Writer's Block

I wondered what
it would be like
to one day be so

tongue tied that
I couldn't picture
or write, being

held hostige
by muteness,
hands

up in
the air, a
rough texture

on my face,
pronounced features
but jagged,

from being drawn
on bumpy
road

through
central
Illinois.

Dog

The old dog,
convinced that this was
not a popcorn night,

plopped down,
oblivious to the design
on the geometric carpet.

Shared Substructure

Sometimes two
are one, and yet
soaring off to different

ends of the universe,
as siamese twins
with their own interests

and passions,
in their own worlds,
yet intimately sharing

a substructure
with their
partner.

A little like
never having to
say you're sorry,

it is that connection
that doesn't always need
attentions

or stimulations.
The common element
remains the shared

universe, bound
together by history
and understanding.

A is for Anger

I must be naive or stupid
to think I can
end a war

with a few stories
and proverbs.
If only it was

that simple,
we'd send over to Iraq
story and proverb tellers,

instead of machine guns
and hand grenades.
Trying to touch the

forgiving side of someone
who has been so
trodden upon

is like
reaching into
a hot fire

to save a
glowing ember.
It seems so simple

even as one's hand is
warmed by
the friendly fire,

yet a moment later,
the pain of sizzling
fingers is unbearable.

Floating

Twins or soul mates,
sharing from birth
the same habitat,

creating negative spaces
dancing in
the embryonic liquid

of life, like friends
sensing every need
and want, time

never passing, except
perhaps in slow motion,
or suspended animation,

too pure in their
idealic dance to
notice (or care)

if they are
being
observed.

Lost

I lost a
friend today,
and don't know where

she went.
When I last saw her,
she was coming to life,

and, like an act
of witch craft,
suddenly vanished forever,

like a breeze,
never to reappear.
She just was

starting to grow a soul,
and to become
her own person,

and she was
to be with me
forever. But poof,
she now is gone forever.

I made a new friend,
which you see above.
Not the same,

but an expression
of a sorrowful
soul

who must push on,
even
if heartbroken.

Complemenary

Complementary is such
a strange word,
having nothing to do

with its "sounds like,"
complimentary.
It refers to one thing

that completes another,
and also suggests opposites,
as with color.

Strange! I often think
about pairs of people
(husbands and wives,

for example)
as either twins,
or opposites

(as in complements).
Like yin yan,
the opposites fit together
to complete

rather than oppose.
Somewhat like
red/green, blue/orange, violet/yellow,

yin yan acknowledges
that it takes
the pluralism

of both sides of the coin
to tell the
entire story.

House Man

He only thought
about his house
until it replaced

his receding hairline.
He couldn't see
his thoughts or

feelings since
his brain was in
the basement

and his heart
(was busy)
pumping blood

to heat the house.
His head hurt
from the weight

of the house
so he took
too many pills

that rotted a
hole in his
stomach.

All said and done,
others saw
his folly,

and entertained
loftier
thoughts.

Chin

I sat across from her
in the doctor's office
and noticed her

chin being tugged
by gravity, and
how she flipped

through magazines
as if every page
was as vacuous

as the next.
I wondered
if she knew

that I was
drawing her,
and tried to limit

the times
I would
look up at her,

so as to avoid
giving
myself away.

I took
very deep breaths
each time

I lifted
my head
to watch her.

Marathon

Rush, rush, rush,
Alarm at six,
treadmill at six-thirty,

shower at seven
eight am breakfast,
meeting at ten

lunch at twelve
quick conversations
with a host of people

email for forty-five
minutes then off to
another meeting across

town at three, a
quick hallway conversation
at four, and back to

the meeting until four fifteen
then another hallway conversation
and a quick view of an

art exhibit, but not the
one I expected, then email
for five minutes, followed

by a slow drive home
stopping at the grocery,
getting hungrier by the

minute, calling from cell
phone to Thai restaurant,
going to their drive thru

to pick up dinner, then
come home, let the dogs
out, email, tired as a dog,

sleep for a few minutes,
and then work on the drawing
after taking

three phone calls and
talking to my wife
who came back early

because she had
forgotten something.
Why?

Blind Black Architect

I dreamt of a
blind black architect
from NYC.

I was with him in
a hotel conference
room,

and felt responsible
for him because he
was blind.

Then I was called
away to get
a gift for me.

I was told it would
just take a minute,
but it was taking

more and more time and
I was getting more
and more worried

about the blind black
architect. "How would
he get along without

me, being blind," I
asked one of my
diverse colleagues.

He replied that
"being black in NYC
is more difficult

than being blind.
If he survived that,
he will be fine."

Job

A job is when you have
to do something you
don't want to do

because you were
paid to do it,
or maybe because you promised.

You don't feel
a sense of
accomplishment

because you just did it
for money like the
nightwalker who does her

tricks one after another,
sometimes feigning passion
and sometimes,

when he's too drunk,
just waiting
until the job is done.

Henry David called it
"quiet desperation," or
should he have said "tired"

relating to the
anticipation of that key
moment when the clock

ticks no more
and the eye lids
are gently told

the job
is over,
now.

Interference

When two occupy
the same space,
one is interfering.

Even if the
intention is intimate,
someone isn't able

to move
because they are
sharing the same

location.
What to some
is gentle touching

is to another
an imposition.
Often we think

that it is
the obstruction
that keeps us

from getting
to where
we are going,

yet, we yearn
to touch
each other,

but abhor sharing
our space or
acknowledging

that we are
often responsible
when bumping

into
those obvious
obstacles.

My neighbor

We share a driveway.
He stopped his car
and got out

as I was
walking back
toward my house.

"People don't have
time to talk,"
he said,

"the golden age
isn't really
golden.

Too much to do
and I don't know
where to start.

I can't wait
until the end,"
he said.

His hands and arms
shook as he talked,
adding that he was

worried about his
friend from WWII,
a nose gunner,

who was in the town
in Kansas
just flattened by a tornado.

Then the sun came out,
and what looked like
a gloomy day was now idyllic.

Look,
I said,
"a beautiful day."

"Yes,"
he answered,
"it is."

Party

The end of any year
means lots of parties,
one last night

and one tonight.
Sometimes more work
than work, just to go,

let alone to host.
This weekend it is
go, go, go.

Last night
he sat by
the unlit fireplace,

his head throbbing,
tired from
a long semester,

working too hard,
worrying too hard,
trying too hard,

he was able to
sit back
for a moment

and enjoy a
calmer moment.
"Less people

are here
than last
year," he commented,

with noone disappointed
that the subdued
gathering more

than matched
an exhausted
comradery.

Bully

I don't like bullies.
The fat kid in the school yard
who sits on you

because he has nothing
better to do,
or the adult bully,

who threatens wrath,
and uses twisted "arguments"
to pretend that reason

is on his side.
Often it is easier
to take his side,

until the next time,
when the threats reappear,
and once again,

the fat kid is sitting on you,
and no adults are
around to help.

Barber Shop

"We got all that
high tech stuff,"
the police chief said,

discussing guns
with the civilians.
He only had to

buy two guns,
one for off duty
and one for on

duty when he
was a rookie.
His "son finished

college in 3 1/2 years
instead of 4 and
he was the youngest

in his class." His
badges and stripes,
hidden by the

barber's chair cloth,
made him seem more
like a regular guy

except for those blue
stripes on his pants
or his thick leather

mace holder
ready for
action.

Mr. Thumbtack

She wanted me to make
a paperclip into a
butterfly,

and someone else
requested I do something
with a staple remover.

I thought I'd make
a blue paperclip,
like the one I saw yesterday.

All these ideas made
me feel like a dunce,
with a thumbtack for a hat,

you know, one
of those especially
big and shiny tacks,

that don't have
paint and make that
tap tap noise

when they stick
into your shoe or
help you do

a headstand,
when you wear one
on top of your head.

Paper Clip

He said that
Richard Strauss
claimed he could compose

music about a paper clip.
I couldn't imagine
a less inspirational

object, so I thought
I'd give it a try,
only to discover

how beautiful it was
standing like a surf board
reaching into the sky

as elegant of
a curve that
ever was.

Distraction

Be here now, they said,
yet my mind wonders,
looking and listening

at the car screeching
and the woman
refreshing her lipstick

as if no one
is watching.
I catch

something important
but only
the tail end

of (what might be)
an interesting thought.
The car stops screeching

darkening the street
with burnt rubber
and the woman

powers her nose,
anticipating meeting
someone

more to her liking.
My other ears and eyes
draw back into my head

and I command myself
(this time) to pay attention
more carefully

until my mind
wonders
once again.