A Humidor is an Odd Gift for a Wife Who has Been Cheating on You (poem)

It looked like it from the outside,
an odd present after ten years marriage.
Polished cedar.  Black and white
a waistband design around the box.
He lifts open the lid.  From the couch,
across the room, I see red velvet lining
and expect the smell of aged tobacco; but,
the aroma is never present.
His hand reaches in to grab my mystery prize.
It has weight, I can tell.  A short-sleeved polo
reveals slightly twitched muscles.
One more second I'll be able to guess...
From my new floored angle I think he knows.
I don't think he'll give me another shot.


*I'm quite interested to hear what people have to say about this.

Look Closer (poem)

Heel-to-toe a man made his way through an evening field.
Heel-to-toe a man made his way with an empty bucket in hand.

The old bucket swung forward and back on the trail to the well.
The old bucket swung forward and back ready to be filled.

The man filled the bucket out of routine and necessity.
The man filled the bucket and let it rest on the grassy ground.

The water caught the reflection of the full, bright moon.
The water caught the reflection clearly for the tired man to see.

To get a closer look at the moon, the man stuck his head in the bucket.
To get a closer look at the moon, he drowned.

*I'm not so sure I'm keen on the title.  Any thoughts?

The Drunk, the Intellect and the Universe (poem)

Slouching on a barstool sits a man, lamenting over the final few drops of his draft.  As he looks in the glass the universe shows his reflection. With sweaty fingers sliding into, and back out of, his pockets he fails to discover any remaining currency to set his situation right.  So, his loose arm reaches for the last drip, once again seeing himself, now with an empty glass.  His knees buckle when he tries to step off the robust stool.  Tipping the bartender I clasp the handle of my glass, savor my last sip and I see the universe.



*if it is at all possible I would like feedback, either by email or a comment on here about how this poem comes across to you.

Birth (poem) (not the real title, but it will be the working title as far as this blog is concerned)

To you, the noise may seem a bit muffled
today:  the clutter, the junk and constant
complications quieted, to make room
and time—stretching so that each moment
is captured.  A squirm, wince,
even a breath…treasured
because birth has brought life to happiness.

For all the yesterdays that meant nothing,
today she is,  from nothing
into everything
that is yours,
to hold in a perennial warmth.






***My cousin was born today.

My country makes me sad sometimes

Since I'm having some difficulty coming up with poems today I decided to comment briefly on the repeal that was blocked today on overturning the "Don't ask, Don't tell" policy in the military.

I believe that the gay/lesbian issue in this country is just as serious as the equal rights issue for African Americans and the civil rights issue for women that this country has seen in the past.  Our country, compared to some other is stuck in the past in some of its ways of thinking.  We cannot make the minority of our country's citizens into the majority, and we must see each other as equals.  It's sad to me that this has to be said over and over again.  But when we step back and look at the situation the gay community is no different from the rest of us.  They have chosen who they want to be and they are comfortable with it.  They are capable of all the same great things as we who happen to be in the majority.

We have issues that span globally...wars, tension with islamic countries...but as far as the problems we have within our own society, I believe that equal rights for the gay community is the most prevalent, because there is an intolerance that still is going on in our country towards a group of individuals who should be given everything that each and every American should have...equal freedoms.

I believe it to be shameful that we stand for equality, liberty, freedom, justice...and we seem to fail quite often in displaying these things.

I've been an advocate of the changes we made as a country with the executive branch of our government...but this is one of the most important areas I was hoping to see some change in, and I haven't yet.

The Eucharist (poem)

I am one at the tail of a line
linked with individual, hand-clasped,
notches.  My wrist slightly turned,
the bold face of my onyx watch glared
with hands that seemed incapable
of much movement.

On either side of me, pews,
wooden waves flowing with prayers
from huddled believers…and my brother
whose own head bowed from sleep,
apparently having grown tired
from his watch face.

I feel vile, a poison floating
amongst the calm of hope, a boy
whose putrid ignorance knows no fault
but somehow I’m still capable of rising
to the alter.  My father finished first.
He waited with a brazen smile.

The priest, peering right into me,
did not see the snake in the grass.
My head cocked, and while awaiting
body and blood, I connected with Christ’s
own eyes, high above the alter—nailed
to a cross; and, one thought escaped

If you were killed more recently
would I have a golden electric chair
around my neck?*

On my voyage back to the pews
mother’s lips beamed at me
probably because, on that day,
I chose to appease everyone.  




*A reference to comedian Lenny Bruce.


**Just wrote this today.

MY CATS

I could be bored out of my mind and they can entertain me.

Ladies and gentlement...the ladies of the Man Cave.
Isis and Harley.

Mostly (poem)

She is not a high school mistake,
my 'everything in common' or
my 'nothing at all.'  I've grown,
a bit.  Realized there is no center
where x and y meet in a fairytale

have children, live happily. 
And even after this, I am mostly
glee.  Mostly.  She can be tough
and sometimes ice, but my words
run a tad frosty at times,

but cold mistakes can be made,
and slept on bitterly, divided
by that stale space separating
our two bodies, but Mostly
we are twined,

however, if not for the twists;
the frown-causing melodramas,
we would be somehow less.




**Not quite sure if I like this one the way it is or not.

November 5, 2008 (poem)

***For those who don't know this was the date Obama was elected.  I was in Italy at the time and it was a day I wanted to remember.  Why?  Well, what I remember most about that day was how happy the Italians were.  That's right.  Our country has so much influence around the world that it actually made the Italian people happy that we chose to not torture the world for 4 more years.  You see, say what you want about our President...maybe he has not been Jesus in disguise, but, he has brought a good new image to our country and that is quite important, because, no matter what problems we have going on here, global relationships are probably the most important thing to have.  Let Iraq and the countless European countries our former president pissed off be the example of that.   Anyways...this is probably the worst poem I've ever written, but I had to get my feelings down quickly that day.  (I was in the basement of the Medici Chapel in Florence where Michelangelo hid from the Medici's because of his opposition to the new government).

In a very small basement with no place to sit,
a man hid alone from a corrupt government.
He drew on the ceilings and on the wall,
with endless amounts of charred black coal.
He sketched out his David and his Moses too
and passed time with other drawings he knew.

The artist left his hand print outlined in black
and I could actually see every line and every crack.
The tips of his fingers could bring forth a tear
knowing that this great artist was actually here
Before he left his friends and his home
and later went off to die in Rome.

I left the chapel where he was kept
and on the way out, saw the tombs where his enemies slept.
He brought change to his world for all people to see
giving some faith to those in Italy.
It was 6 in the morning when I came back outside
and there was an excitement my foreign friends couldn't hide.
They told me the news and my smile grew,
I could now have faith in my country too.

My Inspiration

It's gotta come from somewhere, right?  I guess for me it comes from Dante, at least partially.  I studied him for an entire semester and came to the conclusion that there exists no writer more talented...at least to me.  He taught me to take the hardest moments and hardest feelings in life and turn them into something great.  Dante was exiled from his home and spent a good portion of his life writing The Divine Comedy...a work that upon studying, one realizes that only a man put through the pain of being exiled could write a masterpiece such as that.  He took the horrible things he went through and taught everyone that read his work how to get through the journey of self-doubt.  You look back at what things made you, you and then build.  A lot of times certain terrible memories have crafted you into the person you've become and you have to reconcile with those and move past them.  You must go through hell to get to paradise. 

This is a picture of yours truly in front of a statue of Dante (il Sommo Poeta) in his home town of Florence, Italy.