This was a project I did basically during the pandemic. I started writing a poem a day. Once ‘real life’ started again it got harder to write everyday, which is interesting.
The Legend of Candy Cane
There once was an elf named Candy Cane
He was an elf most wise
The one all elves would go to
The one who would advise
Candy Cane himself
Was a funny looking sprite
He had hair of bright bright red
And then a beard of white
That is how those striped delights
Came to have their name
They are named after that wise elf
It was his claim to fame
That fact has been lost
People don’t remember
The elf that sweet is named after
Those that come out in December
In the olden times
Folks used to say
That to wish upon a Candy Cane
Was a way to pray
To wish upon a Candy Cane
Was a way to ask
That venerable old funny elf
To help you with a task
So if you have something
You hold deep in your heart
Maybe wish upon a Candy Cane
And let that wise elf do his part
Giant buckets of thanks to Mo for her inspiration. It is possible that Candy Cane the Elf may make several appearances this season! We shall see….
Onward Friends
There is a world to discover
Just outside that door
Let us throw it open
linger here no more
There is a world to discover
Just beyond that hill
We can’t know for certain
that part is the thrill
There is a world to discover
Deep under that sea
We can’t know for certain
who else we can be
Let us go exploring
Always hand in hand
We can’t know for certain
where we just might land
There is but one thing
We can know for sure
We can be together
on this wild tour
the vertigo experience
the light of hope flickers
the adventure map is drawn
the pulse of progress beats
the snow of doubt descends
the path steepens
the steps pattern
the summit presents itself
don’t look down now
*thank you to my friend Jamuna Burry for inspiring this with her phrase ‘the vertigo experience’
Wild Forks
wild forks and lazy spoons
dining table, well festooned
cunning knives and plaintive plates
prayerful napkins lie in wait
buxom glasses, showing off
a certain mound of rice pilaf
haughty roast, humble peas
festive mood, manners please
At once I become
An archeologist, unearthing shards of ideas and words
Sanding them off and putting them in my satchel
A squirrel, scurrying around and chewing on fallen nuts of language
Hiding them for later
A gourmand, a big rotund gourmand
Feasting on words and rhymes and ideas
Bring me more, put it on my plate
Nom nom nom
A small girl, sitting outside, under a tree
Dreaming, imagining
Transported to a new world covered in frost
All is white and sparkles
There is a crack above
A branch drops its soft words
floating down
They had been waiting for her to wander by
An artist, a poet, a lover, a minstrel, a bard
A bear, a coyote, a fox, a snake
A river, a wave
a whisper
My feet are raw but ready
My heart is rare and open
My mind is on fire with words
What makes a space?
What makes a space
a place you want to be?
is it the things you can smell
or hear or touch or see
is it the light
how it creates a mood
maybe the what that happens there
the work or play you plan to do
perhaps it is the people
the ones who gather there
it could even be a memory
infused with love and care
even the same space will not be critiqued as equal
the reviews will be varied depending on the people
in our modern world we have created many spaces
some that exist where you only see the faces
the questions arise inside, as you consider
is the place a real one, the one your mind can deliver
Perhaps the place inside you is the only one?
I leave you with that question, my pondering is done.
always
time is a weird one it moves on its own
longer to get there than coming home
one afternoon can feel like a trial
in one second you can cover 10 miles
it is almost like time and our minds, they do dance
we find when time leads our mind is entranced
but then something happens and our mind changes the music
then time slows down, the new steps seem to confuse it
it has certainly been said before
time’s like a river, yes, I’m a bore
but it really does capture something so real
something that happens, something we feel
we ride the rapids or we float very slow
our speed keeps on changing but not the direction we go
always, always toward the wide open sea
there it is vastness, always. infinity.
what got lost
what got lost
what got shattered
what is left
what really matters?
what got lost
what got shattered
what is left?
What really matters.
A Super Cheesy Poem
Swiss is bliss
Gouda is gooda
Feta is betta
Colby Jack, bring it on back
If I could live in a world made of cheese
That would be best, can you make it? Please?
I understand it might not be good for my health
Or maybe not even good for my wealth
But I would be happy to eat only cheese
Is there a place like this? Give me the keys!
Ricotta or munster or even some goat
Let’s go get some! I’ll get my coat!
Cheedar on burgers
Jack on the nachos
Hey, whatever kind ends up on tacos!
Bottom line
Parmo is fine
Bring in all the cheese, so divine!
Here is some blue for you...
And some brie for me!
I want cheese cheese cheese, all the time!
*Dedicated to a friend, you know who you are!
The Knitter, The Watcher, and The Boatman
The Knitter works in silence, joining random hearts
The Watcher fails to notice, stuck behind thick glass
The Boatman trolls the seas of fate, playing his own part
The Knitter moves through others, leading them to art
The Watcher finds no comfort, although he does amass
The Knitter works in silence, joining random hearts
The Boatman meets his post, his focus on his cart
The Watcher fills with sadness, as the time does pass
The Boatman trolls the seas of fate, playing his own part
The Knitter makes connection, built with no clear chart
The Watcher stands alone, claiming higher class
The Knitter works in silence, joining random hearts
The Boatman does his patient work, there when you depart
The Watcher fights for certain, but truth he may bypass
The Boatman trolls the seas of fate, playing his own part
The Knitter will encourage, tugs to make a start
The Watcher will resist, claiming deep impasse
The Knitter works in silence, joining random hearts
The Boatman trolls the seas of fate, playing his own part
Something Dark
Something dark is coming
I can feel it creeping in
Something dark is coming
My mind begins to spin
Something dark is coming
The wind is howling now
Something dark is coming
No escape will be allowed
Something dark is coming
I feel the air turn cold
Something dark is coming
I have no hand to hold
Something dark is coming
Something dark is here
There is no other heartbeat
To take away my fear
Something dark is here
It takes away my breath
Something dark is here
Is this my final death?
Something dark is going
What was that evil spot?
Something dark is gone
And I find that I am not
Twiddle and Middle
Twiddle middle top and pop
These are words I like a lot
They rhyme together and have fun sound
The way they feel is hardly round
No, those are words like moon and soon
Put my cream in a spoon
Oh I love how all words feel
a sentence can be like a meal
Zander my silly pal made me an offer to put cream in a spoon and place that white liquid elixir in my yellow cup and swirl my tea like a hurricane and before I knew what had happened it was done and I sipped on the luscious mixture until noon.
Yum.
The Corner of Lincoln and Main
Hello my name is Chester and I am a Chestnut tree
I live on the corner of Lincoln and Main
So imagine the things I must see
Mr. Barnard take out the trash in his robe with a hole in the back
Inside the garage, Mike and Tommy are planning an attack
on their little sister playing outside in the sand
the big question is where the water balloons will land
Mildred Smith likes to garden in her birthday suit
Old Lady Duff has rows of cans lined up out back to shoot
with an orange slingshot and she uses peas as ammo
you should see her out there aiming in her pink and purple camo
Susan Wells has discovered the joy of painting in her sunroom
but the rest of her house is in need of more than a stiff broom
there are holes in the roof and mice have moved in
and the garbage is filled up with empty bottles of gin
The Jenkins girl sneaks out almost every night
Sam Pritchard treats his wife in a way that is not right
This lovely little neighborhood here at Lincoln and Main
Where the people from the front seem just a little bit plain
But look from above to those places hidden from view
And you will see a different life, one that’s a little more true
Shields
I wonder why you are carrying a shield?
Have you forgotten you are wearing it?
I want to tell you I can see it but I don’t want to be rude.
I want to tell you I have one too but I don’t.
Have you forgotten how to take your shield off?
I want to tell you I have forgotten too but I don’t.
I wonder if we could help each other?
I want to ask but I don’t want to be rude.
The Year Elastic Saved the Day
Well, wait...
did she save the year or the day?
The truth is I can’t really say.
All I know is that when I want to bend
my waistband...it now extends.
I am no longer overly squeezed.
I know...
I shouldn’t be so pleased.
Let the Words Fly
Thud makes a muddy sound
Whoosh is a push
Clink sort of twinkles
Bush makes a swoosh
Words are just sounds
we agree upon now
a funny mashup
of consonant and vowel
Also ideas and connections and things
the sturdy fiber that makes our world sing
Let’s not forget shape
they have also that
but our modern world has
made that quite flat
Words could be bubbles
or sticks or smudges
they could have curls
be giving nudges
But no, these letters
are much more like soldiers
round 'em up, line 'em up
stay inside the enclosure
Give me a muddy thud any old day
a why that is curvy, a maybe that sways
a question circling way up above
an answer that pushes in with a shove
Get real messy
let the words fly
release them and listen
look to the sky
let them roll
let them roam
whenever you need them
you can call them back home
he snores sometimes
he snores sometimes
he is there, snoring now
all arms and legs, stretched out on the couch
(arms and legs, or just legs?)
oh, also hair, lots of hair
always lots of hair
(hair or fur, what’s the difference?)
if i made noise now he would open one eye
and look at me, with one eye
get bored
close it again
when he cuddles with me
in the morning
nuzzling his head into my neck
it feels so good
to feel so loved
(i call these cuddle sessions, maybe he just wants breakfast?)
i’m sure he likes to cuddle too
we all want to feel loved
Wanting
Wanting. This thing that all of us do.
What I am really curious about is
what does it feel like for you?
I find it difficult to answer this oft-asked question.
Somehow, strangely, to know what I want
seems outside of my perception.
Is it like that for others or do they simply know?
Asked to share a deeper longing
maybe the answer just flows?
Is wanting precious or is it much more fleeting?
Does the answer stay the same?
Does it keep repeating?
Wanting. This thing that all of us do.
I suppose the thing I’m learning is
what matters most is following through.
You work to make a habit.
You do the thing you do.
Then you can examine. Ask if the thing is true.
Then you can decide if this is a thing you want.
If yes, you can pursue with a clear direction.
If no, you can wander and find another haunt.
I wish for you to find, the deep things in your heart.
For you to practice and find
your work turns your wanting to art.
After
Once the thing is over
Once the thing is done
Then you are left with after
That feeling can be either one
You wanted something different
You wanted something more
But instead you got what you got
And that was a great big bore
Or it was exactly right
A wonderfully perfect time
Everything went according to plan
The whole thing was the absolute prime
But either of these outcomes
The thing about after stays true
No matter what happened before
There is nothing now you can do