24 · 12
Our Hero
Wherein our hero finds a good poem for a Christmas Eve... (by Robert Frost, of course)
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
16 · 02
the road
it could have been any road
in any town, anywhere
hot and dusty
cars and trucks going past
nobody looking too hard or too long
noticing but not noticing
hunched over just a bit
shuffling along in shoes
that don't make a matching pair
everything in the world
stuffed into the pockets of an overcoat
too hot for the July afternoon
last week there was a shopping cart
but it's gone now
the effort was too much
the constant chatter
always something to talk about
with a captive audience and a road that never ends
30 · 12
Like Fireflies
like fireflies on a summer's eve
these chances come and gowe look at each other
as if struck dumb for a momentrealizing there is so much to say
and only able to remark on how cold the soup isthere was a time when the both of us
made the other's heart fiery as a dragonthe embers remain I suppose
at least warmer than the soupand that is where love began, isn't it,with hope?
we'll be alright, as long as there's another firefly
these chances come and gowe look at each other
as if struck dumb for a momentrealizing there is so much to say
and only able to remark on how cold the soup isthere was a time when the both of us
made the other's heart fiery as a dragonthe embers remain I suppose
at least warmer than the soupand that is where love began, isn't it,with hope?
we'll be alright, as long as there's another firefly
16 · 11
ennui
when I was a boy, my dad had a boat
not just any boat, but a twenty-one foot
combination of teak and chrome
with sails that snapped crisply whenever
we turned into the wind
we always had to duck when the boom
came across the deck and we all
suffered a bump or two on the head
whenever we weren't paying attention
the boat slept four so on summer Friday afternoons
we would head out across the lake
drop anchor and camp until Sunday
I swear there is nothing like the feeling
of a strong breeze in your face when you're sailing
holding your line as the boat rises and you lean out
knowing the spinnaker is a bugger to get up
but always being impressed when it works
we had never heard of sunscreen
and by summer's end we were as brown as... really brown things
flying our little pirate flags off the back of the boat
just for fun
as a treat every time we docked
we got to sit in the yacht club bar
and have a cold Coke and a bowl of peanuts
I cannot count myself a sailor anymore
no matter how I try to get back to it
I shall have to try harder
because even though it never leaves you
I miss all of that
14 · 10
Oblivion
On a hazy August afternoon
Two dragonflies dance above the reeds
Next to County Road 31
These two specimens
Whose family has been around
For millions of years
Arc drunkenly back and forth
In the rising hot summer air
Until that Peterbilt rig blew by
Doing a good eighty miles an hour
Then, oblivion...
28 · 09
Sit Down
First, they tell you to sit down There is news: the results are back from the lab Sitting down doesn't help Your blood pressure goes through the roof The tiny room filled by the latest in Austrian medical tables spins Then they are talking about tumor types and blood counts You are thinking of your kids And your brain screams SHIT! but you never say it until you get outside to your car How can you drive home after this? You are staring at the list of appointments they gave you There are four specialists in the next three days and then the surgery is on Monday morning You hope you wake up soon, but it isn't a dream It's a nightmare; a nightmare where everyone is sending you flowers already Each specialist tells you to sit down They start talking about procedures and recovery rates One even gives you a colorful graph Sitting down doesn't help Then Monday comes and you are at the hospital bright and early Somehow you are wearing a pillowcase And they draw all over you with a black marker The surgeon rushes in and takes a photograph of you for his "Wall of Fame" You hear the intern flirting with the nurse You would scream if you could but some jackass is counting backward from one hundred and you can't focus Then, hours later, you discover you aren't dead because if you were dead there wouldn't be this much pain It's like that every day for a year; you're still not dead Then you get a call and the nurse tells you to sit down Sitting down doesn't help
@baffled
These are my collected ramblings; an online compendium of utter nonsense, comprising art, culture, poetry, photography, technology and the newsworthy, arcane and inane. Any original work is © "@baffled".
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