I’ve been here before

another hotel and I realize

I’ve been here before

two, three times maybe four

to Dallas, not this hotel

but only for conferences

airports, shuttles, hotels,

meetings, USA Today, networking,

meals and goodbye

there were two times

I got away

to see the grassy knoll,

and those making a living

keeping conspiracies alive

same with

Orlando, Vail and Chicago

and others I can’t recall

there was the time  I visited the Nelson’s

and went to Wrigley with Mark to see the

Cubs play the Tigers

we sat down the third base line

on Father’s Day, without  any of our kids

oh, and also Atlanta,

except for the trip with Kyle

to the 2000 All Star game

the year he graduated and I

had won the radio contest

again

times like these I get the Psalms

anguished pleas to a distant God

cries for justice, if not revenge

bargaining, begging

sleepless nights

and all too long days

no quick fixes, or simple explanations

only the waiting,

and the memory

that it was different

and the hope

that it may be different, again

some say it’s easy

some say it’s easy,

natural, you can’t stop it

“involuntary” droned  

the science teacher

some days

effort overwhelms

crushes my ribs

and empties my lungs

some times it takes more

much more

an act of tenacious will

a choice to continue

too bad

seems it’s not true

lemmings don’t actually

spend their days waiting

to join the mass hysteria

and head for the nearest cliff

too bad

it’s a great image

helping describe, maybe explain

acts of humanity

that should never have been

another cover-up, (alleged) cover-up

story says it was years ago

people knew

important people

famous people

they looked away

thought it would be forgotten

hoped it would be forgotten

prayed it would be forgotten

really, forgotten?

kids molested

boys raped and abused

young boys

lost souls

throw aways

tossed into hell

for one man’s pleasure

in the showers

maybe a hotel

or a home, the safe place

could have been on the road

by that man

man of power

sorry,

allegedly by the man of power

there is nothing alleged

about the lives of the boys

struggling toward adulthood

with memories that none

should bear

lost trust

fears beyond reason

hope beyond reach

August Evening

it's national poetry day so i'm re-posting one of my favorites. 

August Evening

sitting next to Connie
old, hard, wooden stadium benches
red paint, chipped, gouged and peeling
she puts on her sweater
I put on my sweatshirt

band plays hits of some artist
we know little of and care less for
overbearing 80's synthesizer
annoys me
she doesn't seem to notice or care

beyond the stage I watch carnival rides
loop, spin and race into the evening
colored lights intensify
sky drifts to darkness

near full moon glows above the trees
growing smaller as it brightens
yellow to orange to almost white

we come to the fair almost every year
it's something we do
we learned this spring she has cancer
treatment, fear, hope shadow our days

we talk a bit, decide to leave
i am ready, but hesitate
how many more times we will go to the fair

merit award 2007 Sue C. Boynton Poetry Contest

Thirty-five

9.14.74 Connie & I were married. I wrote this poem in honor of our 35th anniversary 9.14.09. I'm re-posting it today, our 37th.

Thirty-five

Sometimes I wasn’t sure
we’d make it
sometimes I wasn’t sure
I wanted to

When we started
I assumed we’d get here
expected us to stay together
but had no clue what was ahead
or what it would take

It’s not a milestone,
like fifty
but well past twenty-five
people notice twenty-five and fifty
appears thirty-five
Iis no big deal,
at least
according to public opinion,


Memories made
and more forgotten
seasons of devotion
and trials of anxiety
grace remembered
and offenses forgiven
and much forgiven again

It is the choice we made
the path we’ve followed
and I would choose it again
I think I do
I hope we do
everyday

April Fool’s Day

I am re-posting this poem during this our anniversary (37th on 9.14) week. 

Someone should make a law
That we hold all weddings on April 1st
Because only fools would make
Those promises

Promises to
Put another person first and
Stick with them
No matter what happens

To love
To sacrificially give
All because of a promise;
It’s almost un-American

There are too many examples
Of failure and despair
Outsiders mock it,
Rationalize, and degrade it

Some lie through their teeth
They make the hollow promises
For convenience
To get what they want

But some, the true fools,
Still make the promises
Maybe their youthful zeal
Blinds them to what’s ahead

And some, more foolish yet,
Keep their promises
Not because it’s easy
Or because they meet all expectations

But true fools believe the promises matter
That love cannot be forced
That it’s sometimes found
By two fools

Who learn to laugh together

a poem for my dad

My dad died on 8.1.97. I wrote this poem a decade later. I'm re-posting it on this day of memories and missing.

August 1, 2007

ten years gone

a decade

August 1, 1997

we were over the mountains at a hotel

waiting to get the kids from camp

I was planning to visit the next week

got the call

you were gone

all the things you don’t know

within days, OK a few months

I had a new job and car

Michael moved out (was in foster care)

we would have talked and you would have cared

I can’t believe you don’t know

I imagine you in your family room

sitting in your chair

(it’s upstairs in our guest room now)

your television and sound system

(big screens and theater sound are the rage,

I know you’d love it)

you’d put in some action movie

tell me “listen to this”

sound would overwhelm the room

it would be impressive

I want to hear you rant about the government

and the unending stupidity of people

I want to play Upwords

just the two of us

you keeping score

for little reason

because you would win

again

Clichés

Let’s put this one to rest
I understand
That clichés endure
Codifying folk wisdom
To, usually, transcend
Time and circumstances

Yet I recoil when I hear one
That undermines
All which I believe
The very principle
That guides my life
And orders my days

But it would be feeble
To fight
To think
I could convince
The long gone
And unknown authors
To reconsider
For my convenience

Everyone Agreed

Without conversation or discussion
Consensus was reached
Everyone agreed, she was
The most beautiful one in the room
Servers fawned
Men glanced, avoiding stares
Hoping neither she nor their companions would notice

Angles, curves,
Soft dark hair
Falling just right on her shoulders
That stare,
She looked at everyone
But saw no one
Disinterested, bored again

He ate and babbled throughout the meal
An office day and news he’d heard
Fidgeting with his phone
As if something more interesting
Would appear on his screen
Eventually calling for the bill
Without noticing she’d touched nothing

Pondering

I heard a song recently
From when I was a kid
I’m sure it was recorded
In the sixties
Sort of country humor
Simple, catchy
I’d guess it
Crossed over to
The pop world
And worked its way
Up the charts
Hanging on as long as
It could hold
The attention of adolescents

But five decades later
I hear it anew
And what was sweet
And funny
Has become dark
And foreboding

I am left pondering
What has changed more?
The song, the world
Or me?

Until

I love the early morning
Being the first out of bed
Making my way by memory
Avoiding corners and shoes
Occasionally getting it wrong
To the regret of my foot or shin

The night chill hangs
Until I close the window, kick start the heat

Sounds are few, distant, muffled
Until seasonal birds fill the yard

Darkness slinks away
Until morning has again arrived

Time pauses, then gains momentum
Until it rules the day… and morning is gone

The Enlightened West

Don’t worry
You’ll never see
A rebel flag
Or hear Dixie

There are no signs
With layers of paint
Covering old restrictions
That unofficially linger

No, not here
Not in the
Enlightened West
We were never like that

We cover our
Prejudices well
You’ll never see them
We promise

Anyway

Some give God the credit
Others assign the blame
Seems presumptuous of both
Trying to justify
What they would have done anyway

It rains all the time, doesn’t it?

this is the weather
they all
talk about

rain that vacillates
from a constant drizzle
to pounding, pouring

no umbrella can
withstand the wind
no coat can restrain the chill

the clouds hug my shoulders
weeping, dark
and shifting

seems it
will last forever
but I know better

it only lasts
long enough
to keep them away

Yet still...

Another day of Pagan rituals blended
With evangelical fervor
We squint through the twilight
Morning, standing damp-footed
In dewy, cemetery grass
For yet another sunrise service

I bow my all to Easter


Relatives and once-a-year attenders
Drawn by the scorn of a long
Gone grandma or some family curse,
Now days called expectations,
Arrive at church

I bow my all to Easter


Brunch in the basement
Between services for
Egg and bread casserole
Hastily made the night before
With fruit and dry ham, barely warm

I bow my all to Easter


Overflowing sanctuary
New bright colored dresses
And enough ladies hats to force
Even the most polite teenage boys
To smirk and jab their friends

I bow my all to Easter


Similar sermon with
A “zippy” new title, louder
Does not make it different
Or better, there is one
Easter story, get over it

I bow my all to Easter


“He is risen.” “He is risen indeed!”
Some shout, others mumble
The silent few, hope not to be noticed
Their obligation is clear
Attendance “yes,” participation “no”

I bow my all to Easter


Families, friends gather for dinner
Kids search for quickly hidden eggs
A few may not be found ‘til July 4
Too much food and obvious table talk
Candy, pictures and goodbyes

I bow my all to Easter


Cars chase dusk, disappear around the corner
A messy house, colored egg shells,
Shiny foil wrappers, flimsy colored plastic grass
Dishes to wash, leftovers to organize,
Should have sent more with the others

Yet still, I bow my all to Easter


original post: April 2009

For God and Country

The setting
On Wednesdays we gather
Early, before another day’s work
Some for more than fifteen years
Brothers in faith and life
We talk and sometimes listen
Questions, news, a book or two
Fears are whispered on occasion
Prayers offered

The first question
“Whose dad was in the military?”
Nods and affirmations from all
Stories soon follow
Of the “Big One” and Korea
And times in between

Next question
Who of us served?
We know the answer
Only Bill
His stint as an officer
Holding the Navy together
And keeping the
World safe for democracy

Last question
“How many of our kids
Have been in?”
Although not unexpected
The silence holds us for a moment
Until someone changes the subject

Opening Day

It’s Opening Day
And I must admit
That my hope fails to spring eternally

A decade of futility
Or loss of “the voice”
Both accentuate my unease

Don’t get me wrong
I’m glad it’s here
And I’d love to be surprised

But there’s an edge
That makes me wonder
Will this season bring redemption?

Layover

Chicago, Denver
Maybe Memphis
Please not Houston
Somewhere else

No longer here
But not yet there

Time absent of
Context
Becomes unrecognizable

Voice of authority
Garbles overhead
“Would I know if they called my name?"

Masses wait, some are better
At this game than others

How strange
To be a place
That no one
Wants to inhabit