Midwest Campaign Color

I liked Ike and I liked Mike 

but they are of two different kinds 

and I never confused one for the other  

I never thought the picture painted the person 

I never pledged my all for pretty lies 

or how aggressively one could dunk  

they say that love is blind but 

I can distinguish between a game 

and pursuit of the general welfare 

some loves are still sacred 

and not able to be summarized 

in a symbol or a sound bite 

and liberty means nothing at all 

if it isn't shared with rivals

so clutch your desperate foam fingers  

and rally for your team 

I'll be here with a first aid kit 

when your icons slip and fall 

because this "game" as you call it 

is more important than your fandom

Bubbles (2009)

He speaks, and my ears bleed.

I imagine his words
as bubbles rising in a pond
while I lie flat on the bottom
and watch them float away.
Fish visit and communicate
with gentle nibbles on my neck,
then they swim away. I can tell
they were only looking for food
or they would stay with me and help me
try to make sense of this
confusing torrent of bubbles.

I wish I could quit listening.
I could give him words, I'd like to,
but that would only be trading
hate for hate, and I won't do that.
We should trade better words, but then
he'd have to have some compassion
(or indeed, any heart at all)
but his mouth keeps droning on and on
repeating the same old harsh words
like screaming an incantation.
It sounds like a madman gargling.

Still on my back in the pond,
I watch the bubbles carefully
to discern what they mean
and how I should respond.
Are they signs of danger?
Are they simply harmless air?
I hold myself still in the water, angry,
fearing I risk self-destruction
if I fail to pay attention
even for a single moment.

His words snag flesh like hooks.
I wish I could yank on his words
as if they were a fishing line
and see him tumble into the pond
where he must lie with bated breath
and watch the last of my long regret
drift away with the bubbles.

Garden Party (2009)

I attended your garden party
uncertain of your invitation
I saw the garish blooms you grew
and listened while you told about
the problems of your latest projects
wordlessly I listened

I saw tanks of helium

and clowns, inflating red balloons
one small boy who lost his cried
I sympathized with him and wished
that I could fly away from here
following his balloon

a company at your command
performed your little one-act play
I overheard the words "revealed
on stage in acts demonstrative
one encounters characters
more intimate than life"

I thought, how apropos the words
how poignantly ironic
given our previous dramas 

you moved on to other roles
and left me with few words
I'd rewrite if I could

how comforting a garden party
in one's own well-planned garden
how difficult to know one's lines
when one's script is withheld
and how it all makes one wary
of future invitations

Fair Desert (2009)

Gazing on the moonlit desert
Again I long to drag my limbs
Across the gentle curvature
Of beloved dunes
To set up camp by the sagebrush
And hear the gentle whispering
Of wind through yellow flowers
Dreamlike, drunk on this fair image
(Or perhaps the altitude)
I affirm the truth as written
By a learned aviator
The beauty of this desert lies
Not only in its appearance
But also in the precious moisture
Hidden among the succulents

Thanks to Antoine de St. Exupery for the inspiration.

Old Bachelor

Dinner came early: lunch was cold, 

Breakfast a fading memory, 

So I linger over dessert. 
I face a long and bitter evening 

Before I climb the stairs to rest.

I savor each sweet bite. 

Haiku

The heart that is old 

Yearns for bright company 

Of hearts that are young 

  

Words on learning the death of an old friend (2015)

We hardly talked since school together

Though we caught up in an offhand way

Mediated by social media 

And I suppose we were never great friends 

But I was affected to hear you'd passed 

And I thought about us in our chemistry class, 

Secretly retrofitting Erlenmeyer flasks 

For pursuit of a less appropriate chemistry 

And I remembered our talks by the window 

When you shared advice in a brotherly way, 

Half-smiling and glinting when you spoke 

As if you were daring a contradiction, 

Rough and pointed and comfortingly sure 

Like one of your beat-up boots. 

And I looked up to you, how couldn't I, 

Tall as you are, or were. 

They'll have to go custom-made to fit 

You inside one of those cushioned boxes, 

And I know you've left your family 

But they'll pray for you, and so will I, 

I'll pray that your journey from death to life 

Goes quickly, because I can't imagine 

You stuck in the dark for long. When 

We meet again to catch up, bye and bye, 

I hope you'll save me a seat by a window.