Meanderings

I really, really love you. You make me feel like a million dollars. Like the sun couldn't come up in the morning If it weren't for me. You tell me I'm beautiful, And your eyes light up. If I can't make the sun come up, At least I can make your eyes shine. When I'm around you, I feel confident Like I can change my world. I feel like what I do is really important Even if it is nothing. I could sit and watch TV all day And still be special. And then you're gone. I don't have the power anymore To make the sun come up in your eyes. My world begins to change me. And when I watch TV all day long I am now lazy. Someday, I'll realize It's not you who gives me the power To make the sun come up in your eyes. It's not you who gives me light to shed On a tired world. It's not you who makes me worthy to live It's me. Somehow when I love you I open up ...

Dr. Rittenhouse, You took us around the world and back, Elegant in black. From Carnegie to Jerash, From Red Square, to the local parish We sparkled under your bow-baton, The excitement on. Fumbling for music while you talked And the audience gawked. We sawed on fiddles, blew on horns, Stood for encores. With scandalous attire we shocked (Boys wore dresses. French Horns, red socks.) You bought us ice-cream cones, And Scottish Scones. Making sure we had fun, 30 concerts done. Days and nights, travel-filled, Full of Gondolas & Eiffel Tower thrills. Making us be our best, and show zest After bus-all-night rest. (“Look, there’s a lion!” in Kruger Park. “Zzzzz.”) Instruments missing, passports mailed, The show must go on! It never failed. Excellence was the demand Crowd-pleasing was your brand. What our lives would have been ...

a fire rages hot at my back but I cannot jump below me stretches a safety net offering reprieve sexy firemen hold it yelling jump jump but I turn away back to the fire with which I am familiar wondering if I can stay a little while longer  if it will go out on its own so I don't have to feel my fear of falling to the ground December 2008

Red shoes Worn on the heel From walking many miles Who knows where My only link To her. I don't know her name I never will. But her shoes To this day Touch my soul. They're in a pile Of other shoes Stacked high Behind glass. Shoes of people Who are dead and gone. A memorial to hatred. The pile of shoes Sits across the room From a pile of eye glasses And luggage And rugs Made from human hair. Yet oddly It's the shoes That are alive. They bear h...

it would be easy to say i love you if i knew what i was loving but i don't. you have parts that are so elusive that i'd like for you to show me but you won't. you say, why does it even matter you should love me for what you can see but i can't. it's those hidden things i can't see that might make all the difference to my heart. - October 2002

please tell me these feelings will end the nameless ones with no face the terror with no name, the memories hidden in dreams. each day they're getting less losing weight not getting fed by my choice. but still they persist made a habit by past munchings on the tidbits i threw them by accident. as they waste away i make new creations in my head to replace them. ones with no relations who will not check my past feelings to make sure they're ok. new feelings with the stability to stand on their own two feet though young and new. let them die. death to the traitors who took away my life. i will make new ones to rise again a resurrection of the just. --March 27, 2002

Rats & bats, We must have cats... To rise out of the fishbowl And say That's THAT! (But the sad thing is That when you have no fish It means that Somebody ate them.... And no matter how cute The cat will be mute Because he got his own tongue To plead the Fifth On the fish.) So, if you live in a fishbowl like This Cat That is Confining and Small and Lowly You must rise above it And keep your head up, And use up your nine lives Quite Slowly. --February 4, 2002

Dude, stop. You're stepping on my head. Didn't you notice it was there, ya big lumberjack? --December 17, 2001

My Starbucks Christmas Cookies On my desk at work Make people happy They touch them They play with them They want to eat them They want me to eat them ("When are you going to eat them?") They want me not to eat them ("Are you REALLY gonna eat these?") If I do eat them -- like my gingerbread man's legs They feel sorry for him But they understand In a world of working professionals My cookies are a surprising Conversation piece For everyone has an opinion Today I moved them down So I could look for a change And I was asked sadly "Where did they go? Did you eat them?" Since people always turn them over I wrote on little stickies on the back Please don't eat me, I know I'm cute! Ho ho ho, have YOU been good this year? I'm always amazed At people's response To cute little edible things They bring much more comment Than anything I could do For breaki...

It wraps around me Grabs my attention Makes me curious Holds me tight It motivates me Keeps me safe Tells me stories at night It makes me love you Makes me hate you Depending on what you say I'll always wonder If I'd have been with you If it were any other way --December 13, 2001

Don't tell me that you love me if you left me. How can you expect me to believe That love in present tense has voluntary distance? Just tell me you loveD me and be gone. And then I'll always question, forever If there was always, only, a past. --December 13, 2001

today i let go of something that wasn't mine -- your love. you leant it to me for a while but then you took it back again. i tried to play tug of war because i thought it was mine. but you reminded me it was yours all along to give and take as you chose.            

They are lying there now Wrapped in gray army surplus blankets Snuggled on the cement next to each other. One is sitting up, smoking. I see a bag of food someone has left for them Unopened. Saving it for dinner. Soft-filled trashbags Are their couches. We are walking In their living room. Every day I rush by On my way to warmth and productivity. Each time I pass they're still there Living in a windowless world I think I see their life But I'm not sure For with vision Does not come seeing   Or understanding. --December 13, 2001

they call it Tough Love. why? is it tough to Find? tough to Do? or just tough to Hang on to? maybe it's... tough on Dirt. like Mr. Clean. that Big Burly guy. no matter how Dirty, he can clean You up, baby. Ship-Shape. and make you sparkling New. but while you're waiting for the Tough Love Scrub, and lots of Elbow Grease, you notice Mr. Clean has a different sort of Tough. he somehow gets the Dirty Stuff off with a lotion potion that doesn't scrub you Raw. if only you can sit still long enough to let It sink in.              --March 27, 2002                                            ...

When I say I love your smile I really do Because I've seen people not smile at me. When I say You are so nice You are. Because I've known people who aren't nice. When I say I'm happy I know I'm happy Because I've also been sad. When I say I love you I mean it with my whole heart Because I've had it broken. When I say You are my best friend You are Because I know what it's like to not have good friends. When I say Thanks for listening It's true Because I know what it's like not to be heard. And when I say Goodbye I mean it Because I know it's best. --December 27, 2001

I came to you Embarrassed, Feeling foolish; Wishing I could fix that moment when I screwed up In front of everyone. You told me I got all red And my voice shook, And I wished I'd never asked you Your opinion. Don't you realize I came to you For comfort? Not for criticism of me In my foolish-feeling moment? I won't come to you again Though you are my friend. I will unveil myself to someone More observant. Someone who Feels my pain Sees my plea behind my laughter And tells me I was not only ok, I was great... Because I tried. --February 9, 1991

Nerves. They strike me unexpectedly. Wrenching my gut at a thought. Expectations, suppositions, what-ifs. I think, and as I am, I feel. Why can't my nerves be subject to my will instead of my errant thoughts? They fly around my head while I try to catch them, Running after them, flailing the air To put them back in the bag of oblivion Not from where they came, But from where they were not yet a feeling. --December 11, 1991

We fight with swords of steel, Plunging our words through armored holograms. Wounding, gouging, slicing through live flesh. While the illusion of wholeness remains. This clash over, we retreat, Each of us to our own place of refuge To heal our invisible wounds, where life blood rushes out, Draining our very existence. Undaunted, tomorrow we again pick up our Steel swords; Body still bandaged and bleeding We fight again... Spurred on by the illusion of wholeness, But not our own. --Autumn 1992

How can it be That some people are so selfish They make YOU feel like it's you Who's the problem That they can get their needs met At the expense of yours? Guilt should overwhelm them Like an avalanche They should die with the weight Of their insensitivity Unable to breathe Like the rest of us Whose spirits they crush. - December 17, 2001

I know I'm growing old I can feel it In the length of my stride and in my hair No, that's not it They're fine It's everywhere. It's the way I think And the look on my face It's the sadness in my heart It's all in my head My friends will say But still, it's really there. I don't know how to fight it Perhaps I shouldn't try To grow old gracefully is a good thing And to be remembered well when you die. I don't know how to accept it To say, "It's just a thing, That IS, there is no avoiding it So suck it up & start enjoying it." I can't & I don't know why. My mom is getting happier And cooler every day I'm sure if you really ask me, I think I'll be that way But I don't know why all of a sudden It's catching up with me. I'm not the same anymore It's in my face But my face is not the problem Cuz it chang...

She reads her paper Oblivious To its intrusion on my air space Mine, claimed by possession Hrumphing if by my presence I make her fold it into tiny sections To keep it out of my face The seats on the train too small For the size of her and her paper Who is right? The size of the seat Or the space she really needs Or the space I take by force? Blond hair, bright, shiny, streaming Makeup perfect High-heeled boots Everyday I walk past her Behind her Around her We get on the same train At the same time I work in the same building At the same company We ride the same elevators She's never noticed me Oblivious But unhappy Admiring her new boots He walks his kids to school And himself back home Coffee cup in hand Not oblivious to me Wishing he were walking me to school instead Scraggly beard, sad Thinking life had to be better than this Trying to hide it from his family But I, the stranger, s...

Sometimes it feels bad to be good. To have this pie in the sky when you die But not get any now. To say to self, "self, what a good person I am." When no one else cares. Or dares. Hard to be square. Why is good being hard? Shouldn't it be natural To do the right thing? Easy-breezy-beautiful-good-person. I can't say I aspire To being good Because it requires Much too much of itself. Rather I try As I've said before To be aware Of what "good" IS -- to You. [ENTER corny rhyming, annoying but good lines] So my pie in the sky Will be in my eye Or better yet I'll bake it Because being good Is one of those things Where you can never never make it... You just keep trying. - January 31, 2002

if i could say how much fun i'm having it would seem wrong. one shouldn't be able to absorb good things to such a degree without having to give back to the universe the overflow. but since there are no shoulds i'll just be happy as i am, and leave all the excess to waste... ...the leftovers like flower petals fallen signifying something that once was but even more beautiful and valuable in pieces than as a whole. a waste, a luxury. after all, one can never have enough happiness. ... thanks for making me lots of petals.

There was a Guy who carried a Gun Everywhere he went "To shoot the Wabbit" He loudly proclaimed. That was his Intent. But his story started going wrong When the Wabbit wasn't shotted, Though he tried and tried Year after year. He never, ever got It. One day he decided To try again To shoot the Wabbit DEADed. So he put on his cap And picked up his Gun, And off to The Pond he headed. Then...all-of-a-sudden, He spotted the Wabbit Gently washing its sun-warmed Paw. He paused a minute Shaking his head, With a saddish sort of "AHhhh". If he shot the Wabbit He knew The Game Would be over at last, And all The People Would Really Know He'd got that Gun to blast. But the Wabbit would be Gone as can be -- N'er to be seen from again, And his cartoon life For which he was born, Would have been lived in Vain. So he pondered a moment, Scratching his h...