Life in a millimeter

I sit and look into a window
My glare is caught by two blackened eyes
A millimeter back and the world's in focus
A millimeter back and two blackened eyes
I try to focus on a nose
But am caught as a long-haired woman walks on by
And then the woman who served me coffee
Strikes my consciousness although behind
I stare back into the magic window
Immediately drawn to two blackened eyes
But now am conscious of the little millimeter
And the choice of what to leave behind
For the road is strewn with red-lighted cars
The sidewalk of the nightly grind
I stare into a translucent face
With the responsibility of what to clarify
No matter what I choose I'll see a face
If I look into the window's light
But will it be my central focus,
With the shadow of the world left behind?
Or will I choose the world in darkness
And the other faces I choose to find
Either way it's just a millimeter
But a millimeter that will change my mind:
Is it a window or is it a mirror
And would I rather be aware or blind?

Down to earth

I swear when I saw this butt
It was like a head shaking no
Shocking she could walk that straight
With such a swivel down below
And as the sliding hemispheres
Caused the land to come awake
I wondered how much practice
Goes into such a quake.

But as the pendulum kept on swinging
Those deliciously rounded jeans
I admired the flexibility spun
Within the tightness of those genes
But before you call me shallow
I tell you, I did, in fact, contemplate
What his or her life may have been like
If she hadn’t caused that lake.

For though the heavenly lady
With an earth that screamed “Oh No”
The flesh from the North Pole
Kept on nodding on: “Ho! Ho!”

country song about Texas

Well, I get up every morning
Do the dishes as she say
I go and put on my work boots
And confront another day

My pals, well they all like me,
I'm a piccolo in the mud,
As we build our dirty bridges,
Forming bonds almost like blood

You know, I can't complain,
Overall, it's the swellest of lives
I see my buddies in the yard
And at night go see me wife.

It's not so bad at all,
I got a kid within the queue
And if he's a strappin' boy,
Like me, I'll call him Drew,

But just one day, I tell ya,
I'll go back where I belong,
And all day and night I'll sing ya,
This beloved little song:

If I go to Texas,
The land that I call home,
When I go to Texas,
My spirit will go roam.

Oh, when I go to Texas,
The land that is my home,
When I go to Texas,
My spirit will go roam.

On Love

The poets sing melodious hooks that inspire the lonely mind to believe
That amidst the whistling air, despite the mundane lives and singing rooks,
That of all things known,
Love is the greatest emotion.

The scientist slaves in a laboratory devoted to the study of observant truths
He’s charted through the neuroscience and explains with caustic note
That it’s empirically proven,
That love’s no more than a chemical potion.

Couples lean on each other’s words and lives, each a crane for the other’s arms,
The simple acknowledge, that like my grandparents, die only a few months apart,
Are they living, dying proofs,
That true love is true devotion?

The more experienced drink and cry, and then go to the bar for more,
They whisper into my sadly ear, their pain I can no longer bear,
That they more than any other know,
Love’s no more than a fictional notion.

My friends stand up tall with conquests, the trophies of their memories flow,
The first, the worst, the craziest, the best, it doesn’t matter if their names are known,
For to these warriors or lower-birds,
Love’s the result of a primal explosion.

The church-bells ring, the struggling swear, that although the world is cruel and diseased
Although men scour then forsake, although the weight of knowledge brings me to knees,
It’s ok, as long as you truly know,
Love is life, the air, the ocean.

But as I have lived, we can all agree, to know love is to know rationality’s sweet erosion,
All things said, may all be true, love is many things: painful, chemical, glorious and confused.
As I’ve felt and as I’ve seen,
At the very least, all who’ve known, can all agree,
To be in love,
Is to have a mind,
A will, an existence,
Attitude, forever changed,
And forever set
Forever rolling
in loco-motion.

Love. Bloody Hell.

Love. Bloody hell.
Omnivores, herbivores, carnivores, abnormals
(vegans, cannibals and homosexuals).
Ejaculating obelisks. Maslow: 'rool w/ Love. Life's Pavlovian, stupid.

I
Sit.... and wonder... does this rhyme?
Errrr... I to measure it by the beatin' of a
Very not so special member.
Errr... I to measure it by the hum of blood
Reason? Screaming into latex.
Yes? No? Fuck me and fuck you and fuck this and fuck that.
Titty fuck. If that be that...

How we glean on TV.
Intelligent booties, boobies, and pre-babies.
Ninjas, leather and baddies...
Goodies and Woodies. Explosions!

This love we ponder.
Obelisks and puddles lamps in the dark.
News, movies and celebrities... action and wonder.
Over the top and hallowed; with makeup, and please, the dark.

Bold be it.
Out of pants or brains or heart.
Decide; you? Mama culture's a tart.

Insular. Confused. Watch and hairdo.
Erudition. Fiction. Exercise, nutrition.
Socialize, Fail, Sin, Party and Cry... Love's an imperfect bitch... try it on (lubricated) ... or Die.

thoughts on the presidential debate

The greatest crisis since the Great Depression
Another Cold War at our door
And within the confines of their noise
The only truth that struck me imminent
Was how I'm simply not of the boys

doubt

How much effort to take a view
How much more to make that two
I question
Just how smart am I
Is that news
Or am I used

A Poem against Pain and the McCaign

Bringing hurt and with the Pain
All is good when you're not quite sane
On the McCaign! On the McCaign!

Empty sound bytes crown the reign,
But he's a maverick, he proclain'
On the McCaign! On the McCaign!

"A great depression" she'll not feign
For down to earth is the Lady Pain,
On the McCaign! On the McCaign!

Beware the slimy smell of stain,
Emanating from lies so lucidly plain,
From the McCaign! From the McCaign!

Recall the campaign reforming train?
Now he and lobbyists are the twain
Along the McCaign! Along the McCaign!

Now does this rhyme hurt the brain?
I apologize, but get used to the bane,
If the McCaign! If the McCaign!

For every time the poll shows a gain,
I wish I could have shot that crane,
Carrying the McCaign! Carrying the McCaign!

I'm sorry if you don't see this plain,
Some minds are not built for such strain,
Support the McCaign? Support the McCaign?

For tell me now, you in the main,
If you're not ignorant, please explain,
How I, a student, cry society's rain,
Cannot help to experience such great pain,
To think, and hear, such constant chow-mein,
And wonder, wonder, how one can now attain,
The seat that is supposed to be of the highest terrain,
With fast-food packaging lies like cocaine,
Instead of issues, emotions now reign,
In fact, they're the only reason I can ascertain,
How one could think of the Vice President Pain,
Because, please, please, please, explain,
Please calm down my pulsing vein,
And tell me how that nomination ain't profane,
Ain't the packaged product of the great McCaign!

Because I'm sorry to my friends and parents,
Attached to the good ole' Bald and Pain,
I'm sorry to my friends and parents,
Whose faithful fans they still remain,
I'm sorry to my friends and parents,
Who have left reality to fly that plane,
I'm sorry to all who I've offended,
But intelligent thought just ain't your domain.

I know this poem will not convince,
But each negative ad just makes me wince,
And I know this isn't full of positive thought
But have you seen the interviews the Pain has wrought?
And now he says he's going to suspend his McCaign,
To focus all of his energy on a problem that will remain,
Instead of going in front of 60+ million Americans to explain,
How, in hell, 700-billion dollars the government will obtain?
But, you know, this emotional ploy is more of the same…
What else to expect from the machine called McCaign…

So I appeal to you,
Please keep me sane,
Precious hope I’d like remain,
For on November 4th, I’ll maintain,
He is not Able! He is McCain!
So please, may I not write in vain,
Ask yourself:
More of the same?
The choice is easy, the choice is plain,
Please do not vote
For the McCain and Pain.

in green sloping hills...

In green sloping hills surrounded on one side by a forest of the most diverse plants, colors, and fauna ever cataloged by an alien race, through rivers where the life-like eyes of the living fishes twinkle on back, around bushes that swing with the swinging beat of the twirling wind, feeling the warmth of dancing sun rays that can't help but to rejoice to embrace such similarly warm objects, in the middle stands a carousel where living beasts, living memories, come to calling to me. My nana, my papa, my dog Whiskey---their eyes, their smiles, their cheers that I have finally, after so much time of infinite joy, that I have finally decided to show up to the party… to put on my little dance, as loose and as free as the rejoicing soul within, and the cirrus smiling, the clouds a-dancing, and the weeds a-whistling, in this land I find those I love, in this land I reveal my love, in this land I'm surrounded by love: as strong, as effervescent, as feeling, as eternal, as the clouds dancing within us all.

On meaning

I'm flying and the air is flying through me
Through rain and snow and fall
I'm flying!
If only the sun could see me when
The earth and sky are stuck
As though space has its own determination
For such a funny duo
Oh! What judgment?
Could such a funny entity come to?
To know the infinite
And stick the earth and sky in the middle of it,
Scratching heads, stuck like glue…
In-possible! In-possible! The atomic glues amuse me.
Always stuck on the impossible
Questioning space? When it's clear even those stuck in space
Have the capability to amuse
I rue I rue I rue I rue
And then poo and poo and poo
For what is funnier than the shapes in the toilet
If not to think that they have meaning.

Poem to a friend on her retirement

In your retirement may you fly
As free as the feathers and air
Passing along petals of a Bird of Paradise
Across lands the land-tied cannot see
Your spiritual land the infinite sky

The lady with caramel eyes with specks of gold

I used to always say
she had the teddy bear eyes
because when we were little
ok, even to this day,
when she hugs me, she hugs
me tight, so that I feel the warmth
the strength, ok, yeah, sometimes, the pain
of her bear-like love.

She's one of the smartest people I know
not as book-smart as me,
I'd beat her in a Jeopardy or trivial
or poetry competition any day.
But she has people smarts,
the sort of smarts that when you're in a room
there are a lot of people around
because my sister's invited them,
and they feel at home.

She was the President of her College class, and
of all the people I know, she is certainly
one of the most popular,
And, well if you know her,
the reasons are obvious:
First, she has a cell phone addiction
you know, the type of addiction that has my parents
Ca-Grumping… and, well, when the majority of
your time is spent caring about others,
you become rather popular.

And, on top of that, my sister, she comes up with these silly phrases
Like… I luvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
And she doesn't just write that in emails and such…
She actually talks that way.
When we're finishing the typical phone conversation,
She'll say: I luvvvvvvvvvv youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
I missssssssss youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
And about 5 minutes will have passed
And the uuuuu will still be going…

But my favorite is when she writes,
I love you, and then she'll use scientific notation
To indicate that it's to the infinite power.
The first time I saw this I thought it was the silliest
But perhaps most effective way,
(through writing)
To show your love for another.

Because when I think of my sister
The way she extends her vowels
And thinks up such quirky little sayings
I’m warmed by the thought
That whereas many can take
A few basic objects
and make them art
And others can string a few ideas
and turn a profit
Well, my sister,
Can joy with the simple
Stress of a letter
Sweet extension of a vowel
Funny insertion of an asterix
And use the gripping grip
Of what could have been a routine hug
To take the simple, the ordinary,
the sweet, basic words, gestures, and phrases
of an otherwise ordinary life,
And lovingly transform them
Into love.

The Creation Story of Nam

Six trees met in a park
The first tree said: "Let there be light."
And all the trees grew three inches.
The second tree said: "Let there be heaven."
And a light rain soothed the trees' thirst.
The third tree said: "Let there be earth."
And the trees' roots had foundation.
The fourth tree said: "Let there be seasons, and days, and nights"
And some trees turned brown, others turned green
And still others sprouted flowers.
"Look how pretty we be" said one tree.
The fifth tree said: "Let there be fish and birds"
And branches sprouted nests.
"Wow, how good we have it" said mother oak.
"But no—it could be even better" said tree number six.
For He said: "Let there be beasts and let there be man".
And the trees had squirrels, and insects, disease, and man.
And so… this is how we were created.
For on the sixth day, man cut down trees.
And at 6:32 AM NST man died. And at 6:34 AM NST six trees met in a park.
"What the hell?" said grandpa fern.
And they reviewed what their parents had done
And thus created our species: Nam.

The mountain to climb

My sister teaches high-schoolers in the Bronx---
She was telling me the other day
that she had to teach the students what a mountain was
"What a mountain is?"
"Yeah, they've spent their entire lives in the city
so most have never seen a mountain"
I couldn't comprehend this
How could you live a life,
and not know what a mountain is?

When I think of running away from it all
from my job, from my friends, from the guys on the TV
You know, giving up, and just throwing a tantrum that
would last several years,
I like to think I'd go to where the mountains are
You know, someplace where there aren't any people
just the infinite beauty of nature,
so that I can find peace.

But my sister, she has this class.
It's called "Boys to Men"
Not the music group, the other type:
The type that consists of 31 boys
with a history of behavioral problems,
with a security guard standing in her classroom
at all times,
while the students, most of them,
are there with the singular goal
(not even their goal) of
just getting through high school.

And my sister tells me
the class time consists of
about 60% learning
and about 40% behavior problems
A lot of kids do not understand
what the point is of learning,
especially earth science…
When she tells me that they don't have any rivers
they don't have any cool rocks,
they have sidewalks, and roads, and
Urban troubles. Not Keith Urban.
and I sort of understand.
But only sort of.

My sister has been in a relationship with this guy for the past
two years, I think, not sure how long it has been exactly,
Last time I was at home, he was mistakenly called
"The Afro"
But my sister's boyfriend is American.
His parents are from the Dominican Republic.
And they are also American.

I can understand why they want her to be something more
She's the President of her College class
And, of all the people I know,
She is one of the best with people.

My sister could be a networking phenom,
I can imagine her sitting at a desk with a dozen phones
talking to hundreds of people in a day
establishing rapport, cashing in checks,
steadily climbing up the social ladder,
Because, as I said, she's naturally good with people,
she naturally good at making people smile,
she's naturally good at making people trust her,
she's naturally good at making people feel loved.
and, yeah, she'd be naturally good at making money.
But now, her reality, is she's living in an apartment,
with over a half a dozen people,
with only one of them, her boyfriend,
who can actually speak English
living out of a living space,
that is the size of a closet…
saying, when I get a place,
when I get my own place,
you can come visit,
saying this for the past four months.

You would like to think that she should be honored
but the reality is that the world I come from,
the world I observe, doesn't respect that.
When I go shopping at the grocery store
I see people purchasing those other women
The ones that grace the covers of magazines
who go to the spas, who have their hair done
who get manicures, who have their makeup done
who are married to rich men, and who have designer clothing
and when I'm around women, this is what they often talk about
…Loonies in the skies with diamonds…
Whereas my sister,
my sister,
my sister who is beautiful.
absolutely, stunningly, beautiful.
well, she has three dollars in her bank account.
And I understand where my parents are coming from.

She tells me
that the first day they told her to decorate her classroom
and that the second day they told her to move to another room
that she is having difficulty in only the first few weeks
overcoming daunting feelings of apathy.
that egest from some of the people who have worked there
for so long,
and just don't see a whole lot of hope for a child in the Bronx,
Because just as many of us former college students ask:
"What did I actually learn in college
that I'm applying to my current job?"
So, too, those teachers must ask:
"how will scientific notation
ever apply to whatever job this ordinary kid will have?"
And maybe they're right… maybe only the kids at the top of
the honors classes in the Bronx,
ever really have a chance,
so what is the point?
And, hell, it must be one of the hardest jobs there is,
They should know better than I or my sister,
though I've seen the contagion of apathy,
I've felt the contagion of despair.
And it's worth nothing.

I tutor on Saturday mornings
The first child I tutored,
He couldn't read.
He was in the third grade
And he couldn't read "Cat in the Hat"
He would open up a book,
Always a chapter book suitable to his age,
And would pretend he was reading
Tell me a story completely different than the words within…
I was taught to teach phonics…
And he would repeatedly chide me…
"Ca?? Ca?? Ha?? Ha?? They're not even words!"
"Why are you teaching me things that aren't even words!"
"That's baby stuff!"
And this kid, he's smart. Trust me. Really smart.
Destroyed me in the game "Memory" every time
But he would hide under the desk and grip his head
And just shut down sometimes
He hated being called stupid.
Some of the other kids called him stupid.
But he didn't see the point of learning fake words like "Ca"
I'm not sure he had a mother,
His father definitely didn't know how to read,
And one of my greatest failures was that I couldn't teach him how to read.

------------------------------------------------

I have been writing this poem for a little while
I love my lil' sister as much as I love anyone in the world,
And was hoping to write a decent poem for her,
Because 1) she's my baby sister
And 2) she's one of my personal heroes
Today, I got an email from her…
That last night, September 19, 2008,
Four youths were shot at her high school dance.
Now this brings stuff home.
I had a rough high school like a lot of young guys
And in a future poem I'm going to write all about it,
But this…
This…
This is just horrifying.
How can you think of learning?
When you're afraid of being shot at your own high school dance?
And if this is what's happening in the schools, what the hell is happening at home?
Fuck earth science. Fuck learning.
For the last 10 minutes I have not been able to stop crying
To stop pulling my hair
To stop dry screaming
To stop punching my bed comforter
And I live in northwest Washington, DC,
In the safety of my privileged life
With the only connection being my sister,
Who teaches there,
Who thank God, is safe.
But what would I be doing right now if I were a student?
A student at that school in the Bronx?
A student who had to escape the auditorium because he saw a guy start shooting…
A student who was shot at.
A 14-year old girl who was shot.
What would I be doing right now?
What would I be thinking in that earth science class?
In that Boys to Men class?
What would I be thinking?

And yes, it's emotions like the ones I'm feeling now that make me want to run to the mountains. And I'm probably rich enough to do it for a little while. Fuck me.

----------------------------------------------------

There is a person I love in the Bronx
There is a person I love sooooooooooooooooooooooooo much in the Bronx
Who is
with kids, doing her best to teach them
if not to become men,
at the very least the skills that will help them when they become men
living a life contrary to my parents' desires
contrary to the values that my society conspires
but true to her nature, her love, her life,
which is to be that natural social-light,
To me she's always an inner light…
One of the most courageous people I know
One who can reach any person,
And make that person (young or old) feel at home.

There is a person in the Bronx,
who I call the lil' uno,
who, unlike me,
has committed herself to the cause
of actually running towards mountains,
because what I have learned from my baby sister,
one of the true heroes in my life,
a person who with great personal sacrifice
is doing her best with kids who need a smart,
passionate, dedicated and loving, person like herself
To teach them about things like mountains…
What I have learned from my lil' hero..
Is that teaching a person what a mountain is,
Is the greatest, hardest, sometimes most painful,
but probably the most important,
Mountain to climb.

I love you, lil' uno. And if this poem didn't make it clear:
I'm really proud of you.

two balloons!

within me I smile my face is two balloons soaring into skin and my belly a motor to keep my lips a peel to my ivory bananas for what is happiness without a little weirdness and what is weirdness without a little happiness a smile is the most cherished half circle in the world supported by two big balloons, two big red balloons! And a scrunched ferret.

Who knows danger...

Exploding cyclones in the middle of the desert
Give me hope that there is a light within every hole
Dreams are not born from myths they are born
Through love through generosity.
I believe that one day I may see a bird in flight and sailing over trees.
Can’t explain why I love, or how much love I see in flight.
Where? What? Who? Flying! Flying!
Sailing in a ship over the mountains, sailing in a kite over the moon,
Who knows danger if not the lonely?

For the Princess

Some believe that there’s a heaven up above
I believe it’s any place you find her love
Because with a personality lined with fleece
And with words that comfort like a glove
She’s a walking model of youth and art
To be painted as generosity flowing from a heart
But what such canvass could never describe
Is the amount of good she has bundled inside
The way she gives not just of money
But her smiles, laughs, and sweeping curves
On her cheeks, on the intonations of her voice waves
That can make any dark-room suddenly sunny
Whereas many are busy gathering their piece
Tethered to magazines, to stocks, to familial hopes
She dreams of God, of love, of understanding, of family, of friends,
In short, she lives the salvation of love,
And it’s this pureness of heart that makes me think
That few I know have found a greater peace
Than the one we call our Princess: Clarice.

The present

So many inches on the chest,
Certain shape required,
Nose central, not too long,
With symmetrical eyes, none too lazy,
And lips remind me of a certain opening,
Ears petite, or under hair,
And makeup, though I don’t care to know,
Legs, long, or at least proportionate,
Within tight jeans or pants to reveal the curve
Of abs swerving unto ass,
Wearing heels, and carrying with stride,
If bashful, intentionally so,
If blushing, because you made it so,
And I drinking, because I like it so,
I have a certain idea
To produce the rhythm
Found within the news, movies, and TV
I use shampoo and conditioner in the night,
Gel, shave, pop the collar, zip the pants,
And insert a scent to enhance my own,
All I have to say is hello,
For I know that words don’t matter,
I didn’t pick them for their brain or wit,
A little touch, a little paper, enough to germinate
That other organ or whatever it is
That makes that tit grow.
I read my habit kills the brain,
And I don’t remember all I did,
But whereas others sit and suffer over the past.
I stare toward my future, and enjoy God’s present.

The moon

The moon
has many phases.
The fuller the moon,
the redder their faces.

With every blink

With every blink,
An image of the previous remains,
Overlapping the current view
With eerie shadows of the room before,
Not sure if it has to do with the dark,
Or the light, that the eyes perceive
Or from inside, or even the computer,
With its electric currents tearing my ocular flesh,
And forcing my soul into its impassioned
heart butchering place. I want it back!!!
I want it back!!! I want my eyes, my brain,
my thoughts that you have stolen, that you are stealing.
I struggle, to not swear, I struggle, to be calm.
I struggle with my words, I am lost
without them, I am lost,
without you.

Two Talismans

Two talismans serene as plastic.
Insects, almost human, wandering into cold.
Teased by fairy-tales fluttering tight
Sweeping, whispering, showering, silence.

Anteaters with tongues.
Nighthawks with ears.
Dandelions aged and winded.

A punch-drunk quest.
Sorcery; comedy; poet’s lies.
Sin be love’s only true divine.

The Butterfly

Inside builders hammer toward a powerful machine
Chest rises, strapping, breaking chains, expanding tee,
As Olympian ships race in bloody channels,
Presenting fertile gifts to otherwise lazy lands,
Till tendons press, soldiers with oars, raise those tents,
And lungs like chipmunks gather, ready for the rapidly approaching spring,
With mouth open, sound or none, a force built to escape,
Sweaty palms, hidden by grasping tools, presented like rams,
Even the wall cowers, pillows take cover under sheets,
His foe, imaginary, ducks, maneuvers in shadows.
His limbs, pistons, uppercuts, jabs, and kicks,
Electrical fury, a playing boom box in water,
Uncontrollably releasing uniquely hormonal
Instinctual currents,
Until, spent, he collapses, wraps himself within his sheets,
Like a butterfly reentering her cocoon.

Abreast of the Issues

Is it quite impossible
To walk without them staring?
All they care is what’s beneath,
As in what bra I’m wearing!

And why when I walk on past
Do they have to turn their heads?
I thought it was impossible,
For them to be empty as their beds!

And this one’s no exception,
Know what he does best?
Just gawk below my neck,
As though it’s a treasure chest!

For just someday I would like a man
Who instead of giving me the look
Would actually look a little lower…
And see I’m reading a book!

Ode to the Bomb Diggity Bestest

This is an ode to the bomb diggity bestest
Who is the self described better-than-the-restest
Alas, so perfect in literally every way
That to describe her in real words is rarely ok
And to prove this she has created her very own Saminary
Which as a literary guide is rather extraordinary
For example, let us start in the “Section A”
Where there’s a term that means “doing the right way”
And would you be at all surprised if I managed to say
That the term in question is simply “Sam’s Way”
So never you mind it doesn’t start with an “A”

Within there’s the word that she calls “Samtastic”
Meaning one billion times better than fantastic
And you might also come across a photo I took
Sitting next to the word “Princess” within that book
And as a good sister there’s also a photo of me
Plopped right next to the word “Bum Diggity”

Yes, there are times when my mind is hazy
That I think my sister is somewhat crazy
After all, isn’t it a little elastic
To call oneself the Princess Samtastic?
But in my heart I have come to appreciate
That such perfectness is merely her fate
Because there is noone alive with a greater part
Than Perfect Princess Samantha within my heart
For if I’m ever in an emotional jam
I call on the gentle ‘tudeness of my sister Sam
Because, in truth, there is noone as fantastic
As the one that we call the Samtastic
So to reality, with all due respect...
Til’ the day I die, I’ll say Her Perfect Princess Majesty
Bomb Diggity Samtastic Bestest Sam
In the Saminary, samply samarized as “Perfect”.

Zoo Series: King Vulture

Do not be afraid.
From afar I may look headless
As I tuck my head close to my body
And my 5-foot wing span
Casts ominous shadows across the land
But just because I am gliding
Doesn’t necessarily mean something is dying
But I hope something is.

You see, do not be afraid,
Unlike other vultures I do not kill
And will not be the cause of your end
Though I won’t mind if it comes soon
Because I am hungry
But don’t blame me for my life’s view
It’s my nature to look down
It’s my nature to feast on the dead
Still, there’s no reason
You can’t admire my beautiful head
That is colorfully bald...
To keep it clean from all the blood.

Do not be afraid,
I serve a unique purpose in life.
I am the wild’s equivalent of a broom,
I clean the world so that other animals can live.
I am as important to the continuance of life
As you are.
And nature has built me, with my sharp beak,
To make the first cut into a carcass
And I’m big enough, so that other scavengers
Wait their turn.
Except for those big condors...
Bullies.

Do not be afraid,
In the wild I roam from Southern Mexico
To central Argentina
And with the concentric circles around my eyes
And my regal demeanor
In ancient Mayan times
My face was the face of a god’s.
And my shadow caused
Fear,
But you, who know me,
Do not be afraid.

You see, do not be afraid,
For in the wild there is no greater honor
To have lived a long and productive life
To have been born and to have breathed
To have given life to future generations
And to have been a model of your species
But as is true with all things in life
All good things must come to an end
Including yourself,
And, as I said,
Do not be afraid,
For in the wild there is no greater honor
Than to be placed, when you die,
In the world’s greatest sepulcher
That is the belly of a King Vulture.

Zoo Series: Golden Tamarin

In the confines of Brazil
Within jungle quite remote
You’ll find a wild swinger
With beautiful golden coat

With faces surrounded by mane
Atop trees they will be prancing
You may never find a social group
As fond as tree-top dancing.

With territory of a hundred acres
Up to fourteen in a group
In your life you may never get to see
A more special kind of troupe

A special part of this species
Is that only two will often breed
But due to their loving nature
All fourteen will help raise that seed.

Due to man’s need for wood
Very little of their habitat is left
But looking at these playful creatures
You’d never think they were bereft.

But in the wild they must be on guard
They will rotate who will be awake
As there are many dangers
From cats, birds, or even a snake

At the zoo, we let them roam wild
So keep your eyes open and peeled
These animals are both quick and smart
And have been known to swoop and steal.

So if you’re ever in the mood for dancing
Look up and see a “Hip-Hop Jammer”, in
The dancing, singing, prancing, swinging
Golden Tamarin.

Ashley Laurel

She carries style to every party
Wearing colors that attract and blend
Her fashion choices make her immortal
To Audrey Hepburn, condolences, I send.

As long as fishes occupy the sea
As long as the river pushes to bend
There will always be a lasting moral
On the wicked Ashley Laurel I can depend.

Let me share with you her biography
As the word “wicked” must not offend
Her love for her sister is poetical
As true a love that shall never end.

And with her friends she’s a true anomaly
Somewhat difficult to comprehend
Why? with geeks and dorks eccentrical
Her presence she doth lend?

But alas it must have been her destiny
As belief you shall not suspend
This moment is historical!
She inspired this hath penned!

No poem is complete without simile
And so let me keep up with this trend
I tell you she makes me hysterical
Like the animal crackers I doth vend.

But beyond all of this tomfoolery,
At Boston U she doth attend
With kindness just seraphical
From heaven she must descend.

I tell you this is no hyperbole
Wasted words I do not expend
I tell you its always reciprocal
When her smile doth ascend.

For lots of loving energy
Ashley Laurel I must recommend.
For being so angelical
Ashley Laurel I must commend

As life may be a journey
But it has no greater end
Than the company of having an Ashley Laurel
The epitome of a life-long friend.

Zoo Series: Giant Anteater

Oh, Romeo, what a sight
Is that fat and juicy termite...
Oh, Romeo, how I chant
When I see that chunky ant...
I sing with love because I know
That in front, crawling, down below
Are ants and termites that belong
On my sticky tongue of two feet long.

And to my stomach I bequeath
These snacks though I have zero teeth
It sounds impossible, but so they tell me,
It’s ‘cause I have these rocks within my belly
And these ants and termites are just so lush
That my muscular stomach helps me crush
Vermin to you, they perfectly suit my taste
Not a single one will go to waste

Up to thirty thousand insects I eat in one day
One hundred and fifty times a minute my tongue will stray
With rapid fire my tongue helps me eat
Because, you see, I grow to a whopping six feet

If you saw me, you’d think I couldn’t hurt a child
And, you see, my nature is to be rather mild.
Usually, those that live within logs or ant-hills
Are the only things I naturally claim as kills
However, don’t you try to threaten me
I can kill jaguars, yes, even gentle me
With my tail I balance tall on my hind legs
And with my long claws I make even the biggest cats beg

If you’ve never seen me, it’s fairly easy to tell my type
For one, I have a black and white shoulder stripe
The rest of my body is either brown or grey
And I walk on my knuckles for the entire day
But my head is my most distinctive feature
You may think, at first glance, I’m the straw-like creature.
On all fours I walk around either the day or night
My activity depends on when I’m not in human’s sight.

I usually like to be alone in the wild
But on my back I’ll carry my baby child
And my baby girl may stay with me until when
The day arrives when I become pregnant again
But if you ever have the chance to meet her
You must, because there’s nothing quite like
The straw like hair, the bushy tail,
Unusual snout, and quirks about,
The wonderful giant anteater.

Zoo Series: Tiger

Watch out all ye aristocrats
‘Cause I be the biggest of all the cats
One hundred square miles my man does roam
South Asia, India, Siberia my species calls home
And if we meet in the wild you may want to fear
‘Cause I eat boars, buffalo, crocodiles, and deer
And if you haven’t had the chance to surmise
For ye’ wee ones, they be about twice your size
When hunting we often use our big, powerful, paws
To wield the weapons that are our sharp, dangerous, claws
And in the animal kingdom there are no laws
That can prevent any animal from entering our jaws
Over sixty pounds in one night we may eat,
And sorry you human vegans, we only eat meat

I may be recognized by my distinct black stripes
But keep in mind that there are six different types
Our existence is now based on relyin’
Upon the conservation of types Bengal, IndoChinese,
Sumatran, Siberian, South China, and Malayan
As far as we know, there used to be even three more
But due to man, the Balinese, Javan, and Caspian are nevermore
So while at the zoo my beauty may cause cheer
But remember, I’m endangered, so also shed a tear
And then instead of remaining “boo hoo”
Do something by becoming a friend of the National Zoo

A central component of my man’s life story
Is to use his pee to mark his territory
And every three months I may see him only a couple of days
But during that time with me he loudly plays
And just like your cat at home, we like to purr
To compliment the beauty of our white or golden fur
But beyond that cute stuff we are also rather proud
Although solitary animals we can get rather loud,
From two miles away a human can hear my “grrrr”
It’s impossible to forget, me, the roaring tiger.

Zoo series: Sloth Bear

With black ears like pom-poms
And a grey bottle-like snout
I may look kind of strange
But that’s what I’m all about.

Although I’m a big bear
Five to six feet long
You know what I like to eat?
The things that crawl along

First, give me an ant
And then give me a termite
And when they’re in season
A mango or fig for my delight

If you ever get to see me
Look down at my black paws,
You may be quite surprised to see
That I have these white curly claws

But you know, I don’t need a pedicure
It’s just the funny way I look
And by the way, I’m also famous
Featured in the “Jungle Book”

And though you should never ask a lady one
As a guy, I may be so bold...
If you ever really wanted to know...
I can live up to 40 years old

And alas if you were ever confused
And you wanted to know which bear were the best
No need to search far and wide, it’s the one
With the cream colored “Y” or “V” on his chest

So when you see the bear with that long, lovely stare
With loud “kerfump” noises, I’ll be sure to make you aware
That of all the animals whose memory you’ll ever get to share
There’s nothing quite like me, the ever adorable sloth bear.

Autobiography

There once was a man named Peyton
Who slew a dragon in the field
Ugly the lizard
Wit' claws, teeth and vicious eyes
That it took all God’s given strength
And a fortunate avoidance of annoying cow flies.
To slam down an axe he wield.

And when the zoo called to ask what happened.
He yelled “I poop on you”.
And when they asked: “What the fuck did you say”.
He was already out the door.
And on his way... though he fell in some hay... on the way.
And was attacked by those cow flies.

The zoo peeps were none to happy
Turns out dragons are rather rare.
And Peyton hopped the fence like a hare
To slay that dragon whose ears were flappy.
And ugly, and smelly, and dirty, and did I mention, flappy.

He ran to Canada and then to Greece and then to Holland.
The zoo peeps ran after. Tommy Lee Jones. Jodie Foster. Jerry Falwell.
Turns out slaying dragons is a sin.
And sins are for has-beens,
people going to hell.
Who eat burritos and stir fry potatoes.
Oh.. how Peyton loves mushrooms.

Anyway to cut this story short.
Like the career of Martin Short.
Who discovered a wart.
From a lady he met in an alley.
Well it was more of a cave, in a valley.
Kinky shit.

Peyton was caught.
And forced to write.
A poem in his defense.
To help win his fight.
But the judge didn’t see it his way.
Turns out dragons are rather rare.
And though people unknowingly kill endangered animals every day.
It’s different when ones holding an axe.. it’s all in the way.
And so... he was sentence to life.
And died.. As he lived.
Imprisoned. A slave to humanity’s slot machine fief.

Lady LaVonne

Each day I go to work to play
To make my day at work ok
And who be the accomplice to my con?
Who? But the wonderful lady named LaVonne!

I flutter, I flitter, I laugh, I fly
Because in that bloody cube I die
And where can I find me Babylon?
Alas, in the cubical kingdom of LaVonne’s!

With heroic grace I climb her wall
She, her grace, watching in case I fall
But I’m the Jamaican Spider-Man,
Saved by the distressed damsel LaVonne!

At gyrating meetings I whisper this fable
That, in actuality, we’re at the round table
Discussing our journey onward to Avalon
To visit the land of the lady LaVonne!

As the stacks of paper build to trees
And the servants’ work brings them to knees
We courageously sail along the river Amazon
“Forward” “Onward” I call to LaVonne!

When emails blast our castle walls
Panicked soldiers run the halls
Reminded by the Greeks at Marathon
We battle on, me and brave LaVonne!

Molding my two hands into a gun
About to put the boss on the run
Unfortunately, reminded I’m not the Don
By her toughness, the mobstress, she, LaVonne!

Always searching for the rainbow’s land
And always lending a helping hand
Talking with her about that leprechaun
Shaking her head, ‘cause that’s LaVonne!

Within my office of goblins and gnomes
Accompanying me in my first of homes
But this reality, its worries, they be gone
Washed by the laughs of the lady LaVonne!

With beauty, kindness, laughter, and love
Really, just say, “all of the above”
Of all things good she is the paragon
The reason we love the Lady LaVonne!

I could leave this job and reach the coast
And yet what I might miss the most
Is the once upon a time upon
The magical smile of Lady LaVonne.

The art within my soul

A young lad
Kneels at the prayer rail
Alone with sweaty palms
Burdened by a heavy head
Worn down by the incongruence
Of His words
And his life
Whispering…
You will not thwart
The art within my soul

An old man
Stares into foggy night
With invisible stars
Relying upon the moon’s light
While the wick’s life slowly dies
Reading His book
While his thoughts
Begging…
You cannot thwart
The art within my soul

A young lady
Reflects into the mirror
As her identity
Struggles between mind and skin
To see if she would want her
Feeling His Creation
Thinking his desires
Asking…
You have not thwart
The art within my soul?

An old woman,
Peers at her lifelong partner
Knowing each other’s lives
Hidden to prolong their love
Unsure of what will happen
Showing His clock
Hoping her time
Reminding…
He has not thwart
The art within my soul.

A grown man
Comes home from a long day
Of paper duplication
Stressed by tomorrow’s meeting
His time invested like stock
Within His world
And his reality
Knowing…
He has forgot
The art within his soul.

A grown woman
Takes care of her children
Expecting something else
Content with labors of day
Routinely conducting chores
In His kitchen
And their futures
Hoping…
That, at the very least,
They will not lose
The art within their souls.

You and I
Rowing the eternal lake
His sun, gloaming, above
Our heads down view his take
Reflecting the spiraling hands of our lies
Finding…
That in that lonely cart
Lies, the thwart,
The art within our souls.

Within the crystal glass

Within the crystal glass
The present ticks on by
A man may try to spin a crown
To gain mastery over time
Today the day is digitalized
And the numbers do surround
With hands on a predestined path
By beat they march by dial
It is silly to question it
If it has been well designed
This is all just in case,
If you did not realize.

To Megan

You taught her how to empathize
You taught her to be kind
In every way you matched her IQ
With your observant, selfless eye

I asked her to make a list of heroes
And you were the first name on her list
At the age of twelve she lost her mother
And then it was you she sorely missed

She taught me how to live with hope
She brought love into my life
She taught me to see with scope
Wider than the size of my eye

I like to think this poem matters
I like to think you write these words
I like to think that there’s a ladder
Made for people just like you

I know your spirit hasn’t ended
I know it’s found within these words
I never met you beautiful Megan
But you’re beautiful just like her

David Gray

David Gray reminds me to tear down the walls
To lick my wounds and shout out loud
To address my feelings for what they are

His music is cathartic and his words ring true
The songs transport me to a different place
For that I am eternally grateful

The First

I struggle alone with her memory
Now I know what my friend meant
Each thought hurts and yet it reminds me
To find another, to duplicate
The source of which now brings
Not so much pain, but longing
A loneliness enhanced.
Should I try again?
But would that be fair to her or me
Always trying to rediscover
The first.

Love poem about two people I know

Apart your jokes are somewhat silly
But together somehow seam to laugh
At peace with who you are and who you are.
You’ve transcended that all-too-common act

It’s a lesson to me, watching you live
Personalities each distinctly hip
Sometimes wonder if it’s even possible
For two lives to give, to will, to lift.

But there you stand with each other
With blood-hound eyes and curly black locks
Among loud crazy Brits and drunks intermittent
Two you we doth do toast.

I see you once only every while
But when I do I truly feel, I
See a couple building with every quirk
A duo of imaginations snugly dear.

Beyond the common reasons
For two people to be as one
Your faces’ smiling seasons
Make me think that love has won.