Three yards of loam

featured in the poetry forum August 19, 2012  :: 0 comments

Doesn’t seem like a lot of labor:
2 hours collecting and burning sticks
and branches and twigs,
some cutting with the chainsaw.
Then 2 more hours shoveling and raking,
raking and shoveling 3 yards of loam,
spreading it all around
where the old apple tree used to be.

But I guess it really is a lot of labor
because I’ve strained a muscle
in my upper back
that stings with every breath I take,
and my lower back and hips
still have burning pain and fatigue
and it’s 2 days later!

Muscles take longer to recover as you get older,
you get sore easier,
remain sore longer. But apparently,
I haven’t yet got the picture.
I still think I’m 24, have the stamina
and strength of my youth.

But I hope now I’ve finally learned my lesson,
this painful lesson of going easier on myself,
so I won’t be so sore and sensitive,
throbbing and burning with pain.
Hopefully I’ve learned finally,
to act my age – but I doubt it.
What man, what true man, can submit,
can agree, to go gentle
into that dark night?

editors note:

When not gentle in the day; damn sure, not so in the night. – mh

All I can think and hope

featured in the poetry forum June 5, 2012  :: 0 comments

Heading back home finally after 6 interminably
long days and nights away at yet another
supercilious waste-of-time business meeting.
(All we have is time, isn’t it?)

The shadow of the airplane follows along far below,
a dark, ghostly smudge sliding eerily
across the bright snowy landscape,
over fences and barns, rocks and roads
and cars and lakes and trees.

And all I can think about (as usual),
all I can picture in my mind (yes, yes, we know)
is me sitting on my heating pad
watching my documentaries on TV,
sipping my beloved Starbuck’s iced coffee,
my stunningly beautiful, sweet
and radiant wife close nearby, where she belongs,
doing something or other on her i-pad.

And all I can hope (beyond all hopes),
is that she is indeed still there
and hasn’t yet run off
with that pesky lawn-care guy
with the big arms full of fuzzy tattoos.

editors note:

Many of us share the same hope and possibly the same lawn-care guy. Ensure familial stability, eschew fuzzy tattoos! – mh

Simply to Mate

featured in the poetry forum June 14, 2011  :: 0 comments

Instead of watching another football game
I excuse myself, leave my wife and daughter
in front of the big screen,
shuffle as unobtrusively as possible
into the bedroom to watch Great Migrations –
Race to Survive on the little TV atop the dresser.

I’m not much of a football fan, really.
I’m not as manly as I know I should be,
I’m thinking, hoping my pretty wife
isn’t looking at me disdainfully
as I slink away.

If this had been back in college
when she was palling around
with big Don, her macho football player friend,
more than eager and ready
for him to ask her out, you know
I’d be right in there watching the stupid game
with her, cheering the team on,
slapping 5 for each goal scored, perhaps
even downing a beer or two in the frenzy of testosterone.
All this, of course, to show her, to prove to her,
that I’m a man, yes indeed, a real man,
a football fan, a football loving fan man.

But for right now, for tonight,
I’ll hide away in the bedroom
watching in complete fascination
as the Okavango Zebra herd stops at nothing,
tramping continuously
over ancient migration paths,
risking lion attacks and disease,
starvation, cheetahs and hyenas,
to reach the salt lick
and the river beyond that simply to mate.

editors note:

Sports could be just a bunch of men chasing balls around. Well, not if we’re talking WNBA or some other fatuous pastime. This walks into a packed Chili’s Bar and Grill, where Jerry’s Cowboys are playing on a dozen plasma screens, and switches the televisions to Romanticized animal porn, and what life is really about—survival, habits, salt licks and sweaty sheets. – tm

A Simple Guy

featured in the poetry forum March 6, 2010  :: 0 comments

I can’t leave you alone I’m sorry but I simply cannot leave you alone I know you would prefer that prefer being left the hell alone by me we are getting rather old after all enough of this sophomoric adolescent behavior enough of me putting my hands on you enough of me kissing your perfect lips so endlessly like I love to do yes I wish I could honor your wishes your innermost and private desires and leave you the hell alone but well I am a guy simple as that a simple guy and you are still an extraordinarily beautiful and desirable woman the most extraordinarily beautiful and desirable woman I have ever known and I simply cannot leave you alone never have been able to and never will.

editors note:

I love a good, goofy, run-on love poem, cuz it’s all about that wonderful fun, butterflies in you tummy, goofy love. Any simple guy is hard-pressed to resist. This simpleton (yeah, that’s me) wants to go find his lover and cover her with kisses. (deep sigh) – mh