Two-Thousand and Twelve

Well, so much for finishing all the things I was going to finish this year.
There are about two-thousand and twelve lines left on this list here.
But tomorrow will feel about the same
and we'll keep doing what we need each day
and some things don't matter anyway.
So let the winds of time carry off the chaff and leave the tasks we must hold dear.

Your Job

Your child is not a fashion show.
Your job is not to keep her from ever crying.
Your success shan't be measured in how well she sleeps.
Your child is a will and a soul.
Your job is to show her how to be whole.
Your care is real and your love is deep.

Now

Now you are eight months
and then you'll be eight years
and now you're the youngest
but then you'll likely be the oldest.
But we won't worry about then,
because now is enough.
Now we're both here
but with places to go
and lessons to teach
and lessons to know.
But don't you worry about that,
because I worry enough.

A New Combination of Words

Every chord's been played and combined with lyrics.
No sooner do I think of a song but I hear it
on the radio in someone else's words.
There are no more firsts, only seconds and thirds.

Language evolves like new strains of germs
but there's no new sounds (except those made by worms)
and this poem is just words that you've already heard
but I'm pretty sure it's a new combination of words.

Restless Leg Syndrome

This baby is awake--
her legs are climbing stairs.
There are no stairs in bed
but she doesn't seem to care.
Her climbing muscles fire
with no promise of abatement.
"Restless leg syndrome"
would be an understatement.

Big Days

On Thanksgiving day you pulled yourself to standing. We were all surprised.
On Christmas day you climbed a stair, and proceeded to climb the whole flight.
And on New Year's Day, what shall you do? Say a word? Take a step?
Maybe wait until your birthday. Your mom's not ready yet.

Me and Mary

I'm now quite sure that Mary "treasured up all these things"
while nursing baby Jesus. And I hope she could sleep while He slept.
I wonder if she had done much baby-proofing by the time the wise men came.
And did she have a high shelf where their gifts could be kept?
Was Jesus an early walker? He later walked on water.
Or, to prepare for later sermons, did his talking get an early start?
What kind of love did Mary see when she looked in Jesus' eyes?
So much for me and Mary to ponder in our hearts.

She Ate This Poem

Good to Know

I could gain thirty pounds and still not be technically overweight.
Good to know.
Some celebrities broke up, and some went on a date.
Good to know.

Whole wheat is good for you or whole wheat is bad.
Good to know.
And just for Christmas they are introducing a new fad.
Good to know.

It's good to know, it's good to know
and so we put our lives on hold
just to know know know.
Ideas for free, ideas for free
you could surf for a century
all to know, know, know.

I have more than five hundred alleged friends.
Good to know.
And my battery's life is about to end.
Good to know.

It's good to know, it's good to know
and so we put our lives on hold
just to know know know.
Ideas for free, ideas for free
you could surf for a century
all to know, know, know.

No need to think, just click a link,
and the thoughts of every shrink,
consumer, writer, rumor, friend
will come before you in a blink.

It's good to know, it's good to know
and so we put our lives on hold
just to know know know.
Ideas for free, ideas for you
to use when there's nothing left to do…
but no, no, no.

Festive

Tis three days before Christmas

and I'm sick in bed.

My face is kind of greenish,

my nostrils are red.

So I'm looking pretty festive

as I sit here sipping tea. 

I bet that even Santa

wishes he were me.

Some Other Year

December twenty-one, shortest day of the year.
All the days are too short as Christmas draws near.
Like the anti-thief in the night, the day will be here,
and I won't be ready. That's what I fear.
Let's give up on the parties and chatter and cheer
and try this again some other year.

Farther

Remember when we used to walk the same old streets but farther?
We had the lovely feeling that our world was getting larger.
Around each bend was something we had never seen before
and we'd get home so tired for we always wanted more.

After Running Around the World

After running around the world
for the past few years
like a chicken with its head cut off
I've discovered
I still have a brain stem.
I can stop flapping; I don't need to tread water.
I can start walking
as soon as I clear a path through this room.

Poems About the Rain

I've run out of small talk.
These words are just answers to "How are you?"
Shall we talk about my soul,
my spirit and my secret list of things to do?
This is the internet--
one small step away from public domain.
So, how's the weather?
Looks like we'll be having more poems about the rain.

Just a Day Behind

It often seems that I'm
just a day behind.
(Or sometimes two or three--
but who's counting? Nope, not me.)
If I put "get behind"
on a list of mine
and didn't get it done
could I catch up for once?

Jail

Some people try to go to jail just so they can freeload.
I've heard of that, and I'm sure it's rarely true.
Rare because, although we all hate to be busy,
in jail we'd make escape plans just for something to do.

Human Hearts

Human hearts can be so gross
and yet it's human hearts I treasure most.
This Christmas, I just want to hold you close.
All I want to do is hold you close.

Get Up and Go

Our baby's always on the move.
She wants to get up and go
but no place is safe for her.
We watch the news and want to move,
to leave, to get up and go
to someplace other than earth.

Digital Hoarder

At least I don't have a disorder disorder.
I'm quite organized as a digital hoarder.
This scanner/compacter makes my hoard dense.
The files are labeled. The folders make sense.

Save, Scan, Throw It Away

What was I saying,
before this message came across:
"You have some unsaved changes
that will be lost."?
Oh yes:
I've been scanning what I've saved
and throwing it away.
But I'll have it if I need it
on some later day.
And the chances that I'll look at it
while it's on my hard disk?
I'm sure if I just lost it,
I wouldn't know what I had missed.
But just going through these piles
has been rather fun––
remembering all the things I wrote
and the things I've done.
And what if I just tossed it?
Would that make me less?
Or would that make my life
just that much less complex?
Complexity is valued
in mystery, cheese, and wine.
Amongst these aged papers
there are clues to some of mine.
But complexities can't fit
on some papers, in a file.
There in me. I stand triumphant
on this growing recycle pile.
Save it, scan it,
and throw it all away.
Or just light it all on fire.
Either way, you're safe.

Furnace Day

I hope I remember next year in December
on the eleventh it's Furnace Day.
And we will celebrate by turning it to 88°,
but for now, 70° is plenty okay.

Comes to a Head

It's three thirty in the morning.
She's still
refusing to sleep like a baby.
She usually gets tired at midnight
but she's been
fighting it lately.
Genius borders disaster
as the end
of the term draws near.
She feels like she's missing something
but everything
comes to a head here.

Opposite Opinions

You'll find opposite opinions on the internet
masquerading as facts. It's a fact.
And when you want to know what's true, what do you do?
Unless you know, you can't relax.
If the internet's too scary, try the public library.
Wind your way back through those stacks.
Find still opposite opinions when you look in the books.
They'll say it's true. It's just a fact.

Catching Up

Just catching up on each other's lives.

It's so easy to get behind.

A little travel, a little time,

and we wonder where we are.

We find so much is still the same,

like growing up and constant change.

We've caught up for a few days

but keeping up is hard.

As My Friend is Here

This poem will be short,
as my friend is here.
Just a few days,
but oh so dear.

Needy

Why you gotta be so needy?
Promise me you don't be greedy
and pass your boredom off as thirst
or little bumps as hurts far worse.
Cry to me and I'll believe you,
change your diaper, hold and feed you,
aware my "need" to be your hero
could feed greed, and that's my fear. Oh,
why this be so complicated?
And when will you be satiated?
You know, I can be selfish too,
and I have things I need to do
when this apparent growth spurt's through.

Tomorrow's Poem

I'd rather write tomorrow's poem,
to make a guess at what's unknown,
to predict it like the weather
and to say "It will be better."
Even if that might be fun,
I live each day just as she comes.

[See this poem.]

Album-Titled Self

Oh, oh, my album-titled self.
I changed my name to get my product on the shelf.
Now I'm waiting, waiting to see if it sells.
Waiting all by my album-titled self.

Paint on the tape on the video.
There wasn't much that he wouldn't show.
And she was the voice that people would know.
At least he thought so.

In green paint now, because that's the best.
It'll all turn green until there's nothing left
but a green smoke stack and we all are deaf
from the people shouting yes.

And then we'll give up on our budget cuts
the minute we feel they've stuck us in a rut.
And we'll rush out and buy a new truck
just to handle a buck.

I usually write to make more sense.
That's not in right now, in my defense.
There's a cost to keeping up with the trends.
It's a business expense.
Life's a business expense.
I can write myself off as a business expense.

Oh, oh, my album-titled self.
I changed my name to get my product on the shelf.
Now I'm waiting, waiting to see if it sells.
Waiting all by my album-titled self.

Foreclosure

I awoke to a loud cold knock at the door.
I had no idea what they were here for.
Hasty and stern, they wanted their money.
I said, "There's no mortgage." They said, "Don't be funny.
Not your home– your brain. Pay for your education!"
I said, "I still am! I'm paying! Be patient!"
They said "It's too late. This is a foreclosure,"
and they opened my brain, commencing the torture.
With scalpels and forceps they started to sort.
I begged them to leave what I'd learned in the dorms
but they took it all– all I'd learned in college.
They scraped out the street smarts and took the book knowledge.
I forgot where I'd traveled, I lost what I'd read,
plus all the connections I'd made in my head.
It was gone, just like that. Those four years of studies
and time spent debating with my college buddies.
Then they closed up my brain. I had nothing to say.
They said with a smile, "Now you don't have to pay!"
Then I really awoke. Twas a dream. It was night.
Tried to go back to sleep, filled with freedom and fright.

Can't this be my day of rest?

Can't this be my day of rest?
I can see your way is best
if I just want to live 'til death
but I want more from life.
Can't I even stop and think?
Can't you see I'm on the brink
but if I never rest I'll sink?
I am a mother and a wife.

Untitled Poem

This poem has no title.
Like a horse without bridle
it wanders where it wills.
It says what it wants to.
So empty, it haunts you;
so free, its creativity killed.