A letter in the mail
Is all I have
8 years of love
And
friendship
The memories
and the bonds
We will never forget
The photographs
And letters
on my wall
Flipping from the trampoline
Into the pool
The laughter
And experiences
We no longer
have
But the love
We still
Feel
My childhood
I will never
Get back
But I still
cling onto
With memories
And the letters
Signed
With love, From NC
Let them be as candy,
Always sweet and appealing,
but unhealthy.
I’d rather be a celery,
Green and powerful like the hulk.
To have fed millions of people around the world,
To be full of good nutrients,
To have kept so many people healthy and active.
I’d rather be disliked, and if
then avoided by everyone ,
than to be an unhealthy piece of candy,
Which is mass produced
by humans and not by nature.
I’d rather smell of the earth and soil
Than of food coloring and sugary crap.
If I could know I kept people healthy,
I’d rather be a celery.
Let them be as tranquil, placid ponds.
Always still, calm,
quietly dignified
but never changing.
I’d rather be an ocean on a stormy day,
tumultuous and in flux, like the universe we live in.
Our world does not stop,
does not pause
to take a breath.
Why should I try to be any different?
To have been alone
with nothing else but the windy,
storm-grey sky,
rising and falling
as gusts blow back and forth.
To be respected, not as consistent or serene
or even wise but as dynamic, a thing of energy.
A blustery sea.
I’d rather be unconstrained and abrupt,
and if then puzzling
or even alienating
to those who encounter me,
then to be calm and agreeable, the placid pond
where tranquility is guaranteed,
but change and the power to act is not.
In the Granite State is
a small town special
to me although, maybe not
to you. Up Route 3 then over
to I-89, where Vermont and
New Hampshire meet, just
south of the snowy White Mountains.
Sweltering summer days at Storrs Pond,
autumnal apple picking at Riverview
Farm, skiing down the frosty cold snow
at the Dartmouth Skiway, hiking up
Mount Cardigan in the blooming spring,
where each year, we returned.
The bustling main street
filled with the familiar bakeries,
restaurants, and shops.
Where I used to spend
so much time, and now,
hardly any.
Goodbye sweet football,
Oh how you’ll be missed,
The Friday night lights,
And the knockout hits,
Title: Yearning for a Football Autumn
It’s hard to project my feelings on the finishing of the fall,
One part of me is happy to be free,
But the other is not at all,
I have to come to terms that my favorite sport is over,
A longing feeling sinks to my shoulders,
I should be happy for it,
I can spend time with friends,
But here comes the thought, time and time again,
There will be no more jokes cracked at the team dinner table,
For those were the last days we were actually enabled,
To suit up after school and go to work,
With a sense of great pride, even though it may have hurt,
And some days we would question if it was worth,
The hours and the effort we put in with no immediate return,
Yet, on fridays that all changed,
We were silent and collected,
The stands were roaring, fan’s voices projected,
We would run out ready to try for a win,
Because we know we’d never all play together again
1942, the middle of World War II, a reign not so delight,
A silent barren street wraps around the diner tonight,
Just three figures remain and a few hours until twilight,
Even with empty mugs these nighthawks won’t take flight.
Phillie’s, the tank full of glow that seeps and pours,
To cast a reverse shadow all over the opposite floor,
And while everyone else in the city sleeps and snores,
Nocturnal nighthawks stay alert without pressure to soar.
Sales down as the bartender hasn’t a busy shift to attend,
But someday he knows times will have to mend,
But in the meantime everyone’s got plenty of time to spend,
Because it feels this night will never end.
I relax on the wooden dock fishing
with little Jasper, thinking
not about the four-hour drive
not how the school year is starting in a few weeks
or if I will be on dish duty after dinner.
Nothing is on my mind.
Simply the tender air of the sun
mixed with the calm breeze of the lake.
We race to the floating platform and plunge
into the open water holding on to the rush.
Others join us after hearing our cries of
glee and laughter.
We have been through so much together;
through death that came too soon, through many
days and nights in this old rickety house, through storms
that almost collapsed the trees around us.
Some of us have gone, but we have stayed strong
held each other’s hands through the worst of it
and remembered the best of it.
But today while those thoughts are in the back
of our heads, we sing and dance
to the music that we create with our hearts.
In life, there is little room to be hardened with sadness
or to be so enraged that one cannot speak.
So today we are grateful for the days to come
and the ones we will spend here in this blessed place.
Your
floppy ears
and fluffy golden fur
Sunday evenings
seven thirty
Seinfeld on CBS
You
on my lap
Body curled
paws tucked
Your
eyes closed
soft snore
My sadness
soft cured by
Your
infinite supply of love
and kisses
In the heart of Lexington
After the poor old stop sign
And a swift left turn
Follow the signs and
Don’t forget to wave to the
Nice crossing guards
That withstand every lousy
Morning with smiles on their faces.
Upon your arrival
You are met with flowers
Blooming from every bush
And trees towering over all
Who walk under them.
Those who come should embrace
The nice hellos every morning, and
Cherish the janitor that remembered
Your name, while looking out for the
Squirrels that scurry by every morning
And the birds that follow in the evening.
Finally, you have to leave.
There is not much there to do
Except remember the place you grew up
And move on.
I get hit before sleep,
and after the sun
beams through the window
My identical twin,
controls the spinning blades,
The scary ones on the ceiling
I get rid of the monsters
under the bed,
and in the closet
Prevent stubbing toes
Againstthe corner
of the bed
Without me,
dark stairs
become menacing stairs
Control if you see
nothing or everything
If I’m flipped up or down
I don’t know nobody else thats doing this