Poems from the Foothills

"Where I'm From"

I'm from blueberry cream cheese
French Toast,
Home sewn clothing and laughter.
Motor oil, lilac bushes, and
Visits to the doctor.

I'm from grassy backyards,
Baseball, football,
Old tractors and even
Older men.

I'm from lakes and sweet corn
At the end of July.

I'm from books, lots and lots
Of books, read deep into the night
Until the world was silent
And you could hear your heart
Beating along with the sound
Of the train, rolling by
Just across the road.


"Postcard Haiku"

Boise desert hills
Silver sagebrush, dry creek beds
Shade beneath the trees


"Sounds"

The willow tree rattles
Leaves crackling like dried
Rice Krispies,
Bending like a reed
Before the wind.


"Ode to the Bullfrog"

O Bull Frog!
I cannot see you
Except for your dark beady eyes
Bobbing above the water
But your deep, car bass voice
Calls to me, as if you only want
A froggy hug, lonely as you are
In this desert pond and the mountains
Around you must seem very high
When you're caught at the top
Of one world,looking up
At another.

But O Bull Frog!
You're brave, dude.
You're brave.

Boise!

Lawn sprinklers pop out at midnight
In this arid desert steppe terrain.
Quiet neighborhoods (except the fireworks).
This is not where I grew up
Nothing like it at all
Except, well, it has humans here, too...

America is a big place,
You never know where it might lead,
And all of it home.

My God, how did I get here?

On Poetry

All poetry
Is nothing.
Like we are nothing.
Like the world
Is nothing.

And nothing,
As Janis said,
Is all we have left
To lose.

3 Poems Written During One Afternoon At My Temp Job (on yellow post-it notes)

The Desert

They were lost.
The sea had run aground
And they could do nothing
But get out,
Tighten their shoelaces,
And walk.
The sun in the distance
Like a coin waiting to be collected.


Cough, You Mutherfucker

Cough, you mutherfucker, cough.
Why not? You've been doing
It for eight hours a day,
Five days a week, for months
Now. You sit right in front of
Me and we don't even have a
Thin cubicle wall dividing us.
You heave, sigh, yawn, belch, and cough.
So go ahead and
Cough, mutherfucker, cough.


Cats at Night

The door opens and they bound out
Into the darkness, eyes wide
And noses twitching as they attempt
To take it all in, not knowing
There is no end to the night,
That all the curious smells will go on
Forever, that a legion of other cats
Guard their own backyards, streets
Running beyond this city to other cities
Running to the far ends of the earth,
Where all is grass, woods, farms.
The mice there sleeping safely,
Tucked into bed and dreaming of ocean.

Beer with Lemon

I watched the dark clouds gather
All afternoon long and into
The early evening while stationed
At a shared desk on the seventh floor
Of a gleaming blue office building
All glass, all windows. A quiet purgatory
With a beautiful, panoramic view.

Looked like rain all afternoon,
But the storm did not break
Until I had punched out, until
I had driven home my back tight
My stomach empty and sat down at
My kitchen table, pouring myself a
Beer with lemon while looking
Through my open window at the
Fresh green trees blooming outside,
So much sweet wind pouring
Through my screen window I could only
Bow my head, and consider the thunder.

The Widower

You do not remember this,
But I stood over your bed
Reading poetry as if the
Words on the faded page could
Outdo all we had been through,
The life we had shared over so
Many years, clawing earth together
As if that grip meant something,
As if we'd arrive somewhere
Someday, me taking off my hat
As you smiled and curtsied to
Something stronger and higher
Than either of us but tonight
All that matters is how, when
I reach for you, that spot is
Devoid of heat, and only
My own sweat soaked pillow
Rising up to meet my lips
When I try to kiss you
Across space across time
Across town, your grave simply
One among many, something for
Lawnmowers to dodge while they
Hum loudly to the open sky,
So much louder than poetry.

Outlaws

We drove
And drove
And drove

The sun crisp above,
Flat road ahead, and
The rear view mirror empty.

We'd quit our jobs
Freedom seeping through
Our bones so much
Money in leather bags
And I drove fast, but not
Too fast.

At night we slept in motels
Listening to thin walls weep
So much news so much ESPN so much
Pain.

In the morning we drank coffee,
Ate pancakes and bacon.
The morning paper was filled with
Bad pictures of us and when I read
Aloud you giggled and kissed
My picture in the paper until the
Cheap ink rubbed onto your lips
And when you smiled, your smile was darkness.

We drove on
Until we ran
Out of land to drive upon,
And at the end of all that land
We made love
Until the ocean gave way and
Let us walk on through,
Holding hands.

Pipe Smoking

If everything we did made perfect sense
And was perfectly healthy,
How would the dead find peace
Knowing that we were wasting
Our one chance at good living?

Perhaps, sometimes, the smell of burnt cherries
Should rise above us like a ladder to the heavens,
Begging to be climbed.

The Siege of St. Paul

Sheets of ice rose into the sky
So many clouds of frozen tears
And all the rivers,
Done froze up.

He blew into his hands
And checked the temp.
So many clothes to wear, and so many
Hearts that needed jump starting.

The war had been on for months...
Or was it years,
Or was it centuries?

Few resources got in and
Nothing
Got out.

The siege had been on so long
It was a joke, something to drink about
And forget.

St. Paul a dream, a puff of frost
Kissing snow, your tires squealing
As you failed to top that icy hill.

She had no lipstick so she bit into
Her tongue until the blood pooled
And she licked her lips crimson.

The siege gripping every throat
Like Old Man Winter,
Refusing to let go of something
He could no longer remember.

Ode to Beavis & Butthead

Music videos are no longer played on MTV
And your episodes have been
Chopped up by your creator
Into well-packaged DVDs and you
Dudes never even new what a DVD was.
You never knew how much you meant
To all the inappropriate children out there
Who loved you for what you'd do
That we could not do
Because we'd been born unlucky enough
To not be cartoons eating nachos
But we all tried and yearned to score
We fucking yearned to score
And there is no shame in that far greater
Is the shame of the milk toast the mild
Who never try to score who never say
Anything
Inappropriate who go through life pretending
To be smarter than they are, more well
Bred than they are never touching the core
of what they could have been.

Yes, I said "touching the core".
Heh heh, heh heh.

What Happiness Costs

Sitting on my couch,
Eating good cashews.
Owing nothing
To anyone.
Wanting nothing more
Than to be
Where I am
At that moment.

Happiness costs less
And much, much more
Than you think it does.

Dear Sleep

We haven't been friendly lately,
Between the nightmares and coffee
I haven't visited you as much
As I should have. Tonight
I'm up late again and tomorrow
I'll miss you even more as I sink
Further and further into the surreal life
Phantoms swimming up
To pull me into the deep end of the pool
And you think I've lost you
You think I'm a stranger in a strange land
And while this is all true
I'll finally catch you like a young dude
Riding his bike as fast as he can
Through the empty streets of a small town
That doesn't give a fuck.

Drunken Rave #3

Many ways you can get drunk,
But pre-planned rings the most hollow
And desperate and tonight I feel a little
Desperate a little drunk a little
Tired.

New love makes you tired.
Most poets don't tell you that,
They want to believe new love makes
You sleepless aching and hot in the
Long, long night.

But it really isn't like that.

New love is like coming home after
Being out in the cold for a long, long time
And slipping into your favorite night wear
By a roaring fire that's been built for you
In advance and someone handing you the drink
You've been thirsting for
And putting your feet up as your drooping eyes
Close you feel an afghan being dropped
Over you covering you in so much
Fucking warmth.

New love is like sleep
A long time coming.

Poem for Meat Loaf

Chubby goofball rocker
Jean-jacketed vanguard of an army of dispossessed
Lonesome losers fingers itching
To rock and roll and rock some more
Together we'll kick down all
Old rotted doors rescue all the girls
We do not deserve (on paper),
We, unabashed romantics,
We, the drunkard pot smoking
Video game loving freaks
So many grand gestures
Falling from us like dying leaves
In a world hellbent on being realistic
And dull dull dull.

Together we will make a last stand
And consume the world in gulps
The only way anything can truly
Be loved.

Sometimes I Need to Settle Down

Why why why
Coffee coffee coffee!

Rolling like a freight train
Flying like an aeroplane

Nimble fingers periodical
Tiny silver necklace against
Pale flesh

Leaves falling so loudly
Outside my windows
Newly opened spaces

Now I can see a tower
In the distance
And at the top of this tower
Is a spastic monkey
And that monkey
Is my brother.

Bored At Work

How long will humanity need to be bored at work?
How long must this go on?
Is it worth food and shelter?
I guess. But you always have to
Leave
That food and shelter and return to
Work
And sit patiently while your life slips
Through the world like
Sand.

The best thing you can hope for
A good night on TV and maybe
A trip to the bar where you will
Bitch about work and eat buffalo wings.

No,
This isn'tjust about getting a new job.
This isn't even about spoiled 1st world countries.
This is about creating an entire world
Where robots do the dull stuff
And everyone else gets to save the Galaxy.

Real social planning;
Is that so much to ask,
You fancy fancy scientists?

A Smacking Poem

Sometimes
I just feel like
Smacking you.

If it makes you feel better,
You can smack me
Too.

Are You Happy?

Here I am, lying on the floor
Staring at your fine, fine heels
As you walk out that door
Slamming it in that sexy way
You developed over a plethora
Of tooth and nail and now I am
Talking to random people in bars
Asking questions I don't want to have
Answered because the only real answer
Is YOU WILL DIE we will ALL DIE
And when we are gone this all
Moves on.

All My Spills

Last night I spilled wine in a bookstore,
But this was by far not my first transgression.

I have spilled in Brittish manor houses.
I have spilled on the decks of cruise ships.
I have spilled at high school, college, and fancy
Graduate school dinners.
A legion of parties, museums, a dozen places where spilling
Was otherwise unthinkable. One Chistmas Eve
Stands out
In particular.
I was only sixteen and the loud drunken adults had left
A bottle of red wine out on the white clothed table.
I tried some, liked it,
And drank some more.

You can probably see where this is
Going.
You can probably tell that if you were here
Right now, sitting quietly with me,
I'd spill anything you asked.

Suddenly

Cold rain tore through my chest like shrapnel
And my coat fell ragged around my feet. When
I tried to run for it I tripped and smashed my face
Into the asphalt and through my one good eye I saw
Lightning hovering over me like a guardian angel
And when I asked if I could please get up it poured into me,
Crawled up inside me like a rat into its warm nest.

Later, the storm passed, I stood up, scorched but
Whole. I walked home and took a long, hot shower,
My fingers trembling as I soaped up,
My eyes still filled with so much light.