I know what I am.

Joan Jett loud on the radio!
Makes me want to run,
Get stuff done...
Smoke a stogie.
Find the wife;
Make some love,
Until she's done.
Infectious beats move me
In the air and top down! 

Bluegrass Morning.

Syncopated blue grass
Alison Krauss and Union Station
Flow over me like waves on a rainy day
Makes me move and sway
Triggers neurotransmitters that chase the blues away 

I say, "Pooh-Pooh"

Everyone loves good haiku
Not me, oh no, and
To the lion in the zoo...

Marley's Ten Year Ghost

Young man quietly places chains
On his own wrists
To be silent and to silence

Ten long years of penitent pride
Flesh grows over steel
The chains feel (almost) good

Cold steel shackles clink
They clatter like a pharisee
Praying proudly for all to see

Piety of the widow's mite
Power of the sinner's prayer
Have yet to set him free
From public, picked, and open wounds 

Ohio

Snow on Wednesday
Rain tomorrow
Sun today
Oh, Ohio!

Ins and Outs

Five plastic bags
And a pillow in my hand
Everything we could find
We carried out the door

A life reduced
To a bag of clothes
Taken out a swinging door
The room's already sold

He's lying in a bed
With tubes protruding
Controlling fluid in
Machines are breathing out

This room is full
Of ins and outs
Loved ones, skilled ones
Motion in the air

Training kick'd in
Comfort, education flowing out
Pizza on the table
Hugs and listening for the rest. 

Some are crying, sobbing
Stories flying 'round
His eyes open now and then
Perhaps it's sinking in 

The bags are in the car
Forgotten, unneeded
Mostly comforts now forgone
For family ins... and maybe outs.

I took it "well" until today
Pressure needs an out
It's dripping down my face.
Letting in and letting out.

Fair Warning

I admit it
I put Grandma to rest a long time ago
But it's still hard  

Talking to Dad
And hearing sixty-three years of love just breaking
His voice shaking, edgy 
My training kicks in
Just listening, keeping the edge off, tears down tight
Dad knows it too

He's not hiding
Says he "feels like shit... no reason to hide it now."
He's right, it'll hit me soon.
It always does
When I see the terrible job the undertaker tries
It's not his fault

It'll remind me that I can let go
Of the shell that clung so long when her mind let go
It's not her fault either
 

The Walking Wounded

He steps down off the curb and waits
For traffic flowing by
His pant leg folds unevenly
He pauses with a sigh
Nothing bends from hip to foot
A wound from years gone by

His gait is slow and even toned
The traffic doesn't yield
Self assured and steady goes
He walked the field
In Vietnam, perhaps Korea,
The wounded 's human shield

Tended now, the medic's wound,
By younger hands at home  
In grateful payment of
A phantom limb that's gone

How I Drink It.

I love coffee shops and greasy-spoons
Where I can belly-up to the bar
To drink my brew

With classic rock or obscure beats 
Rumbling through my brain  
Keeping time with the ink I spew

Don't snap your fingers when I walk in
Don't ask me what I want
It's me you're pouring to 

Just serve it hot and black in a ceramic mug
And put the next one in a paper cup
For me to breeze on out and bid adieu

Smears on the Screen

How do you write tears of joy?
The paper used to soak them up,
But now it splats and smears
When I blubber on the screen.

So here it goes what may;
I got the job I wanted today! 

Morning Hope

She sniffs my cup
A little apprehensively
Wanting mingled apple spices
Two sniffs
She wrinkles up her nose
The acrid scent of coffee
Black
Wasn't what she wanted
Directives given
I will try again
She laughs  
"You're fired, till it's right"

Three o'clock blues at ten

the house is cold but the fire's hot
for my workin' woman who is not
here with me and rollin' rounds
while the blues are playin' mournful sounds
through my speakers, in my head
got me down! waitin' in my bed

Friday's verdict comin' soon
either way, today,
I drink deeply from the cup
of three o'clock blues at ten
BB's keepin' me afloat
and Clapton feeds me from within

Breath (draft 2)

I cradle your head in my arms
Thanking God I hold you

Your hair smells sweat
I nuzzle in and drift
 
Some day our oath will have ended
The sweet and bitter pill

The Lord's own time 
His will be done

I hold you close
And work on now
Trying not think about then
The loneliness for a job well done

Your head rests on my chest
I hear your breath come in and out
I match it just because I can
And drift back into dream