The Good Old Days

Sometimes I remember
the good old days

My mother playing with my little toes
Me holding her hand

My father running
To start hugging

In my little pjs, tight and yet bouncy
Like a rubber band

Happy and squealing like a smoke detector
And my father; ever so annoying

I still can’t imagine
anything better than that.

(ed. note: A stanza and some lines were borrowed from another poem.)

Momentous Mt. Rushmore

I’ve seen
Spectacularly strange
Things in my life
Or the other way around
Some have gone through
Much strife
Yet they’re still
More fascinating
Than the speed
Of sound
At least
I thought so
Until I came here
Now I realize
That those places
Are
Grains of sand
I have found
True beauty
Here
In
The
Mt. Rushmore National Memorial
White, pale
Faces
They just saw a ghost
Carved better
Than anyone
Has right
To boast
Pine trees
Mask all
Man-made scents
White rocks
Most likely pebbles
Are better
Than the fence
Average
That most buy
Orange, red, pink
Clouds in twilight
White, okish
Clouds in the sky
Sky
Is blue on
Average,
But sometimes
Special by far
Mountain, regular
Is a
Lie
Special can’t
Describe
the masterpiece
It beholds
And
Blindfolds
Us
with
Overwhelming glory
I must
(Though I know not when)
I must
Although my mother coming
Out of her own will
Is as likely as her dating Ken
I must
I will
Come back
Again

Anxiety

A whirling tornado
Full of self doubt
A heavy weight
On your lungs
Leaving you gasping for air
A painful bee sting
Making you frantically
Wave your hands
Stuck in an earthquake
Rumbling and tearing apart
Any surviving balance

The Monster

A darkness, a shadow, a monster crawls ‘round my door
It’s disgusting, dark droul dripples on the floor
I see it’s fangs glitter and gleam in the moonlight
While knowing this might be my last living night
I look for a sword or dagger or two
I have hope, though weapons are few
Then I snuggle my teddy bear to say goodbye
He yawns and sighs a great, big sigh
Then the Monster knows I’m not alone
He wouldn’t have come if he had known
Then the Monster took off into the night
And I said to my teddy bear “Goodnight”

The Coffee Crime

The Crime Scene
Altogether lacks
A dark alley
When you know
All the bags are money sacks

No, none of that
But a place where
Senses soar
As smells are beyond
Compare

But the money
Isn’t as lucky
As the odors
In the small shop
Spilled Coffee?
Never need a mop

Instead of buying
Homemade and luxury
Experiences worth trying
They all line up
At large stores

The two different stores
They both sell coffee
But very different are they
For taste the large store;
You’d prefer a ditch
But the small store sells
All you could want
Scrumptious, hot
And rich!

Still the small store
Remains unnoticed
For on the street
People walk up & down
Looking at the shop
They never ignore
And don’t think about the
Best one in town

And in real life today
The problem is still around
When people refuse to notice
When people refuse to know
Whose face is happy
And whose is full of woe