Headline Poem 4/30/14 -- Porno Sushi

I read this article from The Smithsonian today about sushi. The article itself is extremely poetic, using words that lure, simplify, and manipulate the audience. I thought of a local sushi spot in my hometown that I believe is now closed. I never tried it. I was hesitant because it was next door to a sex shop. A few of my friends called it the "porno sushi" place, and said, in spite of the location, it was really good. Here's today's headline poem. 

Porno Sushi

There used to be a sushi spot

Placed ever so closely to a sex shop

Where junkies and regular men

Watched movies and ate dessert

From magazines and books, women they'd never touch in real life 

Ordered fresh from the menu,

All you can eat.

Headline Poem 4/29/14 -- Ball Meets Chain, Again

George Clooney is engaged. Many believed the day would never come. Mr. Clooney himself even made a $100,000 bet that he'd never marry again. Guess it's time for him to pay up!

Ball Meets Chain, Again 

Among the passionless bodies

Some limp like fish,

you rise to the surface

Hello

Body not hollow from lack of sun

and nutrients and things 

gone all wrong

This is actually fun

Hello

You learned the hard way pill form

is not the same

You can't suck the marrow out of life 

If you haven't got your own 

Hello

It will ruin your insides and your name

If ball meets chain, 

again

you tried to cut the wire before 

Forgetting the weight, ignoring the depths

Hello

Yet

Let no ill will be kept between friends

You are free to dream 

without mistake

I will judge you hard, for a minute

I will laugh at your body, 

and beg that you reap what you sow, 

but my laughter will fade 

Hello

Because I know that my heart 

is no ordinary thing that beats and pumps and glistens 

My heart hurts,

but it forgives

Even though you rubbed the embers to make hot wood,

I do not judge

Hello

I release you, and wish you good

today,

Tuesday, 

I'm pleased love came your way 

Hello

Headline Poem 4/28/14 -- The Velvet Coat

The Clippers basketball team owner has made racists comments. Many are speaking out, outraged, and demanding justice. Spike Lee spoke out earlier against Don Sterling, and said that if you care about humanity, you will not just sit by. This inspired today's poem. 

The Velvet Coat 

Gold lining in the velvet coat. 

I rub the inside pocket until it starts to snarl and seperate. 

No one sees what I've done to the inside seam, and if they do, they're not sharing. Until. 

They can no longer ignore the owner and praise the dream. 

They think it's perfect. 

And they always will. Because they want to. 

Until. 

I have a loan-to list a mile long

with no intention of following through.

Headline Poem 4/27/14 -- Chocolate Fudge Brownie

Tonight I am watching one of my favorite shows -- Anthony Bourdain Parts Unknown. It is not a headline exactly, but does have a 4/27 air date, so it counts. This show combines two of my favorite things: food and travel, and has inspired today's poem. 

Chocolate Fudge Brownie 

Sits on the shelf

Waiting to be consumed, 

with a spoon, not a fork. It works better. 

It helps it go down 

smoother than any 

other method. 

No, I don't have proof, 

just trust me. 

Headline Poem 4/26/14 -- A Yard Sale and an Emery Board

Today in my neighborhood was the annual, everyone-who-can has a Yard Sale, day. People drifted in and out, some walking, some biking, some driving through -- all searching for a perfect treasure and a really good deal. One woman inspired today's poem. 

A Yard Sale and an Emery Board 

She usually sits on her front steps 

reading a juicy romance novel 

while smoking what looks like 

some sort of ultra thin cigarette

regal in her own mind, taking the story and nicotine in

I always want to take her picture when

I walk by 

She's friendly, she catches my eye

Her yard is permanently filled with knick knacks and potential pre-hoarder trash

It seeps into the chairs and onto the window sill

The inside could be surprisingly clean,

but I doubt it 

Today, she files her nails and waits

for strangers to approach her space, to 

pick her brain about the price and availability of her things

Five dollars is too much, 25 cents each, can we trade? 

She's calm, but she doesn't look these visiting vultures in the eye 

Out of this world, these martians

don't deny 

they'd rather buy from her than

the other guys

Whatcha got that I can have? 

Is it safe to purchase what is hers when she looks so awkward using her neon green emery board? 

Headline Poem 4/25/14 Finding Your Way Back

A mother and her children (Photo credit Tyler Hicks, The New York Times)

This is a heart wrenching story about a photographer who faces death in the name of his art, particularly here during a Nairobi Mall Shooting, where he captured the vulnerability during a storm. So much stands out here in the form of powerful words and images shared, but I focused particularly on -- a mother's love during tragic times, and finding your way back afterward. Of course, this type of story also provides perspective -- what is a tragedy, really? Bodies strewn around babies hiding with their mother while singing songs to stay calm is on the top of that list. Everyday events we allow to shake and break us really are not.

Sometimes what we want most is right in front of us and it takes being shattered to find our way back. This poem is about finding your way back.


Finding Your Way Back

I always wanted seasons
the fierce heat
tempered rain
light snow
raging storm
balmy nights
hurricanes
The irony now of searching
for what has always been inside

I was numb
I did not feel them
changing, shifting, and evolving
I ignored them
That was my right
I turned my back on them
I chose to fight
I despised them
They were going to fade
I did not want to keep them if
they were going to leave

The seasons I sought were
so unpredictable and unsafe,
so out of control and afraid,
so tempting
I hated them, but longed for them
I hated that they were in me, and I didn't see

I lived in the anticipation of a thing
In the in-between
In the land of what-ifs and daydreams
yet, I hunted

I hunted for the seasons,
as though, they like prey, would fill me up
tasty, salty and sweet
I hunted for seasons like a starved animal
who stakes out her space,
watching, sneakily, as the enemy victim
wanders and retreats
they are real, not objects,
my prey has a heart that also beats
until I capture and kill it, it eats
this prey will not fill me up
I will say I am full

I will lie
I will eat, but I will not be satisfied

Satisfaction does not come
from
altering the space --
this
ignites no flame
but
rather dims the existing light
the one that is really there

Yearning for something other than what
is right in front of your face
means living the imaginary and fake,
ignoring the hands that reach for you,
the tongue that kisses you,
the heart that wraps itself around you
will only deplete and escalate and suffocate

How do you find your way back
after a storm that shatters and shakes,
and attempts to break,
while you wait,
lying with your babies,
humming in their sweet ears
along to songs
on the loud speaker,
keeping them calm, 

settling their fear?

You begin
a new quest
for
freedom
you break
free of the cage
and
rage
you release
the anger and hate
you chose
to live
not
in fear of a thing
you confront 
that
you left you because
what you wanted was right in front of you,
and you were afraid to have it
you admit
that
the seasons have gone by for too long without notice
you agree
to
feel again even though it hurts
you look
at yourself
in the mirror and speak
honestly -- It has been raining blood and sweat,
yet nothing is in bloom!
you decide
it is time 

you find
your way back 

you see

Headline Poem 4/24/14 -- Dr. Jerry

Three Americans have been killed in Afghanistan. Internet still sketchy, so no link. Among the dead, a doctor -- killed by a man who was supposed to be protecting him. 

Dr. Jerry

Life dedicated to serving 

and saving the world's 

     most      vulnerable      and      weak. 

Sacrifices 

     immense      and      deep. 

Married for thirty-four years,

he      retires      each      night 

listening to songs of gunshots -- 

a tune he'd rather not learn. 

The melody shrill. It repeats. 

Rotten harmony among the dead. 

The bullets whiz, 

     through      tears      and      blood,

muscle and sinew, stretched, 

incomplete. 

Fear rings through all artificially-trusted sides 

     and      corners. 

Dr. Jerry protects while 

     enemies      lurk. 

Westerners are trapped, 

and attacked,

while alienation is on the rise,

getting higher with the April heat. 

     Defeat.      Retreat. 

No one is safe. 

No one is safe. 

Headline Poem 4/23/14 -- The thorny ribs of Adam

My internet has been spotty the last few days, so I haven't been able to include a link and picture smoothly for the headlines, but today's poem is based on a story I read about a veteran who needed a doctor's appointment, was desperate for care, added to a "secret" waiting list, and died during this wait time. 

The thorny ribs of Adam 

Where was the face in the glass? 

Before that's all you'd ask

Before you were led down the road 

with the thorns in your throat, 

the thorny ribs of Adam's fruit 

demised and infused with dirt. 

You ate the worm right off her lip and then struggled to swallow it down, wiggling, and thrashing, 

until finally it succumbed 

to the thorny ribs of her. 

Headline Poem 4/22/14 -- A crow feather falls

The story of the South Korea ferry boat sinking has partly inspired today's headline poem. These families will forever be connected by an event they didn't choose. 

A crow feather falls 

Falling and floating, 

she picks it up, and knows. 

They are connected, 

birds of a feather. A woman she hardly knows. 

From how far away this feather drifted

is irrelevant and unnecessary to trace. 

It landed in front of her, right in her face. 

I'm here, and see you. 

How she feels

is a tie-dyed tractor wheel,

a dream to figure out. 

It rolls in and out, down the road. 

Far away, connected,

she doesn't hide inside from my news. 

She edges out of her own doorway just a smidge. 

Should she reach out to hold her hand,

or wait for what seems, false and impossible? 

How can you click the link to the shiny and powerful 

magic of another, 

and not feel their skin? 

Headline Poem 4/21/14 -- In honor of

Tomorrow is Earth Day, but in some places, tomorrow is today. So, in honor of the earth, here is today's headline poem. 

In honor of

In honor of 

the earth, 

I vow to feel,

to release 

the balloon

of fears,

the wall

(and exhaustion from

holding it up), 

the questionable 

and certain

surrender

that is

a hemline 

in the grass 

that hangs long enough 

to matter. 

In honor of the earth, 

I vow to feel, 

to hear sounds previously punished

and pushed aside, 

to let go of that which took

you from

you

and me from me,

and to say 

we need you,

and it's okay. 

 

Headline Poem 4/20/14 -- wildflowers

Joshua Tree, California (Photo credit joshuatree.org)

Today's poem is based on a picture I saw here in this photo of the day headline of wildflowers. I also spent the day today with my family in Joshua Tree, which had many beautiful wildflowers.

wildflowers

wildflowers bloom

in phases. they can't all go

at once. they wait, patiently. 

for their turn. for if they all bloomed at once, 

the world wouldn't know what to do. 

Headline Poem 4/19/14 -- The Walls of Naples

Naples, Italy (Photo credit Google Image)

Today's poem is inspired by this headline about pizza -- "Italy awards the world's best pizza maker title to an Australian Chef." I could have gone in a few different directions with this poem -- the victory, Naples itself, or the line, "there is no hiding anything that isn't right." I went with a combination.

The Walls of Naples

Built by human hands,
callous, calculated, and planned.
They did not go up
randomly or apologetically.
They were placed,
like ingredients in a fine recipe,
this brick is yours, 

that one is mine.
A pinch of basil, 

a touch of time.

A winner is announced, 

echos the city. 

The competition's over. 

The walls of Naples
seem stronger at night,

yet at any moment,
can be taken down,

slowly, strategically,
suddenly,
or with a force so genuine,
and so raw,
no room for 
jealousy, 

only 

for nobility. 

Headline Poem 4/18/14 -- he distanced himself from the ocean

(Photo credit Google Image) 

This is today's headline, and here is today's poem.

he distanced himself from the ocean

a sluggish man moves like he
sweeps,
sweeps like he moves,
asleep.
going through motions,
he pushes,
poisoned from the inside,
he stumbles.

once a man of integrity and esteem,
he was beaten down by his lover's dream,
a nightmare of sorts,
she damaged his heart,
he ruined his brain,
he walked away from the birds,
and the rain.
he abandoned the trees,
he distanced himself from the ocean,
he cursed the breeze.

he chose hate and anger,
a losing streak

of hit and miss,
no give, just take.
he stopped smiling, his eyes became black,
there were monsters in the closet,
they were living in rot,
inside his veins,
they took over his name.
they crept in when he wasn't looking.
he was in pain.

he wailed,
i reached for you, and you left me in sin.
it's not your fault. 

i needed to learn how to unbreak our hearts,
on my own.
alone.

too proud to ask for directions, though it was clear they were lost.
how can you be found if you're not?
this is the out, their chance to start fresh,
to move on,
to leave,
to take what they want.

But, when
freedom arrived wearing fresh linen,
wrinkled, but comfortable,

a choice was given.

they chose to heal. 
they don't want to leave.
they want to be bound
by nurturing hopes,
flexible strings,
and friendship rings.
love lets you leave.
love has wings,
of gold and blue,
lapis lazuli,
he partly thanks you.

Headline Poem 4/17/14 -- A Writer's Life

Gabriel Garcia Marquez (Photo credit The Guardian)

Today's poem is dedicated to the amazing writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez who passed away at the age of 87. Here is a New York Times headline about his passing. His life was a little piece of magic.

A Writer's Life

The dust will always settle
and then unsettle, stirred up
only to be calmed down.
We forget that.
We forget that silence co-exists with rage,
that anger haunts us before the grave.

We pretend that silence is unrecognizable,
and that fear is predictable.
We let the bitter root trample itself,
lost, and out of control,
only to spin in numbers
higher than we know.

Enemies will trudge through small villages,
rummaging in and out,
disrespecting and swirling,
while you try to play along,
trying to keep up with the chaos,
you will watch them destroy your home.
We deserve it, you will say!
They can take what they want, away!

Then, it ends.
You are caught,
standing with your mouth agape,
in shock.
You reveal it all, purging your deepest
regions,
grateful to have it known.
Acceptance.
Peace can return.
Love can come back.
If you let it.
If you want that.

Protection can gain all of its strength,
letting you know how to guard against it.
Next time.
He writes on.
The next times are never the same.
First it is this.
Next it is that,
never the same from this time to that.

Here are the tools to sound the alarm,
sketch them out,
and write them down,
armed with your pen,
or keyboard,
depending on your style,
how you get it out really doesn't matter.
Just get it out.

Do not wait for the flames to destroy
the magic and laughs.
Smile at protection, your long-lost friend.
Welcome back vision, oh how how you've missed clarity.
Have dinner with faith, you were both so hungry.
Sit on the couch, with truth and tranquility.

Let the story write its own plot,
with invading outsiders,
armed with darts...
let them throw them,
you know how to duck,
you have been trained to run
when stuck.

A writer's life is full of wisdom,
sometimes written before lived,
and sometimes lived before written.
Words will leave them fools,
cursed with writers' rules --
of creation and destruction,
the power to rebuild and repeat.
Your arm will be tired.
Your heart will feel raped.
You'll curse the vulnerable and broken snake.

Aha! You've reached the core.
The part that hurts.
The internal war.
That is the moment you are
ready to share.
That is the moment that ties you to foes
and to lovers, to the life of yourself,
and of others.
Empathy.
Compassion.
You are dedicated to both.
Committed to the crazy,
married to the love.


A few quotes by GGM: 

"Nobody deserves your tears, but whoever deserves them will not make you cry."

"All human beings have three lives: public, private, and secret."

"The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love."

"Age isn’t how old you are but how old you feel."

"He who awaits much can expect little."

"There is always something left to love."

"A true friend is the one who holds your hand and touches your heart."

"No matter what, nobody can take away the dances you’ve already had."

"Be calm. God awaits you at the door."

"Nothing in this world was more difficult than love."

"It’s enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment."

"A lie is more comfortable than doubt, more useful than love, more lasting than truth."

"Humanity, like armies in the field, advances at the speed of the slowest."

"The heart’s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good."

Headline Poem 4/16/14 -- Clay County Creek, South Dakota

License plate from the found 1960 Studebaker (Photo credit ABC News)

Today, I read this story about two girls who went missing in South Dakota in 1971. The car they were driving has been found all of these years later at the bottom of a recently dried up creek. They have determined the girls were in a car accident on their way to a party.

Clay County Creek, South Dakota

Life has gone on
without us.
Troubles seem bigger because of
our absence.
We know you were scared
and lost trust.
We didn't mean to leave you with
fear and unrest.
We were together.
Our bodies were trapped,
but our souls escaped.
We joined you at parties,
and ate birthday cake.
We held your hand
when you learned how to skate.
We loved you from here.
That was our fate.

Headline Poem 4/15/14 -- Good night, sleep tight

I read this tonight about sleep deprivation, and feel the need to rush this poem.

Good night, sleep tight

Life will age us quickly enough
I don't feel the need to rush
the
    process
        by
staying up late,
so I will make this quick
and then
hit the hay
to settle into the moment
when
my head meets the pillow,
it's hard to begin
to contemplate the comparison
fireworks,
a favorite song,
taking the battery out
of
the
smoke alarm

Sleep is sacred.
Sleep is good.
Sleep makes you want to yell to the world,
Hello!
I will climb a mountain!
I have slept!
Bonus if it's without sheep for counting!

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Wwwwhhhheeeewwwww

Headline Poem 4/14/14 -- Dinner with Thoreau

Blood Moon (Photo credit USA Today)

Tonight, there is a Blood Moon, a lunar eclipse, reddish because it is passing through Earth's shadow. I read about this on the CBS Boston News site. Boston made me think of Massachusetts, which made me think about Thoreau, who I was discussing this evening. I remembered his poem titled "The Moon." I read it, and wrote this.

Dinner with Thoreau

We sat in silence.

We did not speak.

We feasted on sprouts 

and winter beans.

The moon was red
and orange,
like skin mixed with clay.
Warm and smooth
at the end of the day.

The sky matched
the man,
which matched the ground.
Connected in an
unsubtle way.

It is obvious
I am supposed to
glimmer here,
in the stillness
that has no fear.

Listen to the water.

Find solace in the light.
I whispered,

I feel a miracle.
He smiled,
that is right. 

Headline Poem 4/13/14 -- apples

(Photo credit Google Image)

I want to be respectful of the victims and family members of today's shootings in Kansas. This story inspired today's poem, but like so many poems, it is a piece of the headline, sometimes just a word, or sentence that leads to the actual focus of my poem of the day. The line that caught my eye today was, "If we had the slightest hint it was going to happen, we would have done everything we could to stop it." This is where today's poem becomes extremely loosely based on this headline, and more about a bigger picture, and whether or not certain events in life can or should be prevented. 

apples

rotten apples 
bear good fruit
sometimes
it is worth the time
it to cut around the
brown and 
mushy
to eat 
what tastes good, 
and is not
too badly bruised.

some apples taste better 
when they fade.
discard or 
pick another
to avoid the 
ugly,
and you 
ignore the sweet. 
you forget the tree. 

some think 
they will  
never pick a rotten apple. 
or 
never keep the one that fades,
but some 
do not know
that apples are like you
and me.

Headline Poem 4/12/14 -- Weightless

Surfline near Humboldt State  (Photo credit surf line.com)

I read this article about the horrible bus crash that occurred while students were on their way to visit Humboldt State University, one of my alma maters. The situation is so sad, and ten people have passed away. The tragedy has me reflecting on many things -- the juggling of normalcy and disaster, the way different people deal with something like this, the university and town of Arcata, small, isolated, unique, and coping, and the last line, "you could see the love..." It makes me think about life for all of us -- wondering what will be next, how the weight of burdens will be handled, understanding that there is no right way to deal with what comes our way, and that each day is a new day. 

Weightless

The weight is

released. free

to let go, or move on

to stay,  

to not know.

there is no stress

to guess

at what is next.

today is Saturday.

weightless, 

I rest. 

Headline Poem 4/11/14 -- Friendship

So, Hilary Clinton had a shoe thrown at her. Today's poem is super loosely based on this story, and this headline about the shoe thrower being released. I focused on the actual shoe and who would be there to help me dodge it, or even through it back if it happened to me.


Friendship

a dance after work with the music turned up
gummy worms and honeycomb
from your favorite candy shop
eyes, arms, and ears open
from beginning to end
listening to you share
until you are done

without judgment
and without fame
they are the reason
you can stay the same

grounded when you want to float
floating when you want to stay
on
the
ground

friendship smiles on you
and
you know it's real
whether dodging a flying shoe or
sharing an amazing meal,
friends laugh at you and help you
laugh at
yourself
reminding you that you aren't that important
and that life is not that serious

as kids, we all drank tap from water hoses
and played in the middle of the street
together, we can do anything!

Headline Poem 4/10/14 -- Grace

(Photo credit Michelle DeRusha) 

'Hottest year ever will soon grace headlines near you.' This line caught my eye, and led to me reading this article about a developing El Nino. I focused on the heat, possible coming rain, and the word grace.

Grace

Grace isn't something
you speak without living
like a song,
it doesn't exist
until it lives
inside a story
of its own

Grace is a silver crayon,
in a box of one,
a welcome rain after the hottest sun

When night falls,
grace
is
challenged
to     a      dual
with
exhaustion      and      rage.

Your head hits the pillow.

Grace wins.
In the end,
grace wins. 

Headline Poem 4/9/14 -- oh boy!

Today's poem is based on this headline, "Stripper goes to nursing home, elderly resident's son goes to court." How could I pass it up!? (No picture included).

oh boy!

when sixteen people on a panel approve
of a man coming in and dancing half nude
you have to wonder
you have to ask
is this a crime,
or a reason to laugh?

Headline Poem 4/8/14 -- Now

Coffee (Photo credit Google Image)

Today's poem is inspired by this article about a brewery and a coffee shop pairing up. I decided to focus on the coffee, and this new road.

Now,

I can eat eggs for breakfast, 

scrambled with pepper,
instead of salt.

Now, 

I can drink my coffee black,

or with vanilla cream,

instead of hazelnut. 

Now, 

I can make two cups,
in the morning,
instead of four.

Now is different than before.

Headline Poem 4/7/14 -- not just a pixel on a screen

A drone's view (Photo credit The Atlantic

Today's poem is based on this article about a project that shows drone pilots the people they're bombing. I understand this topic has multi layers. This poem is really about putting a face to tragedy.

not just a pixel on a screen

like thunder that follows lightning
that follows thunder,
it's supposed
to be the
  starry       nights that quiet the
soul
whose soul? the squatter or the bug?
those who suffocate, or those who hide,
or those who run, with
or without
a gun
shooting blindly is
always easier
than putting a face to the name,
putting a face to the shame.
not just a pixel on a screen,
she is real,
even if not seen.

Headline Poem 4/6/14 -- some are better prepared

Tornado (Photo credit Yahoo News)

I read this article about tornado-prone Oklahoma, and the line that caught my eye was "some are better prepared..." I thought wow, that could relate to so much!


some are better prepared

some are better prepared
to take

the news that rattles and
spooks without warning,
no time to duck, cover, or
hold on for dear life.

some are better prepared
to let

it wash over their bodies and
face. clean. like a fresh start.
or a new flower, growing along side
a field of beat down weeds.

some are better prepared
to release

the nastiness and stench of a thing
that they did not ask for, and are forever questioning.

some are better prepared
to close

their eyes to betrayel
that knocked on the door and let itself in
with a secret key. secrets love company.

some are better prepared
indeed.

Headline Poem 4/5/14 -- sometimes

today, i did not search, or find a headline, and so my poem is based on this lack of a story, and just a few words.

sometimes i do not want to
look at the headlines. to know what is
going on outside these walls.
sometimes there are few words.
sometimes it is best
not to write the few words there are.

Headline Poem 4/4/14 -- Bumbleberry Pie and a Diet Coke

I read this headline today about the 5 experiences every Utahn should have. On the list, of course, are the National Parks, including my favorite -- Zion. It made me think of a diner in one of these small towns, and so, here is today's poem. 

Bumbleberry Pie and a Diet Coke 

A large, lonely man orders a slice of Bumbleberry Pie and a Diet Coke,

a truck driver Protected by his steel framed machine, 

          

          it keeps him occupied,

          it keeps him away. 

Sleeves folded, fingers dry and split, he eats. 

This is a long-cherished family recipe chimes the waitress, 

hardened from too many late night conversations and not enough tips. 

She's probably my age, 

but I feel preppy and naive  

Watching her work 

the tables, 

imagining the life she's lived, 

Stretches of Catch and Release in between cigarettes and anti-wrinkle cream. 

Her family secrets and 

sugar 

     filled 

          cavities 

replaced the fresh meat and roots of those who spoke to the hills

Rather than to Jesus,

Not phony like a fireplace and steel-toed shoes. 

          Are you listening on the other end? 

She smiles, 

our eyes meet. 

I want to follow her home 

to see if she has a 

          man who calls her honey 

          and babies who call her mom. 

Headline Poem 4/3/14 -- 1966

1966 time capsule (Photo credit Yahoo News)

Today, I read this headline about a time capsule found by contractors in Arizona. In 1966, on her husband's 31st birthday, Betty Klug put together letters, pictures, and even a little bit about the world's events, and hid them under her home. Her husband had no idea. She died ten years later in a car accident, and the home was sold by the widower in the 1980's. The contractors were able to track down Bruce Klug and present the time capsule contents to him. Here is "1966."

1966

So much is happening. 

This year. It seems everything 

is getting longer. 

The Vietnam War. 

Young mens' Beatle-crazed hair. 

The list of dead brothers who aren't coming home. 

My love is the one thing I am

certain of. 

Headline Poem 4/2/14 -- In Montana

Fishing the Yellowstone River (Photo credit Google Image)

I read this story today about Co-Ops. The reference to Montana took me back to the Yellowstone River, and a beautiful summer afternoon where nature had the upper hand.

In Montana

In Montana, he
     fishes
along the mighty    
Yellowstone River,
throwing
   his newly purchased line in
     over and over,
while
     walking, lost,
but with purpose.

The river smiles, eerily. She knows this game.
Shallow and inviting,
     dangerous
and aloof.

Men. All around, scrawny and big-boned,
catch      fish     to bring home for dinner,
bigger than he's ever    seen.

The out-of-towner sees no nibbles.
An osprey begins to circle
the yellow river
guest.
Hello, you're not from around here.
Let me show you how it's done.

The man,
patiently impatient, watches
     down      below. 
The bird has options,
swoops in,
     and leaves the      visiting      river      man
jealous within.

The healthy catch is taken,
risen high above
     the rushing water,
then,
within arm's length,
    let go.

Dropped, the bird mocks.
The fish      flops,
clinging to    waterless life.
Gills   stretch      in   and      out.

The man runs to see what
he did not catch.

Oh what he wouldn't give for those  
     bragging rights!
Instead,
the osprey,
with the
upper     hand,
laughs, flies away,
  and
     wins.

Headline Poem 4/1/14 -- March 32nd

Antique April Fools' Fish (Photo credit Google Image) 

An April Fools' Day poem. 

March 32nd 

The fool is fooled by foxes, 
while fish 
linger near his back.
In a pond, 
watching lions 
being washed. 

The fool delivers letters, 
sending more fools 
further on. 
But if the fool 
fools after midday, 
then the fool is gone. 
For fooling in the morning
is how 
a good fool Marches on.