A Wonderful Morning

A Wonderful Morning

what a wonderful morning is
what a wonderful morning tis
to wake up alive feeling good

though i have aches, though i have stress
though i have gray, though i have pain
i know just my chronic ailments

i know it’s just my plain old age
after all considerations
just you know I still feel just great

what a wonderful morning is
what a wonderful morning tis
to wake up alive feeling good

this poem appears in “Good Morning New Year” – see link to publications in menu for more info

It Pays to Behave Oneself Wisely

It Pays to Behave Oneself Wisely

it pays to behave oneself wisely
in the halls of polity
where your reputation is in a scope

it pays to behave oneself wisely
on lonely corners of any metropolis
where possibilities of the con may exist

it pays to behave oneself wisely
in enclaves of good old boys
where they play with burning crosses

it pays to behave oneself wisely
in all realms, dwellings and journeys
where poison asps hatch
where rabid wolves roam

How Will I Fare When I Stand Before Goliath

How Will I Fare When I Stand Before Goliath

How will I fare before a Goliath?

will discouragement from family, friends
invade my ears, my heart, make me stand down

will the terror of his girth, horror his sword
make me cower, fret, lose nerve, run and hide

who is this Goliath that makes me shrink
from following after my dreams?

the apprehension of taking a risk,
the fear of failure pursuing success,

the timidity of stepping on stage,
the avoidance having, achieving goals,

who is Goliath that makes me stand down?

i will not stop my pursuit of success.
i will not run away, will not retreat

Ribs for the Road (revised)

RIBS FOR THE ROAD

can i make you laugh today
can i tell you a story
that will make you smile
or will the dryness
or will the crude edge
only make you frown

let me try

i’m stuck in an airport
delayed again, nonetheless
it’s dinner time and i’m hangry

there only two large restaurants
in the airport, one i hate
therefore, my choice
has been simplified

i order the ribs slathered
in a sauce named after
a famous kentucky sour mash

i wait and watch people
move along the concourse
finally, my food arrives

the ribs are…
huge…
…sorry i forgot to take a picture…
…pterodactyl sized…
ribs

people in the restaurant are staring
jaws dropped, mouths agape
wondering what on earth
is he going to do with that

i know i’m wondering

doesn’t matter, i’m famished
and i need to eat now
delayed flight statuses change
in a new york minute

i unfold my napkin
to retrieve my knife
lo and behold
it is a butter knife

seriously?

i look for the server
however, she along with
her cohorts are a scurrying
because the place is packed

many flights were delayed today
and many folk don’t have
many places to go
so they stop here for the show

watching me with my butter knife,
fork, big paper towel napkin in hand
tearing through my ribs
for the road

Tough Times on the Street

Tough Times on the Street

who was the baddest cat in town
who was all brute, no brain, all brawn
who were the loudmouths
always spouting lip
always running cons

who were the quiet ones
who always knew the score
where the bodies were buried
who buried them
and much, much more

am i writing about past rough times
on the neighborhood street corner
or am i writing about the corner office
tough times on Main Street
and tough times in things corporate

A Poem for the Road


today i travel by plane across the country

whether by plane

whether by train

whether by ship

i enjoy the sense

of adventure

this morning i’m at O’Hare

on my way to Detroit

as i stand at my gate

gazing at my surroundings

i spot an interesting

and remarkable sight

there is a young man

seated at a table

at a coffee shop

facing the concourse

typing away

on a beautiful sky light blue

typewriter…

of course, i must stop by

and say  “hello”

“you know you are going to attract

a pack of tourists, banging away

on that thing like that”, i say

he smiles a broad smile,

“i hope so”, he jovially exclaims

“well write on,

you writing warrior write on”

i continue

he tells me that he is writing letters

while he awaits his flight

we talk about writing, poetry and prose

we shake hands as I depart

for it is time for me to board

as move towards the gate door

i feel tap on my shoulder

it’s the young man standing there

smiling, holding a folded paper

in his hand and saying,

Here’s a poem for the road

and I read every line as I walked

to my seat and as i sat

i read it some more

and I was pleased at the moment

of sharing

 

After Losing a Long, Well Fought Fight

after losing a long, well fought fight
the rain or our pain pelts the pith in our joints
the heat of our hurt melts the marrow
in our bones

the valleys of our battlefields
are covered with wreckage of dreams deferred
our steeds are worn
our banners torn
into the wind our masts blown
and our tears rage
like the charge of rolling rapids
raging in an upset river

arising, raising our once torn
now mended banners higher
we tread trails of trial
trails of test
trails of travail
trails of toil

nonetheless, the hardened footsteps
of our tempered feet tend not
towards long retreat

towards our battlefield
towards our commitment
towards our vision
toward our dream

towards the source of our sore
once the gates are open

we shall return

Weary Travel Nights – (repeat post)

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i’m at an after hours place

to my left is a man who loudly orders
a redneck long island iced tea

he’s gotten my attention

i move four seats away
to make room for his posse
for fear of what type of prey

these hunters may be hunting tonight

after i move i hear the man to my far right
railing on the federal government

i can’t win

i call the bartender
bartender please
refill my glass
and bring my check

i chug my malbec,
drop a ten and a twenty
next to the empty glass
pick up my briefcase

and walk across the street
to my hotel

weary travel nights

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