On the passing of Squalls

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Rail and roar, oh thunderous storm!

I hear your hail and weeping!

Allow me to answer your tumult and gale

Before I return to my sleeping.

Such rage and such fury!

What billow and rain!

Go rend all your garments

And wail your refrain!

Crash on and roll over, oh thunderous storm!

I hear your raw wind and peeling!

Allow me to dance in your madness and maw

Before I return to not feeling.

Such madness and worry!

What gales and rain!

Go brace ‘gainst the Heavens

And scream your refrain!

Break hold and speed onward, oh thunderous storm!

I hear your howls and flailing!

Allow me to weep as you fade in the sky

Before I return to my sailing.

Such sniffles and nonsense!

What drizzle and rain!

Go settle to breezes

I’ll sing your refrain!

Minding the Small Things

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It is an impressive feat

That a small and insignificant instant

A muddied, rusty, moment

Can somehow stretch across the sky

Can somehow poison a well

And mar a mood in total.

As when a drop of dark paint

Darkens a whole glass of water

Or a paper cut on a cuticle

Distracts from an otherwise functioning body

How marvelous the mind

And its strength to hold onto thumbtacks

When there are peaches present.

Murder of Crows

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A murder of crows

Flew over the boughs

But the children did not heed them.

For every child knows

That the carrion crows

Leave the bones of those who need them.

For one day all men must feed them.

As children grow,

And run below,

The crows above will heed them

For every crow knows

We to ground must go

For one day all men must feed them.

Leave the bones for those who need them.

Ode to my Honda in the Snow

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In all the freezes of the years,

You’ve always started without fuss.

whrr-whrr-click hmmmm

Beautiful music to my frostbitten ears.

And though I know you detest the snow,

Can’t abide slush, and fear the ice,

You have yet to lead me to my death.

For that, I am so grateful.

And now, as we face this hill in the snow,

As I hesitate to accelerate

As your back wheels slide and you whine,

I have faith in us.

Charge on, old Honda!
Charge on and up!

Wheels spinning more than necessary,

Heater working like gangbusters,

You take me up the unplowed highway,

Soothing me while others lean on horns

And swear that I could be going faster.

You, oh lovely, lovely car

Lose your feet but not your head

(Mechanically, the wheels but not the carriage)

And reassure me as your anti-lock brakes

Seize up and slide me through intersections,

That you would stop, if you could.

Oh, my beloved car.

I will drape you in the fanciest car washes!

I will fill your tank with the richest of washer fluids

(If your wipers worked below freezing, that is)!

I will vacuum you on a regular basis!

I will stroke your dashboard and let you know

That you are my darling, my dear,

My ill-equipped husky,

And together we will brave this Midwestern tundra,

Till the glorious summer roads return…

If only you keep me on the road

And get me safely home again.

Ode to a Marriott Turkey Club

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Your surly fingers try to hide

the obvious joy you feel at handling latex gloves.

Taking two glorious pieces of white bread,

White as the Queen’s tablecloth

Factory, bulk-made light bread, you trudge to the toaster.

But I know better – I can sense your anticipation.

And then – oh blessed lady – the mayonnaise

The tart but sweet condiment spread thinly on the toast,

Your knife a brush on a canvas of yeasted perfection.

Oh, do not curl your lip, Heavenly creature, as you handle

the turkey, the tomato, the lettuce! You cannot maintain

Ennui when handling bits of culinary paradise.

You lay each with the precision of minimum wage calculations

The expertise of time tables

And the secret love of a chef working the late shift.

What sound could I hope to make to impress upon your glowering eye, your pursed lips, your indifferent hands,

The towering testament to sandwich in my hands,

The climactic crunch of a 10pm late flight appetite appeasement!

Words shame the first bite.

The masterful combination of flavor and texture –

The sweet turkey, the salt of the bacon,

The fresh burst of tomato, the smooth lettuce,

A symphony for the taste buds, gastronomic bliss.

Oh, sweet Muse of the Marriott cafe,

You could never achieve anything less than perfection.

And my tip shall reflect my rapture.

Back from Hiatus

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I am back from a brief Hiatus!

I use a capitol H because it was important

I say capitol because the H is the center of this idea.

Right – this week is going to be all about odes. It is not a New Year’s Resolution to be more positive or any such fluff, but lately I’ve found myself grateful for things. So I’m going to write my gratitude out in poetic forms.

Yes, I’m even working on one for you, surly waitress in the hotel restaurant. You can’t deny you made me a delicious (spit free!) sandwich…