It's My Job
I thought I would be a ship
strong and clean, breaking through the water
but everyones drowning
it's my job to jump in and save them
but instead of scooping them up
they are frantic
they hold on to me and pull me down
the water now above my head
I'm drowning too
what do you do when there is no one to save you?
Something Else
Maybe I'll work at a pickle factory
that's what Bukowski did
I want to do something fun
sell wedding dresses
make pizza
prove miracles
I'll have to become a skeptic
I already don't believe in dreams
so there's my start
Indigo Bunting
You spoke of an Indigo Bunting
but all I saw were Starlings
they have taken over
drowning out the song bird
screetching through the evening
but I listen by oil fields and roadsides
I continue to open the window shades
everyday still watching
you spoke of an Indigo Bunting
I think its time is coming
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Does it move you?
"Hubble...huh." I stated as my friend suggested we see it. "Hubble telescope. Imax. 3D. It just opened this week" was the response. I had been to the Imax at the Indiana State Museum before. The theater was impressive. A six story screen that stretched out in front of you. The last time I had gone to Under the Sea, I became so overwhelmed and stimulated that I felt nauseous. That is until I closed my eyes, after a few moments with my eyes shut I was able to open them again and watch the film with no queasiness.
So the decision was made to go. My nephew was up for a couple days and I was thinking of as many things to do with a nine year old on a rainy weekend. I must admit I was not very excited about the film. A movie about space is one thing, but I had little interest in a telescope. My hope going in to it was that the film would focus on the images the telescope had captured and not on the large metal object, which looked like a leftover wrapped in tin foil.
Sitting in the seat, I was a little nervous about feeling ill again, but this time a voice came over the speakers reminding viewers to close their eyes if they experienced any dizziness or discomfort. Good to know. The movie began. The telescope was shown. And a story about astronauts and the first launch of the telescope in 1990. But then, in one scene, a long arm extended from the shuttle, hooked like a hanger, slowly released the Hubble into the earth's orbit. As the telescope slowly slipped away a reflection of the Earth, it's clouds and heavy blue waters, was visible in the Hubble's large mirrors. I was captivated. It was the first image from space the Hubble had ever offered. An accidental image, not a regular photo using its digital data, just a reflection in a side mirror. It did not need the years of precise building and meticulous knowledge to capture this view of the earth. Just a mirror. It was, what I would consider, the best image the Hubble has ever shared.
The movie did fulfill my first expectations for it, by covering the 3D screen with fantastic, intentional photos of the cosmos. The rings of Saturn. A supernova. Magnificent clusters of galaxies. The images zoomed by my face and I noticed my nephew's hands reaching out infront of him to grab stars as they glided by. These remarkable pictures, blurs of colors, waving lights, the hidden tie dye tapesteries of space, so awe inspiring, so intense, yet my mind kept going back to the first image. I kept going back to Earth.
Have we been unappreciative? Have our senses been dulled? We have grown accustomed to this blue/green floating orb that can be found in cartoon form smiling with eyes, telling young children to recycle and reuse. And now we have forgotten that this globe is shockingly stunning. Able to compete with the lights and explosions of the Universe.
There is a saying "By going to the moon we discovered the Earth." We saw the Earth in a way it had never been seen before. And here we are in the 21 century, only 40 years later, and we have forgotten. Do you appreciate it? Besides the 1000 miles per hour that we are currently rotating at, Does the Earth move you?
So the decision was made to go. My nephew was up for a couple days and I was thinking of as many things to do with a nine year old on a rainy weekend. I must admit I was not very excited about the film. A movie about space is one thing, but I had little interest in a telescope. My hope going in to it was that the film would focus on the images the telescope had captured and not on the large metal object, which looked like a leftover wrapped in tin foil.
Sitting in the seat, I was a little nervous about feeling ill again, but this time a voice came over the speakers reminding viewers to close their eyes if they experienced any dizziness or discomfort. Good to know. The movie began. The telescope was shown. And a story about astronauts and the first launch of the telescope in 1990. But then, in one scene, a long arm extended from the shuttle, hooked like a hanger, slowly released the Hubble into the earth's orbit. As the telescope slowly slipped away a reflection of the Earth, it's clouds and heavy blue waters, was visible in the Hubble's large mirrors. I was captivated. It was the first image from space the Hubble had ever offered. An accidental image, not a regular photo using its digital data, just a reflection in a side mirror. It did not need the years of precise building and meticulous knowledge to capture this view of the earth. Just a mirror. It was, what I would consider, the best image the Hubble has ever shared.
The movie did fulfill my first expectations for it, by covering the 3D screen with fantastic, intentional photos of the cosmos. The rings of Saturn. A supernova. Magnificent clusters of galaxies. The images zoomed by my face and I noticed my nephew's hands reaching out infront of him to grab stars as they glided by. These remarkable pictures, blurs of colors, waving lights, the hidden tie dye tapesteries of space, so awe inspiring, so intense, yet my mind kept going back to the first image. I kept going back to Earth.
Have we been unappreciative? Have our senses been dulled? We have grown accustomed to this blue/green floating orb that can be found in cartoon form smiling with eyes, telling young children to recycle and reuse. And now we have forgotten that this globe is shockingly stunning. Able to compete with the lights and explosions of the Universe.
There is a saying "By going to the moon we discovered the Earth." We saw the Earth in a way it had never been seen before. And here we are in the 21 century, only 40 years later, and we have forgotten. Do you appreciate it? Besides the 1000 miles per hour that we are currently rotating at, Does the Earth move you?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Potato Sack Boy
I cannot remember meeting Les. I had been there three years and as I thought back through all my memories he was just there everyday that I had been working. That winter we had been showing up at the center at the same time, always discussing the weather on the way in. The ice on the ground, the layer of salt that clung crisp on the tires of our cars, the heat bill, were all reoccuring themes of these morning conversations. We would part ways him going into the Senior Citizens program and me to my office.
I would come to the senior program half hour before lunch to play cards with one of the seniors, Mervin. We had a three year ongoing competion of Kings in the Corner. Mervin had actually taught me how to play again years ago when I was first there. And Mervin continued to teach me as he would change rules from time to time. We sat first table at the front of the room. Les never playing, but always calling out Mervin. "That's not how you use to play." Les just looked on, a dedicated fan that did not pick sides. Though he also never played stating he had given up cards years ago, but I never asked why. Mervin and I took turns dealing the oversized cards with their faded colors and bent corners. Les,the spectator, would make his only contribution to the game right at the beginning as he would call out the colors of the first four cards dealt. Saying "three blacks ones and one red one" or "two black ones and two reds ones" or "all red ones." It was how every game began of what could been an astounding five hundred games or more over the years if someone were counting.
Mervin was not much of a talker during the game, so Les and I would have conversations. Three years worth of conversations and now I find myself pushing and poking through my memories to remember. The mornings were our weather conversations, of course we were outside at the time, but the noon conversations were more. I sat, thinking, reflecting. It is like I have to prove I knew him, prove everything that happened, prove he existed.
Les was born in Kentucky and grew up there. I never asked why or when he moved to Indianapolis, but now I wondered. He would talk of a childhood, during a simpler time, a time when his family did not have much money. Discussing how games were different and children were different. "I had only one pair of overalls when I was young" he shared one day. "And when my sister would wash them I would wear a potato sack." I sat in that moment and I sit now imagining the coarse burlap against bare skin. The itchiness as it rubbed with every move. Cutting a hole in the top for his head and two holes in the side for arms. Les, a little boy, wearing a sack for hours as his overalls slowly dried on a line. The potato sack boy. Now I sang the words in my head as a child's nursery rhythm. "The potato sack boy, potato sack boy, didn't own a toy, but was still full of joy, still full of joy..."
It did not seem fair that Les had made it right up to the end of winter, through the cold and the snow, and missed the sun and warmth that quickly followed. I felt he was owed at least one pleasant day, but I guess in the end we are owed nothing. His body was returned to Kentucky to be buried, the funeral was too far to attend, though I considered it several times that week. There was no obituary in the local papers. I found myself surfing the internet to find anything about his death. I was searching for one last connection with him. I found a write up on the funeral homes website. I was hoping for answers, for information about his time in the military, at his job, when he moved here...but my questions went unanswered. And I was not owed this information. I had plenty of time to find it out, but never did. Three surviving sisters, all living in Kentucky, day and time of the funeral was all I found in a brief synopsis. Too brief. A life reduced to a paragraph with a picture of Les smiling above of it. I sat in the sun, thinking of the potato sack boy. I sat guessing which of the three sisters gave him the potato sack to wear. And as I sat still pondering the cards were dealt.."three black ones and one read one."
I would come to the senior program half hour before lunch to play cards with one of the seniors, Mervin. We had a three year ongoing competion of Kings in the Corner. Mervin had actually taught me how to play again years ago when I was first there. And Mervin continued to teach me as he would change rules from time to time. We sat first table at the front of the room. Les never playing, but always calling out Mervin. "That's not how you use to play." Les just looked on, a dedicated fan that did not pick sides. Though he also never played stating he had given up cards years ago, but I never asked why. Mervin and I took turns dealing the oversized cards with their faded colors and bent corners. Les,the spectator, would make his only contribution to the game right at the beginning as he would call out the colors of the first four cards dealt. Saying "three blacks ones and one red one" or "two black ones and two reds ones" or "all red ones." It was how every game began of what could been an astounding five hundred games or more over the years if someone were counting.
Mervin was not much of a talker during the game, so Les and I would have conversations. Three years worth of conversations and now I find myself pushing and poking through my memories to remember. The mornings were our weather conversations, of course we were outside at the time, but the noon conversations were more. I sat, thinking, reflecting. It is like I have to prove I knew him, prove everything that happened, prove he existed.
Les was born in Kentucky and grew up there. I never asked why or when he moved to Indianapolis, but now I wondered. He would talk of a childhood, during a simpler time, a time when his family did not have much money. Discussing how games were different and children were different. "I had only one pair of overalls when I was young" he shared one day. "And when my sister would wash them I would wear a potato sack." I sat in that moment and I sit now imagining the coarse burlap against bare skin. The itchiness as it rubbed with every move. Cutting a hole in the top for his head and two holes in the side for arms. Les, a little boy, wearing a sack for hours as his overalls slowly dried on a line. The potato sack boy. Now I sang the words in my head as a child's nursery rhythm. "The potato sack boy, potato sack boy, didn't own a toy, but was still full of joy, still full of joy..."
It did not seem fair that Les had made it right up to the end of winter, through the cold and the snow, and missed the sun and warmth that quickly followed. I felt he was owed at least one pleasant day, but I guess in the end we are owed nothing. His body was returned to Kentucky to be buried, the funeral was too far to attend, though I considered it several times that week. There was no obituary in the local papers. I found myself surfing the internet to find anything about his death. I was searching for one last connection with him. I found a write up on the funeral homes website. I was hoping for answers, for information about his time in the military, at his job, when he moved here...but my questions went unanswered. And I was not owed this information. I had plenty of time to find it out, but never did. Three surviving sisters, all living in Kentucky, day and time of the funeral was all I found in a brief synopsis. Too brief. A life reduced to a paragraph with a picture of Les smiling above of it. I sat in the sun, thinking of the potato sack boy. I sat guessing which of the three sisters gave him the potato sack to wear. And as I sat still pondering the cards were dealt.."three black ones and one read one."
Monday, March 29, 2010
Innards
I once wrote a poem when I was drunk. I don't remember it all because I wrote it years ago on the inside cover of my sister's copy of The Bell Jar. She found the poem last year and I read it again. I forget all the words...I forget most of the poem, but there is a part in there where I wrote "somewhere between my liver and guts." Yep, that place between my liver and guts is what I am now exposing. Who knows, others may never read this, but to show that place takes guts. Here I am people, firmly holding my skin, stretching the sides of my stomach until it rips, letting blood and bile spill out, gushy and mushy, off the inside cover of a hidden book and on the internet for all to see.
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