Trying Not To Blink: A Poetry Collection Read online

  Or barely, know

  Who all-too-freely

  Clap you on the back

  And call you “buddy”

  Are the saddest people ever.

  When the façade is down

  And they’re at home

  The truth becomes apparent

  That they’re all alone.

  February 3, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  We all know people like this.

  Everything Grows

  Plants grow, stretch, yearn, and bloom

  You wouldn’t say to a plant,

  “Hey there! Stop growing!

  You’ve exceeded the boundaries

  Of how I feel you should be!”

  So, why would you impose

  Your beliefs on another person?

  We should encourage and foster growth

  Instead of dedicating so much to regression

  February 3, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  Followers

  Followers

  In name only

  Never in deed

  Care only about

  Appearances

  True adherence

  To His teachings

  Could never happen

  In our society

  You can’t reach

  That far low

  While sitting so high

  In you Escalade

  Voting for war

  When you should turn the other cheek

  Closing the door

  When you should help the meek

  Your inflated sense of superiority

  Is layered thick

  Like your hypocrisy

  February 2, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  Microscope

  When looking through the microscope

  Comprised of an extremely constricted

  And limited worldview

  See the thing contained

  And affix a definition of love

  It can’t be done

  Because it’s impossible

  You can’t see how big love is

  When you narrow your eyes

  Go outside and see from

  Horizon to horizon

  It’s better, but still not even

  Half the picture

  To get a full-view

  Of how big love is

  Leave your town

  Leave your comfort zone

  Go up, up, up, up

  See from a new perspective

  See everything

  Take it all in

  And from your new view

  You’ll get a better picture

  Of love

  February 8, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  Today, my cousin wrote this on Facebook:

  __

  I have a yellow house. You do not. I am therefore attacking the sanctity of the color of your house. I am attacking your freedom to choose your own house color by choosing mine. There should be a law.

  “It sounds that stupid when you talk about marriage, too.”

  __

  It got me thinking and I ended up writing this.

  Small Talk

  Small talk

  Is an art form

  Popularized by people

  Uncomfortable with silence

  Unable to deal with their own thoughts

  They spew inane ramblings

  Like verbal pollution

  Wilting my will

  Killing my time

  Lots of talking

  While not saying

  Much of anything

  Stuff it

  Save it

  For someone else

  I don’t dabble in that medium

  February 13, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  Literary Inadequacy

  Half a century ago

  Most sci-fi books

  Were thin and trim

  Succinctly telling their stories.

  These days they are

  Overheavy, bloated blocks

  Adhering to a hyper-inflated page count

  Instead of the natural course of the story

  What happened?

  Why are things this way?

  Back then people likened

  Sci-fi to pulp fiction

  So the publishers,

  Suffering from literary inadequacy

  Pumped up the page numbers

  Because of the fallacy

  The thicker the book

  The better the story

  The smarter you are

  When will they learn what we already know?

  Quantity does not equal quality

  February 13, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  Last summer I went to a literary-focused science fiction convention called Readercon. One of the panels I saw discussed the interesting subject of book inflation and covered the ideas in this poem.

  Returning to the Past

  The memories

  Burn brightly

  The smiles, the laughs,

  The good times

  But when you return

  To the physical location

  You discover

  It now holds nothing for you

  Like time, it has moved on

  Leaving nothing but

  The memories in your mind

  And an ache in your heart

  Instead of revisiting the past

  Cling to and embrace the present

  With as much love and appreciation

  As you can muster

  February 13, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  Chained Down

  Chains give us familiarity,

  Local stores: originality

  For now, you have a choice

  Buy local, support local

  Otherwise the money leaves town

  And you find yourself chained down

  With nothing neat, new, or local

  Only franchised landmarks

  From sea to shining sea

  February 24, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  Too Many Twos

  At work

  Standing at my window

  While people on the other side

  Sign and date stupid government forms

  I have heard

  Half a dozen

  Grown adults

  Look at the date,

  Look worried and say,

  “There are too many twos.”

  ????????????????????????

  How many is too many?

  Is it painful to write twos?

  If it’s bad now

  Do they know

  It’ll be the same again

  In December?

  Will they say the same

  About threes next year?

  I don’t know

  Maybe threes don’t hurt as much

  2/22/2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  MARCH

  Slips Like Socks

  Like a late bloomer

  Infringing on the next season

  Like a late riser

  Getting up in time for dinner

  Winter was nowhere to be seen

  Leaving an awkward hole

  Between November and now

  Stretching, yawning, and looking

  At the alarm clock that never went off

  Jumping out of bed

  Hurrying, scurrying

  Trying to catch up

  Tossing a foot or so down

  Wet, white, and fluffy

  Covering the trees and the ground

  I try to get my car

  Out of the driveway

  But the wheels spin

  And it slips like socks

  Ensuring I can’t be distracted

  By my daily duties

  And can, instead

  Appreciate the beauty

  And bask in the late, and last,


  Surge of the season

  March 1, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  It snowed!

  A Night Brighter With Snow

  On a night brighter with snow

  Thoughts turn to things

  The reasonable among us

  Would shun, shut down, and hide

  Lacking sense

  Lacking purpose

  Twirling on the leading edge

  Of the considerations not taken

  Backtracking in time

  Clawing back down the one-way streets

  Just to see what the other paths held

  Millions of roads

  Leading to billions of avenues

  A life’s past map laid out

  The eyes trace each route

  And watch them dead end

  The terrible things, at the time,

  Led to opportunities previously unrealized

  A smile cracks the face

  At seeing that everything

  Turned out just how it should’ve

  The mind slides down a chute

  Back to now

  Snow swirling around

  Feet striding confidently

  Crunching it down

  The past forgotten

  Eyes focused up ahead

  Moving onward

  March 3, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  Last night we saw a Talking Heads cover band called, Start Making Sense. When we got out of the club at 1am, I was taken aback by how bright it was outside with the town’s light reflecting off the low white snow clouds. As we walked back to our car, I remembered the singer saying, “Here is our last song, ‘Persimmon’,” which I know isn’t a song, so I had really misheard what he said. I thought that Persimmon would make a great title for a nonsense poem, so I started writing…and it went from my intended direction, to something a lot more concrete, so I just went with it.

  Better In Here Than Out There

  Pushing the cart

  Laden with my weekly provisions

  Needing to stop

  Quickly, halting my momentum

  Waiting for her

  To decide which way to the Tums

  Trying to move

  She’s oblivious of my presence

  Maneuvering my things

  Around, only for her near miss

  Swearing to myself

  About how people are oblivious

  March 11, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  I went to the Stop & Shop to do the weekly grocery shopping. It seems every time I go, I spend most of my time avoiding completely oblivious people who don’t give a single thought to how what they’re doing impacts others. It’s better that they act like clueless idiots while pushing carts in a supermarket as opposed to doing it while driving their cars on the street…but I know if they do it in the store, they’re just as apt to do it while driving.

  When I Was Younger

  An old woman approached me

  Wrinkled and wizened beyond her years

  The wafting stench of the decades

  Of ashy addiction crinkled my nose

  Her drooping face spoke through

  The tangled mop of dirty gray and white

  Asking if I felt old

  I replied “No,” and added

  “I feel younger than I look.”

  She nodded a toothless smile and said

  “When I was younger, I felt older.”

  March 12, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  An actual conversation I had today.

  The Edge of Mean

  Lately, I’ve noticed a trend

  Among some of the blogs I read

  Even though they’re usually funny

  There is an unsettling tone

  That’s uncomfortable

  That clings to my brain

  Like a hardening layer of pond scum

  I couldn’t place why

  They made me feel like this

  Until my wife pointed it out

  In their quest to hone their snarky wit

  They instead balance steadfastly

  On the edge of mean.

  With this realization in hand

  I clicked and unsubscribed.

  March 12, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  There are a few blogs in my Google Reader that I like, because they’re kind of funny, but it always felt like there was a subconscious trade off that left me feeling uncomfortable at the same time. Kari felt it too and after some thought, she realized they were “on the edge of mean.” Like those blogs had to wield an undercurrent of meanness in order to be funny. That was it. I’ve since unsubscribed from those blogs.

  Have A Great Day

  “Have a good day,” I said.

  “Have a great day,” she replied, and left

  Leaving her words

  Hanging in the air

  Sticking in my mind.

  With only four words

  She upped the ante

  And cheapened my rote expression

  Causing me to examine

  The casual things we say

  March 12, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  This also happened today.

  Actually, Roman

  The old man with the Irish last name

  Asked me for the date

  “March 15,” I replied

  His red, watery eyes lit up like stars

  “Oh! It’s St. Patrick’s Day!”

  I corrected him,

  “No, that’s Saturday.”

  His face squished inwards

  As if his red cheeks getting closer

  Would put him deep in thought

  With effort, he managed,

  “What’s today? I know it’s sumptin’.”

  “The Ides of March,” I informed.

  He nodded, a shaky finger pointing,

  “See, I knew it was sumptin’ Irish.”

  “Actually, Roman,” I said

  And thought to remind him

  About Julius Caesar

  But was stopped by his laugh

  That conveyed he didn’t know

  Nor did he even care

  March 15, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  A real exchange I had today.

  Focused

  Young man

  Dirty shirt

  Face stained with

  An uncaring indifference.

  The stale ashtray

  Smell wafted about.

  A fresh cigarette

  Dangled precariously from

  His chapped lips.

  His mind focused

  On one thing:

  Getting outside

  And

  Lighting up

  March 20, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  I saw a guy today and I felt the need to paint a verbal picture of him. The guy was standing in a hospital and was so ruled by cigarettes that he walked around with an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. As I wrote, I, for some reason, tried to confine it to three words a line with the exception of the beginning and end of the poem.

  Mid-Morning On A Sunday

  Mid-morning on a Sunday

  Sitting at the local coin-op

  Waiting on my laundry

  Two women walked in

  One middle-age

  One’s in college

  Their voices barged and bullying

  Tamping down the normal sounds

  The gentle whirring and gurgling

  Of the machines in motion

  Instead they filled the room with

  Overinflated self-importance

  Speaking in humble brags

  Talking loudly for the benefit of

  Anyone not lucky enough to be them

  Their shrill laughs agitated the ears

  Of course it was their washers

&nb
sp; Which sat finished and full for forty minutes

  It’s not surprising their heavy perfume

  Tumbled pungently and spread

  Assaulting the senses

  Blocking out the clean smells

  Of detergent and hot dryers

  Without meaning, they stood

  Directly in everyone’s way

  And were slow to move when asked

  They were much too busy

  Overemphasizing their I’s

  While nonchalantly regaling

  Each other the exotic places

  They’ve lived and been

  Trying to out-do each other

  Trying to seem most unimpressed

  I cared the least

  So I put on my headphones

  Blocked out their sounds

  And folded my clothes in peace

  March 26, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  This happened at the laundry yesterday. When I turned on my iPod, “The Sound Of Silence” started playing.

  Killed Him With Kindness

  A surly old man

  Approached my window

  At the place where

  I trade my time for money

  He made demands

  In a curt, rude manner

  He bossed me around

  With an air of arrogance

  He talked down to me

  Like an ill-behaved pet.

  I smiled,

  Ignored his comments,

  Looked past his attitude, and

  Killed him with kindness.

  I’m not a better person

  Just one who chooses

  To live more positively

  And focus on a brighter future

  Safe on the assumption

  The he’s gonna kick it soon

  March 30, 2012

  Northampton, Massachusetts

  Yikes! I can’t believe I wrote those two last lines! That’s awful.

  APRIL

  Thanks To Facebook

  High school reunions are used to

  Catering to the curious

  Calling and culling those who

  Want to see what happened

  Want to know what’s become

  Of friends and acquaintances

  They knew in their childhood

  Who has changed

  Who’s stayed the same

  Who’s made something of themselves

  Who are the ones that never left

  Thanks to Facebook

  We already know

  What’s become of everyone

  The mystery has been removed

  Speculations are moot

  Guesses are gone

  There are no surprises

  Just facts and info

  And pictures on profiles

  Many are saving themselves