poet, interviewer, musician, traveler
on the Black Moshannon
a flotilla of water lillies
floating on the Black Moshannon
each one a seat for a deity
my son picks one white flower
brings it into the canoe
droplets falling off the petals
the sound of our hull
as it strikes the lily pads
is like metal on metal
later, as we stop beside the dock
Jen and I hold the boat stable
while our sons step back onto land
7 September 2013
State College, PA
moms
a seemingly endless line of women
in their late 30s or early 40s
each holding a travel mug in one hand
the end of a leash in the other
some are surrounded by a cloud of children
others wear children in front or in back
they talk about teachers and homework
managing careers and sports schedules
occasionally stopping in mid-sentence
to corral a wayward son or daughter
for a few minutes the steps of the school
are overrun like a beach at high tide
then they walk back down the path to town
leaving a lone employee to put away
the traffic cones and lock the front doors
4 September 2013
State College, PA
a few photographs
looking at pictures
isn’t nearly the same
as feeling their hands
in mine as we cross
a busy street or
their laughter as they
pile on me and wrestle
it can’t hold a candle
to a kiss when I tuck them in
or the sleepy “good night”
when their walls are down
but given a choice between
seeing their smiling faces
from a thousand miles away
and not seeing them at all
I’m pretty damn grateful
for pictures
6 August 2013
Auburn AL
what I choose to remember
she said I only remember the bad things
not the good things that happened since
but the bad things are so easy to remember
even if they didn’t leave physical scars
I’ve seen my blood on someone else’s hand
felt the crack of the knuckles across my face
those are things you can’t be expected to forget
no matter how many years move slowly by
we sit on opposite sides of a vast sea of silence
and for once in my life, I can hear myself think
5 August 2013
Auburn AL
Skilcraft pens
we had dozens of these
when I was a kid
every one of the
identical black bullets
marked “U.S. Government”
my dad brought them home
they were on his workbench
and in our junk drawer
and beside the phone
Dad used them to write his
precise, blocky script
Mom made shopping lists
using the penmanship she’d learned
back when they still taught such things
I used them to create role-playing
characters (strength, dexterity, etc.)
and I imagine them on the desks of
millions of government employees
keeping track, ordering, remitting
running the daily business of the country
before computers replaced the need
for a pen and sheets of carbon paper
before every form looked the same
23 July 2013
Auburn AL
posterity
all we can hope
is that our kids
look back
on this time
and marvel
at how far
we had yet
to come
12 July 2013
Auburn, AL
when our grandparents were young
(for T.B.)
everybody took ballroom dancing lessons
or learned to play the accordion
they kissed under lampposts on street corners
had midnight burgers and milkshakes
there was a Crystal Palace in most towns
the bands would fill it when they played there
somehow all the fedoras stayed on in the wind
and you could still be a sex symbol
even if you played the clarinet
I wouldn’t go back there permanently
but I sure would like to take a trip there with you
see if we can spot our grandparents dancing
then dance beside them, silently, knowing
11 June 2013
Auburn, AL
/ / /
That’s my grandpa in the center of the top row.
Leave a Comment
shoulder stand
(a Father’s Day poem)
on which we carry
the weight of the world
one son calls but the other
won’t come to the phone
who can blame him
what keeps my shoulders
from collapsing under the strain
is that life is long & love is powerful
someday I trust he’ll understand
the truth of life & love & loss
how even during these years
he was always my son
16 June 2013
Auburn AL
/ / /
I’m writing a poem a day in 2013. During June, each day’s poem will be inspired by a photo of writer Arielle Brousse doing yoga. I’ve been a fan of her writing for years. Arielle writes the Unforgettable Detritus blog and curates The Sensible Nonsense Project, a collection of writing about people’s favorite childhood books. Thank you to Arielle for allowing me to use the photos, and for all the entertaining and inspiring writing she’s done over the years.
Leave a Comment
80
I turned seven in 1980
and if someone had told me
but of course no one could have
I realize now they were much too busy
trying to grab hold of their own whirling chaos
in 1980, for example, my mom turned 30
nine years younger than I am right now
twice married once divorced
with a baby and a small boy
it took years for me to understand
there would never be a moment of closure
a moment when it would all become clear when
every sin every error every slight would
be absolved in a rush of salty tears
rather we would just go on
until we stopped
which we have
dead
21 March 2013
Auburn AL
children are sweet like feathers
children are sweet like feathers
children are fiery like the sun
children run when others walk
children walk when others run
children are strong like water
children are fast like hours
children love to jump in puddles
children hate to get in showers
children are fickle like the breeze
children are curious like a cat
my children make me very happy
and that, my friend, is that
10 March 2013
State College, PA
/ / /
The title and first line of this poem were provided by my son John, who turns 7 tomorrow.
2 Comments
blues for State College
so much has happened here
we were a couple miles from this corner
when I asked her if she would be my wife
a few miles farther away is the spot
where her father’s heartburn turned out to be
something else entirely
I spent months eating Cheez-its, watching
In Living Color, nearly immobile
in the spare bedroom of a house nearby
not realizing the truth about the wiring
of my brain, or other truths
years later, she was in the same room when it ended
today I was ignored by someone who was my friend
or at least part of the same “married into it” team
and the brother-in-law who was her sole
family representative at our wedding
could barely bring himself to look at me
I wonder if it was worth it…
until they pile onto me on the couch
all arms and legs and energy and boyish laughter
9 March 2013
State College, PA
between us, a dog
that’s all
the distance closed
by an airport all-nighter
a bus ride, a walk
a short car trip
two plane flights
the little one, mouth full
of new teeth
sits on my lap watching cartoons
his big brother
home sick today
plays video games
I’m trying to finish these lines
before I fall asleep
one arm around a boy
8 March 2013
State College, PA
 |
| From Visit to PA – Oct 2011 |
distortion
you said “give me that rock and roll sound”
(we were in the local music store’s guitar room)
I reached for the bank of pedals and looked around
then kicked on the distortion: with a massive boom
you strummed a chord that sounded like the Lost One
like you’d found a magical fingering in some ancient tomb
your eyes lit up and I knew you were my son
nothing’s as much fun as the stage
I watched, delighted, as your fingers did their run
the notes soaring skyward like hawks flying from a cage
beautiful and perfect and everything a dad could want
like the little boy who can’t be captured on this page
31 January 2013
Auburn, AL
/ / /
This poem uses the terza rima rhyme scheme.
Leave a Comment |
| From Christmas In PA (2012) |
Dear Bernie and John
I’m all the way down here in Alabama
a thousand miles south of picking you up
from school or from skiing or from the Y
I wait like a kid at Christmas for Skype
to bring the fleeting gift of your faces
it’s been two and a half years
since I stood on Glendale Ave
watching the Subaru drive away
that weekend I went to New York City
stopping along the Housatonic River
to stand on a series of small boulders
and pluck a large flat rock from the water
I was on my way to visit my own parents
I no longer speak to them, just like I don’t
speak to my biological father, who left
when I was four, the same age you were,
John, when we left one another
you and Bernie and your mother and I
we never had a plan to get back together
just a vague promise that we would
but I decided I needed to make a change
to try to find a way to be happy again
and that meant striking out
on my own for a while, to search
I’ve found something down here
I can’t say what yet, boys
but I’m figuring it out, day by day
before too long I’ll be standing
on solid ground again, and when I am
I’ll be back, I’ll be back, I’ll be back
29 January 2013
Auburn, AL
Sideways nose
My grandma had a sideways nose.
I’ve got a sideways nose, too.
My grandma was often difficult.
I think she was very unhappy.
I am often difficult and unhappy.
My grandma was an old-school
Catholic who never went to church.
I once wanted to be a priest, but now
I don’t go to church either.
My grandma didn’t like Chinese food.
There I’m afraid we have to disagree.
My grandma stood by the people
she loved, no matter what.
When I decided, after 30 years,
to find my father, my grandma
was my strongest supporter.
(I suspect she had something
to do with his disappearance.)
Near the end of her life,
my grandma lost just enough
of her memory to become much nicer.
Visiting her in those days was a joy.
All the love she’d always shown,
with none of the darkness
to weigh it down.
My grandma had a sideways nose.
I’ve got a sideways nose, too.
9 January 2013
Auburn AL
/ / /
My grandma, Dorothy Marie Coughlin Flanders, would have been 98 today. I miss her. A lot.
Leave a Comment