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Changes



I've been noticing
that every day is
different from the last.

What I didn't realize
is that every moment is
different from the next, something
that every photographer should know.

Early this morning,
it was foggy, cold, and overcast,
with a little warmth in
the eastern sky.

Later in the morning,
the sun was shining,
casting sharp shadows
on the snow and buildings.
Yesterday the sun
was shining as well,
but the shadows
were nowhere as distinct.

If we change as rapidly
as these moments,
then finding ourselves
can only be an
impermanent accomplishment.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Sun



Nothing seems brighter
than the sun on a fresh
sheet of snow.

The warmth of the sun
seduces me until my
hands and feet get cold
from the coolness of the
blue white snow.

The blue white light foreshadows
the forthcoming darkness
from the shortened day.

The melting snow suggests that
spring is here

until a cool gust warns me
that I am barely at
the beginning of
winter's wrath.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Snow Today



It is a quiet snow.
In the morning,
it seemed brighter
through the curtains
but I couldn't be
sure if there was snow
until I glanced out the window.

The dogs forgot how slippery snow
is and skidded
as they jumped down the
stairs to see if any rabbits
were out and about.

Glancing at the snow
covering the fall leaves,
I sit at the table
wondering if this
beautiful blanket of crystals
is the work of natural forces,
or that of some very special
intelligent being.

Friday, December 14, 2007

Stuff



I have stuff.
As a wantabee hippy in the 60s,
I thought I could reduce
my belongings to what
would fit in a duffel bag.

I even included the provisions
for a darkroom, and jumped onto
a bus to Oregon.

Now, if I only had two of everything,
I would not feel so excessive.
Somehow I've acquired multiples of
multiples, and only their inventory
list would fit into the duffel bag.

If my brain remained a mirror image
of the simplicity of
that old army duffel bag,
I wouldn't be so alarmed.

But no, as I look at my piles of papers
and stacks of computer equipment,
video tapes, and books, I can't
help but think that my clutter
must be a reflection of my noodle —
a dead ringer for the serpents of Medusa's head.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Balls



Not all balls bounce
the same. Some just
land and go to sleep,
while others reach
for the sky when
they are dropped.

Some are kooky,
and bounce in a
unpredictable direction,
as if to not remember
from whence they came.

Others just bounce
a little, and settle
in for a long winter
nap.

We should expect to
tumble if we are
ever off the ground.
The question is not
whether we are going
to fall, but if and
how we are going to bounce.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Plane



Yesterday our plane took off
through the fog into the clouds,
limiting my view out the window
to a smoky white mist.

Before long,
we had passed through the clouds
and could see very clearly
a blanket of cotton
being ordained by the sunset.

As our altitude increased,
the texture of the blanket
became smoother,
and as the time progressed,
what was dusk became darkness,
and my illuminated world
morphed to the size and shape
of an airplane cabin.

Who's in the world?

Xiushan said, "What can you do about the world?" Dizang said, "What do you call the world?"