Thirty//Thirty 2014 13/30: Because I missed yesterday

I want to see how many people read my poems:
copy and paste this to your status shows me who is really paying attention.
NO cheating!

Without rhyme or reason,
meter does not belong here.
My poems fall on deaf ears.

Or could it be the interwebs itself?
"It's poetry. I don't have time for that."
"Which 80s cartoon character are you?"
"Top twenty reasons your twenties blah blah blah..."

The overstauration of the written word
or that you just don't get it
or even care.

Confessions of a christian hipster stay-at-home-dad.
Tired of trying to figure out what I'm going to write.
I can't imagine what the rest of you feel like.

Thirty//Thirty 2014 11/30: "They grow up so fast."

Nine months or so of waiting
(moreso if you've been trying)
from when you see the results.
Home pregnancy test, a dipstick for her pee.

Doctor's visits and watching what you eat.
Ultrasound offering a glimpse
of a bouncing baby joy.
Sleepless nights
keeping with the rhythms.
When it comes down to it,
those last two weeks last too long.

Freddy Flintsone in the waiting room
pacing back and forth
wearing down the bedrock
worrying Wilma in the wings.

Until: "Look what we've got here!"
Holding him up
naked as the day is long
in front of God and everyone.
The world revolves around this son
pinching, poking, prodding
just to get a reading
parental paparazzi
pics between the feeding.
Stuck in the biliruben rave machine
dancing 'cross the scene.
Kids these days.

Parenting knit into our nature,
fawning over this young buck.
Could hibernate for days
if only he could bear it.
We'd love to have you longer,
but it's past his bedtime, you see.

There's this time-dump
sitting and staring
wondering what came before
and what we're missing out on now.
There could be so much more in the periphery,
but I'm afraid to miss something.

Up with the cries
dawning that sleep is
but a figment.
Caught in dreams
fragmented follies
because the sleep's so broken.
Change, sleep, play.
Working magic
and the tricks up sleeves
wave a wand of wonders.

Sing a song about a bumblebee.
Patty-cake with his feet
marking with a "B"
when clearly Harrison
begins with an "H."
Today, I watched this
over and over.

Where does the time go?

Thirty//Thirty 2014 10/30: Crisis of Infinite Girlfriends

I cannot exist in this.

My life has since
traveled
upon this timeline,
tangled,
a criss-crossing web
where alternate histories,
worlds,
collide and crash in upon themselves.

A simple breeze could undo
these threads
and shatter the illusion
of a safety net.
Balancing a sticky situation
wound tight
blood, draining from you
and the fear that catches you
off guard.

Lies have been spun.
All eyes are upon
you
watching your struggle.

Thirty//Thirty 2014 9/30: Voices

These characters won't stop talking to me:
gibberish whispers, when all I wish for
is a coherent sentence
traveling tides
from here to there
and back again.

Competition is stiff
like the risen undead
in Five Ancients
or wherever that thread sends us.

Not cutting it
when the Barbershop Quartet
can't sit still
long enough for a trim.
No help looking for other Supers
hidden behind their masks.

And how's about Traveling Tales?
Hitch a ride
at the end of my pen
walk all through this notebook
with footsteps I can't fill.

Thirty//Thirty 2014 8/30: 1107

Fifteen years ago
friendships found, yet not bound.
I see these names, yet cannot connect
pictures to them.
they do not register like they once had.

Recording dreams as if they were
some portent to my soul.
Superficiality in the shallow end.
In over your head
is for those unafraid to swim.

Poems and songs, endlessly in love
written for the changing of the seasons
as next door neighbors turn to ash.

Thirty//Thirty 2014 7/30: I am sinner, hear me roar.

God, bless the rains down in Africa.

The parched plain, choking on chaff
and the ozone of the upcoming deluge
of Genesis proportions and implications.

It is an old wives' tale
of how far away the storm lay
counting seconds between thunderclaps
congratulating bench work
as the ball strikes the bedposts.

Yet make no mistake:
there is truth in the telling.

You can also hear the lion's roar
up to three miles away,
but he could always be closer.
Looking for someone to devour
the enemy prowls around
sampling
a little of everyone in his path
tasty morsels feasting on the flesh
of the Father's children.

Thirty//Thirty 2014 6/30: Eats

Dessert consisted of some sort of chocolate cake, cascaded with strawberries
washed down with a glass of milk.

One small Clementine,
a piece of not-fried chicken and
a couple of swigs of hot sauce to get the zip just right.
A slice of Cooper and a cookie
and another glass of milk.

I'm no longer hungry, but my mouth still is.

Thirty//Thirty 2014 5/30: Upon Being the First

Upon exiting the theater,
we all agree on those pivotal
moments, accentuated by
the 'ooohs' and 'aaahs,'
chatter, chasing down the aisle.
"Yes, Jared, we could tell you liked it."

The Nerdestary assembles.
Roster changing upon availability
and qualifying expertise
all variants of "Can someone watch the kid tonight?"

My mother swoops in to save the day,
and the operative is a success.
Now, we shall see if she can put him to sleep.
Two months old.
The longest we've been apart, together.

On the ride home
instead of discussion on how good the movie was
we consider the individual merits of when it may be appropriate
for inclusion in such outings.
You've one parental unit in which they're watching them at six
and another that strictly adheres to the PG-13 policy.

Comic books, waiting, bagged and boarded
in their own time capsule cryogenic chambers
to be unearthed not
before such and such a date. Reading
is an investment in our future.

We can rattle off a half dozen cartoons, followed up by the movie originals.
Netflix and DVDs make Saturday morning, a bowl of cereal whenever we please.

Dinosaurs, cars and trucks, animals.
These each have their worth,
this cannot be denied.
Yet to lose one from the grasp of nerd-dom?
Heart wrenching.

Thirty//Thirty 2014 04/30: Flipping

I journey back
through the past
few pages
and wonder:

"Where do I come up with this stuff?"

Thirty//Thirty 2014 3/30: She heard my voice and she moved

Sailor's shanties like a siren's song
compelling you
cast yourself upon the rocks.
The old albatross
is tossed, about
by wind and wave.

He reaches up like his father before him
though no child of his own
to impart his salty pearls of wisdom
but to the cabin boy.
The only one left who'll listen.

It is a tale of woe
but for the telling
of the days long gone.
Where haughty stories
once did dwell.

He loved once
a girl in port
and harbored no others
for she left him to die at sea.

Keelhauled
in the salty air
barnacles
hardening his heart.

He sits and stares
having long ago set sail
and labors listlessly.

Thirty//Thirty 2014 2/30: Feeding Time

You are dealing quite well with mommy and daddy overestimating our stay this evening.

And now, the frantic wails of infancy are in their prime.
You're growing up so fast.

Yes, it's late.
Yes, you're hungry.
Yes, we'll be home soon.

Yet these words do not soothe
and the developmental stage
upon which you deliver
your tear-stained monologue
startles the unrehearsed understudies who've yet to memorize their lines.

Missing cues and freeway exits
as safety is disregarded
blocking with the binkie before the blinking
ghostlight waiting in the wings
reminds me to fasten my seatbelt.

Thirty//Thirty 2014 1/30: Wings

I meander through the aisles, absent from the task at hand
and the list you've meticulously scrawled for me on the back of an envelope.
I neglect the SPAM and the Hamburger Helper if only because you're not here to harass.

And I see HIM standing there.
Looooong black jacket, pants, shirt and shoes.
Looooong black hair and top hat with a silver skull upon it.
Goth would be too trite, wondering if your reflection can withstand mine and call it as I see it:
Vampire works for me, and I'm haunted because I mean no malice, but it lingers regardless.

Until I see the bite mark tattoo.
Absolved of my sin, knowing I am safe,
slipping by as you mesmerize customers in search of one thing or another.
Flickering fluorescent castle catacombs of the supermarket maze.

I met you today, outside your element, the fantasy of your profession.
You need the coffee to stay awake during the day.
An egg sandwich because you're saving your pennies.
We joke of the quality of the Weis store bagels, because we buy them two departments down.
It doesn't surprise me one bit you moonlight in the meat department,
training to be certified to wield those blades.

So he's human, just like the rest of us.

Bearded Ballads 30/30: Killjoy

You are a facebook status:

hope, beyond

hope

someone will understand

how it is you feel

how it feels to be you

looking for someone

to open up a dialog

to comment

or to even like the thing.

Please,

troll my page.

Cryptic, inane

small creatures

all a clumping mass

can’t make no bones about it

hide nor hair of

an owl pellet bolus.

You are a facebook status:

Spread your wings,

make like Ben Franklin and go fly a kite.

 “Shoot for the moon because even if you miss you’ll still land among the stars.”

Ben always said.

Yes, but you’ll also

be hurtling

through the cold,

lifeless reaches

of space

because he also said

“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

You are a facebook status:

song, being sung

just the right line

makes it yours

because you feel it

in the music

and it speaks to you.

Yet, like a child,

you can’t.

All the life

has been bleached

from your bones

creativity picked clean

and your tombstone says it all:

There lies so-and-so.

They took what they knew

but they didn’t even know themselves

Bearded Ballads 29/30: Out with the Old

Someone else’s notepad

yellow, but browning

forgotten ‘neath

dust of ages

thrust upon a shelf.

Plotting out poems

having been lonely

too long, still,

unsure,

forced out

to fend for themselves.

This is all the time they have left.

Haunted

in their emptiness

in their words too much to bear

if only

they hadn’t been left behind.

Bearded Ballads 28/30: Crosswalk

Morning fog

yet

to have burned off,

but here comes the sun.

Head swims

through the thickness

as I’m hailed

name called

over and again

if that’s me

backwards, along

soupy grooves.

Barefoot

across the street

not looking both ways

ever inward.

Dangerous

in the darkness of the day.

I see, if only too late

this song

isn’t about you.

No, I’m full

eating blackbird tonite.

Shouldn’t have had that

second slice

of humble pie.

Bearded Ballads 27/30: Dirty Dishes

Washing machine

background music

stanzas set

to pots and pans

for the cleanest

tune.  Lulling

me to sleep

through its

cyclical convulsions.

Bearded Ballads 26/30: Sunspots

Thoughts

on the edge of

this, a darkness

where the stars

have yet to shine.

Universe

expanding, the dark

matters don’t

holding back only

until

morning light trickles in.