Growing up

Its time to grow up
the second star to the right is dim
time to put away the teddy bear
no more dress up
time to dress up for real
thimbles are just thimbles
pixie dust wont help you fly
peter has forgotten you
you leave the window unlocked
but he doesn't come back
there you stand
still upon a road
a split forms in front of you
one takes you back
one takes you forward
life must go on
think a happy little thought

The Girl with the Orange Umbrella

For Jackie-
Rain, Pitter patter
it falls down
upon the sleek blades of grass
the earth drinks it in
most people are afraid of rain
afraid when it falls
but the rain will come anyways
rain is cleansing
we need to let it fall
in the midst of the rain
an orange umbrella rises
a speck on the far horizon
letting us know, everything will be alright
after the rain

Peter pan

Wheels of life are turning
Round and round
Things are changing, I am growing up
I am no longer in Never Never Land.
I can’t go back; I need to face the world
The world of grownups;
The world I feared when I was a Kid
Pant suits, and tied shoes.
Can’t I just go back to onsies and Velcro shoes?
Things were simpler as a child
Food was provided for you,
Clothes were provided for you,
All you needed to do was look cute
Well this isn’t a fairy tale
And I am no longer peter pan

Ode to Michael Connaughton

Laughing about some joke,
that no one else understands.
pondering questions,
that appear rhetorical.
nodding slowly,
while thinking to yourself.
talking about events,
that happened in your past.

things pass through your students ears,
that do not stick.
Robots who power down,
during your class.
They do not care about
what you have to share.

Knowledge stored away
trying to pass it down.
But your students do not care
what a sad day to be a professor.

Sunglasses

Over the course of my life I have been through
my share of sunglasses.
most are lost,
perhaps to the sunglasses gnome.
collecting them for his wall.
some are stepped on,
sat on,
drove over.
the lens is missing from that one,
so and so has that one,
these hurt my head
these pull my hair
the cat got those ones
these are for vacations only
those are yours
these pull out my eyelashes
those don't block out the sun.
I have never owned a pair
for more than six months

Iamyouareweare

I am a carpet waiting to fly
You are more dramatic than Shakespeare
We are as different as a bear and a kitten.

I am a doormat being stepped on
You are sugar too sweet for your own good
We are leaves on a tree, one falls, and the others follow.

I am a shoe searching for my mate
You are air, breathed fresh into my asthmatic lungs
We are like animals in a zoo, different but all in one place.

I am a sheep lost among the others
You are as painful as five shots in the arm
We are weeds in a garden popping up everywhere

Garlic

You press against your paper skin
Like a hand, poised to punch.
Impossibly strong.
You protect me from what I fear
A silent death in the Dark of the night
Although you smell
I will always keep you close.

Winsted

Tucked between Highway 7 and Highway 55
Is a small town
You’ve probably never heard of
Unless you listen to country music.

People come, but only in the summer.
And mainly for the music
But it helps that there are 5 bars
In this small town

People rarely go to the beach
But I don’t blame them
What with the chiggers and the dead fish
The only place to get a good pizza
Is the gas station

The largest spot in town
Is the cemetery

Welcome to Winsted

Red Fox

Red fox has the night.
Sprinting with my Dreams

I chase him
Scampering without breath

Red Fox has the sky
Dashing with the stars

He is faster than me
I Cannot catch him

Red Fox has my hopes
Fleeing into the distance

Pet Rock

Like an ill formed skittle
Different from the others
Cast aside
Picked up by a little girl
Rubbed for relief
Cast aside again
Left alone for years.
Then, like a red flame among the ice.
It is spotted
Picked up again
Cradled in a palm
Nestled in a pocket
It has found where it belongs.

Fourth Grade

I will always remember that day.
The day I decided that Topple™
Was more important; then going to the bathroom.
I give myself credit.
That was the longest I’d ever held it
But I had held it too long
Rushing to the sign out post, not quick enough
That tingling feeling hit me
And a puddle appeared on the floor
My face turned a deep mottled red.
I cried a deep wail.
Escorted out of the room; down the hall
To the nurses office
She had to loan me shorts.
I was so embarrassed they sent me home.
I will always remember that day in fourth grade.

Dreams

Gorgeous Death is Eternity
Leave Never
Embrace tomorrow
Come fly Vast Spaces
Blind Language Symphony
Spread the Luscious purple Corduroy
Almost Flower Broken Tree

Dark

Your smile reminds me of a crocodile

Waiting to snap me in half between your jaws

You’re the vampire in the night

Waiting to put me in a dreamless sleep

You’re the demon

Who haunts my foot steps

You are the darkness

Enveloping all

But I am the light.

Ode to the Emo

Delicate young emotion
Sweet love with smoke
prisoner of produce
crisp moment of dirt
journey through present
deep hate

Willow Tree

Leaves Like Fingers reach down for me
Not strong enough to pick me up
Everything is alright up in the big tree
I cried for hours when I found out
My Father, had not and was not coming home
up I climbed, til I could not go up anymore
There I sat, Hiding from view
Seeing the world through blurred vision
when I climbed down I left part of me there
up in the Willow Tree
My Childhood sits among the leaves

Shadows on the sun

My time here is running out.
I am Fading like a sunset.
But I will not be back tomorrow morning.
I go to join the others
Who have went before me
The Shadows on the Sun.

Sea of the Forsaken

Wisps of Dreams long Forgotten
They Shroud the Moon on a
Pitch Black Night
Floating in the sea of the lost

Waiting for their turn to be claimed
Hoping this time they make it.
Not wanting to go back.
To swim the deep oceans of time.

April Fool's

March has decided
In its own way
To play a prank
On Minnesota

It let us taste spring
Melting
Creating large puddles
Splashing

As quickly as spring came
It slunk away
To hide
To sleep some more

The snows returned
Mocking us
Not wanting us to move it
It sticks to the ground in a protest

And March smiles
April Fools Minnesota

Bob Ross

Secret Bushes, Happy trees
And one big Afro.
What most people believe to be a painter

I do not paint happy trees.
I do not hide bushes.
And I most certainly do not have an afro.
Landscapes, skyscapes, cloudscapes, moonscapes.
Tossed in my basement
My work gathers Dust about it
Wrapping it like a blanket

Here I sit one last time
Painting a Vedute
It will go to join the others
In my graveyard of landscapes.

Imaginary

Like Christopher Robin
You have Imagined your very own
Hundred Acre Wood

We are all Imaginary

Time passes in your life
with the help of your imaginary pals
life turns on a point
the point of your life.

We are all imaginary

we talk to you
and make you feel great
but you have to remember
We are all Imaginary

We cannot jump in front of a bullet
it would pass through us
we cant save you from harm
We cannot do anything unless you imagine it
Because

We are all Imaginary
and you created us.

Earth

Cradled within Nature
The trees hug me back
Grass closes in around me
Scents Wander up my nostrils
Lilac, Wood, Earth
Breathing slowly
Smelling them all
Birds chirp and swoop above me
as I lay here
in this grove.

Soaking in everything
the colors are bright here
duller in the city.
Brown Barks
Green Grass and Leaves
Bright blue sky
and the Red breasted Robin

I myself become part in this
Growing roots, reaching down
Down into this earth

Blank

My mind has gone
Blank, Dull, thoughtless
Nothing lives there.
Nothing stirs
time passes slowly.

Darkness is closing in.
No longer can I fight it.
Time has come for me.
Stealing away my thoughts
taking me into the dark

Ramble

On and on you talk
Grumble, cough EXCLAMATION!
then trudge forward again.
No one cares
half the class asleep.
Grumble, Cough, EXCLAMATION?
Trudge on.
still no one cares.
it is hard to make people care about nothing
Grumble, cough,EXCLAMATION!?
just trudge forward

Wooden Spoons of Dread

CRACK! tears begin
Wooden spoons contacting denim
I remember the sound
I remember the pain
I even remember the shape left behind.

She couldn't use plastic.
it snapped
split in two
rubber spatulas
they just wouldn't do.

it had to be wood.
sturdy, rough.
leaving that lasting imprint
on my backside

I am still afraid
of wooden spoons.
I cannot touch them,
and refuse to pick them up.

the coarseness of the handle
rubs against my consciousness
grating, moving along.

the memory of the wooden spoon
left splinters in my mind.