Tap Dancing

31 March 2010

Tap tap tap.
Up and down.
This and that.
Funny sound.

To make words
Appear on screens
The sounds in herds
Invite joyous screams.

In ensemble
Two hands prance
Across keys
Their tapping dance.

Page Tickling

When words don't come
I tickle the page
With the back of my pen
To see if it'll rage
Or laugh out when
I need new emotion
To set writing in motion.

The Shakes

Too much enhaled all at once.
Too much coffee.
Not enough to eat.
Bouncing while still,
On the balls of my feet.
In too much a hurry,
And not knowing when
This will end
And the next begin.

Looking Ahead

Right now,
Three days left,
I look ahead.

If I didn't,
I wouldn't sleep
In my bed.

If I didn't,
All the things
In my head

Would make life seem
Better off
Remaining instead.

Saying It

At first you reminded me
Of someone I'd met in dreams.
But then you started to be
Much more than she ever seems.

After a while I could
No longer remember her face.
I never knew you would
Be the one that took her place.

I was sure she would be
So many others,
But unimpressive to me
Interest eventually withered.

No one else came close
To what I had in mind.
It's hard to boast
About what you can't find.

The lady I had met
So many lucky times before,
She's finally walked
Back through my front door,

But I feel you as her now
Much better than at first.
Your face is exactly how
I've become so cursed.

Coming to you,
Saying it to you,
It's just so hard to do.
I'm afraid it'll be
Undoing to me:
Waking to reality.
Saying out loud;
Yelling so proud;
Shouting it up to the clouds.

What if those words
Undo all we have,
All we've made--
Waking to reality.
Breaking me.
Keeping it in.
Watching you.
Breathing you in.
Loving you.
Letting it out.
Telling you.
Saying it.

I'm waking to reality:
You and me,
And saying it.

Mess

All over the place
But no one cares.
Later it'll clean
Without losing face.

Each can bear
To do as desired.
Slowed thick pace,
With little care.

Having wanted,
However it be,
None do dare
To stand disagreed.

With little time free
It so seems
That when not gleaned
Joy would flee.

Though it gleamed
A trying disgrace;
None would fair
Without extremes.

Schedule

I've plans next week
For life over there
E'en though absent
For almost one year.

It's plainly surreal:
Having a schedule here,
Going and arriving
And only few to hear.

I've tried to plan
Transition just so
Those happy or sad
Don't really know.

With a quiet tap
Life here pauses again.
There with a plop,
It begins again.

Upbeat

Just a tweet'ly doing
As I'm walking down the street.
Happ'ly movin'
To the song in my feet.

Rat 'tat tattin'
My fingers up and down.
Bobbin' and movin'
My head to the sound.

Closing Ceremony

A thank you ceremony,
Certificate and all
For those that are ready
Like leaves to quit and fall.

Fall to where life takes
And once again climb
Seeing what life makes
Giving much more time.

Some will fall up,
Some will rise down,
Some with joy's full cup,
And some with a frown.

A job has been completed,
In many shapes and forms,
One that's many pleated
And doesn't fit a norm.

New ones come;
Old ones go.
On goes life
Fast and slow.

Key

It's small and brass and round;
It hangs from Beauty's neck,
And never makes a sound.

It open's man's walled place
He carefully protects
From harmful unknown face.

With this she eas'ly can
Gain access to that place
And lay out her old plan--

Unpacking all her life
Inside where he now stands
With face deformed with strife.

She'll make herself at home,
Strip down his arms and toys,
And all the while he'll groan.

Though first he is but mad,
Accustomed he'll become
To that that Beauty adds.

But this that Beauty owns
Is hers to do what with
Her nature to her moans.

This trinket that she has,
She'll share or throw away
Or leave to hang just as.

Her access to Man's heart:
She could open and give back
Or ever lock that part.

Picnic Party

The food in paper plates
On blankets spread out wide;
The talk and friends' updates
And trying from sun to hide.

The wind blows grass in food,
The shoes around the tarp,
A cheerful upbeat mood,
The joy from laughter's harp.

Lazy Saturday

Thinking, thinking, thinking,
Freetime always bringing,
Thinking, thinking, thinking.

Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping,
Nothing always singing,
Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.

Planning, planning, planning,
Openness always causing,
Planning, planning, planning,

Playing, playing, playing,
Weekend always giving,
Playing, playing, playing.

Graduation

Smiles and tears.
Smiles and tears.
No matter the age,
Hopes or fears,
Family or student,
Or neighboring peers,
Looking ahead and,
Memories from the years,
Bringing on smiles and tears.

Language

Pin
Pen
Pan

This
That
Those

Is
Am
Are

May
Might
Most

Often
Almost
Forgotten

Do
Did
Does

Two By Two

There's a girl
Who on the stairs
Goes two by two.

On the cases
Each other step,
Through and through.

Strident and
Unopposed
Upward to

Wanted floor
Step, step, step
Without adieu

At the landing
A little bit of patting while turning around
Then next to

Higher floor
Upward Bound
How 'bout you?

The Planets

What's rain like on the Sun?
How does Saturn feel about summer?
Are Jupiter's storms ever done?
Is winter on Mercury a bummer?

To you, does Mars seem peaceful?
Doesn't Venus seem violent?
Do Uranus and Pluto miss certain people?
Like the sea, is Neptune really turbulent?

It's like friends of friends of friends,
From stories you often hear:
Piqued inquisitiveness bends
To wanting to draw them more near.

Bicycle

When a kid,
It was a toy.
Everyone had one,
Each girl and boy.

But yet in adult ways,
Though now just transportation,
Pedaling one feels play
And welcome youthful undulation.

A Magician

It's magic you see.
It plays in a different reality.
Brim, bubble, boil, and brew,
Potions for magic just won't do.
Nor with hands and embroidered waves
Though they make pretty shadows in caves.
Wands also just don't do the trick;
However I've shooed away bugs with that useless stick.
Spells and chants and candles all be
A bunch of superstitious trumpery.
No, instead the trick it lies
In trying to open other's eyes.
There truly is magic within the Earth,
And a few at command can give it birth.
But most just plainly refuse you see
That there's possibility of one more reality.

Train

Thump, thump, thump,
Over the bumps,
Thump, thump, thump.
Cars go by,
Whoosh,
Trees and buildings too;
We go flying through.
Thump, thump, thump,
Slowly speeding up.
Penetrating rhythm--
Boom, boom, boom--
Melodically going.
Pheshsh ewwwwwwwk,
Quickly slowing.
People coming;
Some going.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.

My Desk

I've always wanted one,
A desk that's really real.
I never cared if it was wood
Or made from heavy steal.

One with all the accessories:
A lap drawer to hold random stuff,
A name plate, some file folders,
And coffee next to the pencil cup.

I had one at home
But it was plainly fake.
I was only eleven
And couldn't real work make.

But now I'm 24;
I have a different look and feel,
And besides, that, I finally have
A desk that's really real.

What Is It?

Is it age?
That that makes my legs to stop
Their usual quickened pace and glance
At the perfect blossoms spring has made
That make my solemn feet long to dance.

Is it experience?
That that makes me look
In the last sad breath of the sun
Before it with a tear sets.
It's sad enough to make my arms come undone.

Is it wisdom?
That that allows me to stand
So I can marvel at the lion sea
Forever within only five minutes
As it shakes its mane and growls at me.

Is it fear?
That that makes me quit
My lonely entertainment for the night
To only listen to an oncoming storm,
To pay respect but without fright.

What is it that makes us be--
Comparatively young as we may be--
See beauty clearer and deeper than before
As if we've finally opened a bigger door?

Talking Philosophy with a Squirrell

I was in a park.
After a while I sat.
Up walked a squirrel
Who wanted to sit and chat.

He was walking too,
On such a beautiful day,
While all the other squirrels
Were chasing each other in play.

He first said to me
"When days are like this,
You know, I can't help to think,
What all the other squirrels miss.

"Nature has brought
Her daughter, Beauty, out today,
But often, so so so often do I wonder,
Do the other squirrels see it while they play?

"It's fun to run about."
Of this he seemed so sure.
"If I never did it, it would be
Just to feign myself a squirrel more mature.

"I'd deny my own nature."
And I'm sure this was a fact.
"I've limbs and tail that prove
I am capable of playing with the pack.

"But there's a time for each."
He said with two profound head jerks.
"On some of these days, one's mind requires
Taking in beauty and contemplating life's quirks."

Content in his opening
This conversation with me,
Munching on the nut he brought,
He sat and waited for a reply from me.

Onward he profoundly gazed.
I sat there beside him stunned,
And all I could help but wonder was
"How does a squirrel know how to speak English?"

Poem 124

Can whispers of the heart
Be heard across the sea
When loved ones are apart?

Are murmurs of that sort
Strong enough to swim that length
And messages report?

Could secrets 'tween the two
Remain unspoken truths
Untold to someone new?

Con love continue growth,
O'er such a distant span,
And still fulfill it's oath?

To be so far apart,
How sad it truly is
When loved ones ways must part.

Photos

Seeing still moments
Of life portrayed flat,
In a frame
Or projected on a mat.
Candidly by others,
Or by self perfectly planned,
They remind of what's happened,
Show what was done,
Show what was had,
Show what was happy,
Show what was sad.
They all show past,
But in looking
One does suppose
What will future ones show.

The Drinker Next To Me

I sit in a restaurant,
And on both sides
Are drinkers next to me.

On the right,
A face not so bright,
He drinks liquor
To get to numbness quicker,
The drinker next to me.

With shoulders bent,
His glance down sent,
He drinks next to me
But doesn't want me to see
The drinker next to me.

The ones on my left
With voice's heft
Talk to friends many;
They've joys aplenty,
The drinkers next to me.

They celebrate
Their many good fates.
They drink beer;
Their voices ring clear,
The drinkers next to me.

The one across
Doesn't carry a heavy cross.
Instead he tickles spoons
As his girl swoons,
The drinker across from me.

In front of his face,
Her face and two wines well placed.
Two trails from cigarettes;
Each love hoping to get,
The drinkers across from me.

For many reasons,
It's always the season
To stop the pain
Or enhance happiness plain.
Drinkers there will always be.

Concert

One beautiful instrument
Made by father and sons
Polished within an inch of its life.

Two polished oxfords
Matching the leather seat
Moving with the beat.

Three brass casters
Supporting the weight
Of so many greats.

Three pedals too
One louder, one softer,
And one from disuse blue.

Ten fingers on two hands
Producing the emotional range
Flowing from the stage--
Notes flowed for many an age.

88 keys and colors four,
Black, white, brass, and red
Along with the shine of one bald head.

Hundreds of sets of chair and ears
Listening to tonight
With smiles and small tears.

All in ensemble this culture create
Music forever treasured,
For many reasons it pleasures.

Three Hours Left

The slow Friday afternoon run
When all is said and all is done,
Before the weekend fun does start,
Everyone's waiting to part.
There is the silent grumbling roar
Of earnestness laid into store.
Waiting silently for weekend ahead,
The next hew hours many do dread.

Just A Bit Longer

Further on,
Further in,
It's almost here,
That destination.

A little more,
A little ways to go,
Made it this far,
Cannot slow.

No time to stop,
No time to rest,
Do not let
This journey best.

One more valley,
One more hill,
Now's not the time
To be still.

Rest not now,
Rest only then,
Rest will come
Before the next begins.

Step, step, step,
Trudge, trudge, trudge,
If others must,
Let them judge.

Wanted was this begun,
Wanted see it through,
Stopping now
Just won't do.

Further on,
Further in,
It's almost here,
You can win.

A Nap

When head is tight,
When lips are loose,
When tired like after a fight,
When neck feels like it's in a noose,

After going round through round at work,
After trudging home when all aches,
After not getting the door key to work,
After counting all the days mistakes,

At the point when clear thought can no longer come,
At a place where things start to be easily forgotten,
At the corner of still movement and painfully numb,
At the time where the days victories have already turned rotten,

Only 30 minutes of sleep.
Only 30 minutes of sleep.

The couch is the place for me;
The couch is the place to be;
The couch gives a space to rest;
The couch gives liberty best.

Moving In

I know you've been here before,
But let me show you around.
I've swept old memories off the floor
And picked nervousness up from the ground.

Also in important places I
Took time to sort things out:
Bits I no longer new just why
I ever had them laying about.

Here in this drawer I had
Old dreams I no longer see,
And there on that shelf where bad,
Sour habits used to be...

Oh, and in the refrigerator too
I had been saving bitterness,
But all of these I out of my head threw
In order to make room for you
And to live with lesser mess.

In the bathroom, on the shelf,
Where useful ideas are sat
Just make some room for yourself
So I'll always know where yours are at.

If you're going to be in my life now,
Both of us will have to be
Willing to make room for how
The other wants to be.

The Salary Meal

Every paycheck I go out and buy
A meal that's just for me so that I
Can easily remember just how much I
Make within a month and easily can
Splurge on extravagances now and then.
Without this I would feel the constant pain
Of financial strictures that always raise
Pecuniary interest I cannot praise
With hearty words or lauding phrase.
These meals, they remind me that
At times I can purchase easily, in fact,
A wanted manner of life that's fat.
Mostly, once a month, it's me alone
In order to my thoughts carefully hone
And take comfort in being at home.
In this solitude I realize
That life has many sets of eyes
And Time once and then only buys
A set with narrowed field of view--
Seeing nothing varied, nothing new--
Never paying head to the cue.
This meal once a month does give
A chance to fully my life live
And wide perspective on how I live.