It's like my grandfather always told me: Mike, when life hands you Lemons, ask for a paternity test.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Previews to Two New Stories

"Sadness and Cigarette Smoke" (Working Title)
He had come to this bar for years and had left countless partners swinging to Monk, Parker and Coltrane. He steadied the cigarette between his lips and lit the match. He inhaled deeply and felt the first exhilaration fill his lung, his body. One of life’s miracles he thought as he let the smoke mix with the music waiting in the bar’s atmosphere. They swirled around each other, then greeted, and then danced towards the ceiling. Watching over them were framed portraits of jazz greats: Basie, Ellington and Henderson seemed to count time to the dancing elements. Countless partners he thought again and laughed. “Time and time again, I said I’d leave you” began playing when the bar’s door opened, and in walked a woman Cole didn’t recognize.

On the way back, a dog ran out onto the highway and met my front bumper. I laughed.
“Are you sick? You probably killed that dog. Why did you laugh?”
To this day, I don’t know why. Maybe I saw in that dog my own attempts to pursue a better life across the highway, and like him, I was blindsided. Or, maybe I laughed because of the absurdity of it all. Fate had a contract out for that dog, and I, the pacifist, was its agent in destruction.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Four Seasons

Imbibed with freedom,
I sway back and forth, to the
delight of children.

Wintertime one finds
me dormant underneath mounds
of pristine, white snow.

Falling rain awakes
my potential, but I alone
must reach the surface.

In early sunlight
I find nourishment and strength
for the noontime sun.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Another Haiku

Here's another haiku to add to Incandescent (A Series of Haikus)

Inspiration comes
to man through the advent of
40 watts above.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

For Tsutomu Yamaguchi: The Man who Survived Two A-Bombs

Can you hear me now?
I was at Hiroshima.
When sounds turned silent.
I was burned badly, but still
I survived to find
my way to Nagasaki.
I was there both days
when azure skies flashed brightly.
Are you listening?
For I arose from falling
Snowy ash, as the witness.

Human Folklore

Your stories are
Incomprehensible, layered in
Multiplicity, a mixture
Of Strange, Strong Sounds.

Yet, you persist,
These are you stories. Remember, Re
Member us, the fathers, through these...
Your words sprout as

Fruit that entices and complicates. Have
(you, they, I, we?)
ever cut into a pomegranate?
It is hard to open, the contents

to Hold. The seeds
are sour and they stain lips crimson,
Then leave me ashamed, a spectacle
To the timid.

But you never
Cared. You sat in shame, mouths colored
Red. You laugh, then begin telling stories
For the timid.

Sit down, our sons,
our daughters, while we, the fathers,
reveal our common roots and
mold your futures.

Liberty came
Because we took up your cause, long
before you were you. We ask you
to go and Do...

But do what? You
branched out and divided until
stories became the term that holds
all the options.

I want to Un
Ravel you, open through your tall tales
Understanding. I taste the first seeds.
They are sour.