Life

Life is the struggle to hold on.

Happiness is the willingless to let go.

Sadness is the absence of reconcilation of these.

Wah Wah Call The Waaahmbulance

Wooo new people!

I'm going through the folder of poems from NaPoWriMo and working on revising them a little. On days where I have nothing new to present (most days), I'm going to post one of these revisions:

Wah Wah Call The Waaahmbulance (4/17/10)

The truest poet ever plays at softly sentimental,

spinning sad songs for tear drops, love lost, and shock value,

settles for whoever

pays attention--

like he knows inside that he’s just selling lies to strangers,

squares it with his god that

believing him is their choice.

Still he spins his stories, sobbing, spittle flying,

crying so you know he means it--

reminiscing artfully about when they were authentic

while looking for a remedy for happiness;

sadness sells too well and boring folks

love a tearful story over dinner as proof

they still feel anything.

And in fifty years or so no one will care about him

but there’s going to be, like, plenty of replacements

who never heard his name.

CARHARTS, RAIN JACKET

CARHARTS, RAIN JACKET
after Cake’s “Short Skirt, Long Jacket”

I want a man with constellations in his ear drums.
I want a man with long attention.
I want a man who is not sure what to order,
treats the waitress like a princess, and leaves a big tip.

I want a man with intercultural charisma. 
who loves like he means business
and makes last requests.
He is not afraid to get dirty:
He is covered in fish guts,
He is fist up in protest,
and knee deep in my heart.

I want a man with carharts and a rainnnnn jacket.

I want a man with a waterproof smile.
I want a man who always knows where we are.
I want a man who has time for breakfast
who got something scrambled and sees the sunny side up.
He brings home the bacon.
And flowers and hitchhikers and cellphone pictures of the sea.

He is not afraid to get dirty:
He is covered in fish guts,
He is fist up in protest,
and knee deep in my heart.

I want a man with carharts and a rainnnnn ...rainn...... jacket.

I want a man with a marathon imagination
I want a man with bare feet on the earth
He is walking by me at Fred Meyer, he has somewhere to go,
he is in a hurry but he asks me my name.

He is well dressed for a Friday.
He is buying onions, tomatoes, and oreo cookies.
He asks my son for a fist pound and
says he loves this weather, partly cloudy, fifty five.

I want a man with carharts and a rainnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn jacket.