Kind of an unwritten thing with me. I will never be the first one to swear in a group of people I don’t know very well. Mostly out of politeness, but I also never want to offend someone who might find vulgarities offensive.
Violated The Unspoken Rule
Driving up I-95
Into New Hampshire
When I felt the need
And it was then when
I saw the rest stop
So I pulled in and parked
So I walked in and parked
In front of the first one
Along a long wall of porcelain
I stood there staring
Straight ahead at the tiny
Tiny graffiti written in
The grout in front of me
Where someone wrote
“Taco” in little letters
Trying to figure out why
When someone stood
Right next to me
Obviously not seeing
The ten empty urinals
Stretching down the wall
Violating the unspoken rule
Breaking the code we all
Follow pretty basic it seems
That we always leave an
Empty one in between
Maybe he wanted to read
What I was reading
Maybe he was just an idiot
Who likes pissing
Off other guys by violating
The unspoken rules
We all live by
Either way I was happy
To get back in my car
And get back to driving
October 6, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
This happened to me today while driving back from the Topsfield Fair and Newburyport.
Putting On Wet Clothes
I don’t want to
Be here
Be the one
Dealing with you
Anytime
All the time
In this situation
Especially
It’s as difficult as
Putting on wet clothes
Something you
Don’t want to do
All cards on the table
It’s annoying
It’s uncomfortable
It’s grating
Somewhat unstable
It’s not for me
I like my clothes
Dry and warm
Not cold and wet
No use having a wet blanket
Smothering smoldering
The fire that I feel
So if you don’t mind
I’d like to toss you
In the dryer and get on
With the rest of my day
October 13, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
Not really written about any one person or situation in particular. I was getting dressed today and I was thinking about washing clothes for some reason and I was slightly thankful that my clothes were dry. Then I started to think about how annoying and grating it is to put on wet clothes. That thought stuck with me for the rest of the day until I wrote this.
Writing Is Life
A sliver of slightly
The tiniest twinges
The smallest of smidgeons
The nimblest nuances
Of what I see
Of what I observe
Become the
Piles of perfection
Superfluous subdivisions
Hugest of happenstance
That I write
That I get out
Of the experience
Since observing
Becomes writing
And writing is
A reflection of life
Therefore
Writing is life
October 19, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
I didn’t set out to make such a huge declaration with this poem. It was a random thought, which became more.
Seasonal Lag
Fully immersed in
A sea of colors
A week past their prime
Fading and falling
Paired with a crisp chill
During the sunny days
Lacking the warmth
Despite the sun’s best efforts
College kids are done
With their midterms
Autumn is half over
And here I am
As I always am
Wondering what happened
To that last season
Where did it go
Where was I
When it said goodbye?
Probably at work
And the few times I find
Myself free is when I find
My world has changed
Around me without telling me
The last to know once again
Finding myself fully entrenched
In my usual
And now predictable
Seasonal lag
October 20, 2003
Methuen, Massachusetts
Another poem that popped into my mind while eating lunch in the car.
Small Town Strip Mall
Small town strip mall
With a parking lot made
For a time when
This was where everyone shopped
A time before
The modern stores
Dug in a few miles away
I sit here looking at
A parking lot way too big
Cars crisscrossing across
I’m amazed no one hits each other
In front of the one long continuous building
Housing the second rate stores
A nail salon on the left side
With the blue and red neon
Burning brightly in the twilight
A dry cleaner aptly named Royal
As if it could bring the missing elegance
To this forgotten, forsaken place
A pizza place known only in
The New England area
The kind of place with
The kind of food that makes you
Wonder why they’re still open
A chain pharmacy store where
You won’t be surprised to see
The sign with the letter ‘P’
That burnt out some time ago
The big store in the middle
Closed last spring, I think
“Anchor away!” I say seeing
The big empty spot in the
Smack dab in the middle
Then the generic liquor store
With the non-descript sign
Simply stating, Liquors
Perfect for those shoppers
Who are wishing to remain
Anonymous, I’m guessing
Then there’s the small local
Bank that is one of a few
Branches they have at all
Followed by the low-end
Supermarket that takes the word
The word ‘super’ and exaggerates it
Behin
d me, across the large
Empty parking lot is the
McDonald’s which sits there
Alone like it’s trying to
Distance itself
Further itself
From the strip mall over there
Because it’ll bruise or tarnish
Ronald’s reputation or something
I don’t like this place much
But sadly, it’s in a good location
And easy to get to so I continue
To come here every once in a while
October 21, 2003
Methuen, Massachusetts
I stopped to McDonald’s off of Exit 46 off of I-93 tonight for two, well, three reasons: I was hungry, I wanted more of the McDonald’s Monopoly game pieces, and the traffic was awful on I-93. After I ate I sat there for a few minutes, looked at the crappy strip mall, and pulled out my Palm Pilot, getting to work on this poem.
Mind The Importance
Trying to remember the thoughts
That flowed so freely earlier today
Like cheap crappy American beer
At any conveniently located frat party
Sitting here at the ready to write
And take the cool words and phrases
And run with them like I usually do
At lunch there seemed to be more
Ideas than lies at a good employee’s firing
But stupid me I forgot to write them
Forgot to record them
Because I thought
I could remember them
Or actually didn’t think
And that’s the problem
I had trusted my mind
To mind the importance
Of the amazing lines
That raced across
So fleetingly
And faded from
The forefront by
My wandering mind
As I let unimportant things
Get in the way of what
I should have tried
To dearly hold
Onto tightly
October 22, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
Heh. I can so totally tell where I got the idea to write the poem “Burning Question” because that’s when I lost the steam on this one. I left to write the other one and when I got back I was like “uhhh…what was I trying to say?” How appropriate that it happened on this of all poems.
Lemon
Feel the winter in this song
Spinning disc thinks me back
Winter in college
Ten years now
Contrasting elements
The lemon of the song
The summery citrusy it sings
The snow of the outside
The wintery chilly it brings
Looking out the wide window
Out onto Lower Lake
Her roommate gone
For the night
For the weekend
Just us after the fun
Candles flicking low
Her cutely asleep
Me happily awake
Looking at her then
Looking at the pond
And the winter that surrounds
Into the distance at Mount Tom
Noticing the silence that pervades
The season, the selection that I’ve
Chosen to look over and watch
The wind blow lightly
The trees sway slightly
College lights brightly
Burning all the while
Knowing that it’s so
Freezing out there
And I’m in here
Enjoying the difference
And watching
As the Five College bus
Starts to interrupt and diesel its way
Across campus
Across my view
It’s the last bus of the night
And I’m not on it
I’m here happy in the warmth
Satiated with my being
Happy with what I’m seeing
Satisfied with everything
Pristine perfect picture
Playing through my mind
This scene can never end
And it never does
Continually reliving
Always replaying
Every time I hear
Lemon
October 25, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
Very true. Whenever I hear the song “Lemon” by U2 it totally takes me back to a winter late night/early morning at Mount Holyoke College.
Off In The Foggy Somewhere
I’m so totally close to something big
As to what, I have absolutely no idea
Something huge lurking moving
Off in the foggy somewhere
Always close and ever present
An idea that I need to latch onto
Clutch tightly and never let go
Waiting for it patiently
Waiting for it hopefully and
When the inevitable happens
When it comes across my range
When it comes within my sights
When I see it
I need to realize it
I need to seize it
I need to capture it
I need to make it mine
October 25, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
A random poem for a random night.
Clifford Remains
Institutions leaving
That have been here
For over 200 years
Being bought out
Being swallowed up
By bigger companies
From other places
They don’t know
About the history
They don’t care
About what we think
In all of this
I guess it’s just
Dog-eat-dog
Until only
Clifford remains
October 27, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
FleetBank was bought by Bank Of America today.
Fulcrum
The pivotal point
On which everything
Rests, turns,
And is judged upon
Is difficult to obtain
Is hard to ascertain
The specific moment
As to when one
Became the other
When the future
We looked forward to
Became the a fond
Memory in the past
Everything in life
Rests on one fulcrum
After another
When you’ve reached
The very last one
It’s time to step off
It’s time to stop
The ups and downs
That life is made up of
It’s time to stop
Playing games with
Each one kind of fun
In it’s own right but now
It’s time to say goodbye
That you’re finally done
October 27, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
I was walking out of my room and the word “fulcrum” popped into my mind so I ran back and wrote.
Hedgehog Water Bottle
Thought I heard a sound
I haven’t heard in years –
Hedgehog water bottle
The metal on metal
Click click clicking
Fast like a machine gun
Constantly without end
But I was wrong I guess
It was my brother
In the other room
Clicking on a mouse
October 27, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
I could have sworn that I heard the familiar sound of a hedgehog drinking from a water bottle, but it was only Todd using his (loud) mouse
in the other room.
Simple Salsa Excursion
Reaching in
With a sturdy-looking chip
My assumptions turn me
Into that pre-warned ass
As during the down stroke
The crack cracks loudly
The eyes open widely
In amazed disbelief
As I pull out to find
Half the chip I sent in.
Tipping the jar to see
Where the rest might be
The simple salsa excursion
Becomes a rescue mission
Needing to recover
Wanting to get back
That bottom half
That lay stuck in
The quagmire of
Tomato and red.
Lesser people would
Have left it for dead
Soggy at the bottom
Of the jar, forgotten
But I have experience
And I have patience
My years pitted against
The jar before me
I scoop, I rescue,
And I win
This time it went well
What about the next time?
Will it go so smoothly
Or will my fingers
Get kind of dirty
As I have to reach in
In order to pull out
The rest of the chip
October 28, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
I was eating cheap chips and the Desert Pepper Trading Company Black Bean Dip when a chip snapped. Since Salsa seemed to be the more normal accompaniment, I wrote about that instead.