Poor Boy Rich Kid – #PoetryThursday

I write this poem back in 1996. Not about anyone in particular… but I found it in a stash of old files, and I think my old college poetry is kind of cool to stumble across!

Your folks have been keeping up with the Jones’s so long
You thought they’d never die:
Collecting a backyard full of motorhomes,
Televisions, and
GAP jeans.
They don’t understand your scowl,
ripped shirt, side-burned…
Daddy’s deep pockets buy you
cigarettes and caffeine,
so you can long strung-out sucked-in-cheeks.
Poor boy rich kid,
skinny by choice,
fat daddy fat wallet
filet mignon
you whine for canned beef stew.
Legal boxers
slug in a civil oak ring
to support your shifty-eyed


Broken Old Heroes

I was driving through my old hometown.
It’s been a decade since I lived there, and the signs on the stores have all changed, and the names on the mailboxes have changed in some parts of town.

And I watch with a bit of confusion as the heroes of my childhood fumble across the street…

One man, white haired, his head hung low, to watch each tentative steps as they scrape across the asphalt.
His arms smaller, his back hunched,  his chest hollow, his mind dulled.

These were the lumberjacks, the soldiers, the factory workers, the janitors, the shoe salesmen, the intellectuals, the gentlemen I remembered…
whose strength were oaken,
whose constitution was golden,
whose witsPSX_20140604_103240 were sharp like blades.

And for a moment, I realize that in my own oncoming middle age, that this too may be my destiny.

I was a hero in my youth, jostling timbers, lifting stones, and running along mountains.

And now, I’m closer to my broken old heroes than I am to the young man I once was.

All I Have To Give You… #poetrythursday

#poetrythursdayIf I could give you any gift,

I’d give you
cathedrals, spires and
hollow, with
a gargoyle choir to scare demons
and chase monsters from your closet.

I’d give you
Serengeti grassland, stampedes of
gazelle, and
sunset to match your eyes, sparkling.

I’d give you
rivers, and ponies, and gentle downy goslings.
And simple clouds to roll across your face in the morning.
Mountains and valleys, and oceans and lakes, and eternity
baked in a pie…
but all I can give you
are ink scribbles
and smiles,
and pictures painted with words,
and a forehead kiss goodnight.