Mongia

Well here we are at the halfway point in our alphabetical extravaganza, and since M begins so many words I think we'll do a Multi-post to give your minds much to masticate 8-D

So today I must begin with the M word that has been on my mind just about every day at one point or another since the tragic house fire that happened at the end of October 2008 - Mother.

My relationship with her has been somewhat documented here and I won't go into much detail as far as that goes, the poems are in the archives, but I would just like to take a moment to ask anyone that reads this to say a prayer, regardless of religion, that she is finally at peace. For someone that spent their whole life in pain it was unbearable to see her burned body writhing in agony at the end.

I am going to conclude this plea with the chorus of a song that my guitar teacher Matt Smith wrote (bass player's brother died), his link is at the right, the song is called Flow My Tears:

For every life there is a season
Every death must have its reason
Who am I to question why God wanted it that way
Life ain't fair and life ain't pretty
Life is hard, it has no pity
For those of us here left behind to live another day

List

Will I ever be lucky
and learn how to live
can I grasp the importance
of living to give?

Could I ever be lucid
enough to relent
this liking for lyrical
lines of lament?

And when will I listen
so I might detect
the lilting allusions
my longings project?

Should I loosen the lanyard
to litter the deck
or lustfully loop it
around my own neck?

Can I launch limitations
that lessen my pay?
I'm cheerfully leery
but leaning that way.

Knucklehead

Kevin the Klutz
had oversized nuts
and all of his peers
had him pegged as a putz

he loved to drink Jack
both the green and the black
like grease in the gears
it helped him stay slack

he constantly failed
and always got bailed
but over the years
stability staled

till he was let go
beginning the flow
of piteous tears
when he shot his own toe.

Jealous?

I'm not quite sure how you leapt
to the conceited conclusion you did
but I've never been known to envy an inept
self-delusional kid

I've got much more experience
and it seems a bit more skill
while all you are is a bad expense,
an ever growing bill

not to mention how they're up your ass
every second of the day
when my shift's done I let it pass
and simply walk away.

I

Today's the day you came
and joined in oneness with the whole
you were christened with a name
but more importantly, a soul.

Highball

I can hear the avian refrain
above my aging engine's strain
the sky above so clearly blue
I find it difficult to brew
decanters of disdain

instead the draft that I proffer
is effervescent to be sure
a light, refreshing bracer shared
with anyone whose thirst has flared
for a spirit that can stir.

Unflagging

The day our Lord was resurrected
disciples once undone by grief
were irrevocably connected
by the bonds of true belief.

The heavens must have blazed with light
the day our Lord was resurrected
while those bewildered at the sight
intensely genuflected,

His restoration unexpected--
had they not laid Him in His tomb?
The day our Lord was resurrected
redemption from a holy womb

was borne unto a wicked world
for anyone that's willingly selected
to stand behind the standard He unfurled,
that day our Lord was resurrected.

Group Therapy

No one knows
the painful throes
of doubt a writer undergoes
but others versed
or likewise cursed
by dreams not easily dispersed
that make them fight
against the night
with brandished pens combining might
to take a chance
that they'll advance
a more creative circumstance.

First Light

I picture our ascendants in the brush
their shaggy heads thrown back with gazes aimed
above, upon the heaven's freckled blush,
in awe of all the things they hadn't named
and how their nascent thoughts were so untamed,
it must have been a truly sacred rush
to see the fledgling universe that flamed
each night, the clan assembled in a hush.
The eons passed and somehow we began
to grasp the inkling of a grand design
by looking, in amazement, to the sky
and while we're still uncertain of the plan
we're waiting for a brilliant dawn to shine
because some ancient person wondered why.

Escape

Exasperation and elation
two extremes that frame creation
can help us earn emancipation
through elemental extrication.

Defiant

Down in the depths of this dismal disease
that batters my body and buckles my knees,
restricted repasts are a regular chore
but now, I am nettled like never before,
denied my delectable cheese.

What previous crime
in another lifetime
condemned me to torture like this?
I’ll stomach a stone
for some sharp Provolone
and swallow the pain for some Swiss.

Chicken Soup for the Bowl

Today shall be an attempt at a bit of prose, something I occasionally have fun with here at Average Poet. While the vast majority of postings are original rhyming poems, there are several free verse and short pieces of prose, as well as some pencil sketches I’ve scanned in, always trying to keep it fresh.

At any rate today I’m going to have some Chicken and Rice soup with my lunch mate (which I made from scratch yesterday) and it got me to thinking about those inspirational books titled after this deliciously steaming concoction, so here’s a yummy treat that I was lucky enough to be served recently.



Regular readers may have seen posts concerning my grandson whom I love dearly. As mentioned before he isn’t my biological grandson as I’ve never had kids, but truly do feel that bond with him that goes beyond any connection blood could ever bestow. It’s kind of strange because I never knew either of my real Grandfathers. One died in WW 2 and the other had absolutely no dealings whatsoever with my Dad. Both Grandmothers were with men, my maternal with Frank, someone that was a wonderfully kind and talented person, and my paternal lived with and cared for an aging gent named Nick who was also quite nice. They were both great guys but I never did click with either in that classic male role model way.

So fast forward to this last weekend, we just closed the diner for the day and Westin says “Papa, get out your guitar and let’s jam.” Now mind you this kid is only 3 but loves music like crazy. He watches that new boy-band show Big Time Rush, and while I’m not a fan, they recently covered some Beatles tunes so they’re not all bad I guess.

Westin and I sat on the couch in the back, me strumming, both of us belting out-

Life is very short and there’s no time
For fussing and fighting my friend
I have always thought that it’s a crime
So I will ask you once again

I wish you could have heard his little voice singing right in key, my wife stood there with her mouth open in awe, I just laughed. Then I said, “Hey check this one out buddy.” I figured I’d drop a little Neil Young on him as I’m always telling him how old I am, so I started singing Old Man (because I got to sing it to my Dad once – see pic below– and it’s a special song to me) then I hit the chorus-



Old Man take a look at my life I’m a lot like you
I need someone to love me the whole day through

Then Westin shakes my leg until I stop and serious as can be says, “But I love you Papa, I love you.”

I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated that song more.

Bandwidth

How wired can we get?

Will we even go in debt
to get our fatal fix,
to feel those harsh electrons jet
and virtually mix
with all the bloody tears and sweat
that tangle up our ticks
like unresolved regret?
C’mon, just for kicks
let’s populate the net!

How wired can we get?

Art

We dot or we dab
we stroke and we stab
imagine, imprint
revise or re-tint,
we scribble and scrape
express and escape
devise and defend
our tries to transcend.

National Poetry Month goes Alphabetical

Well here we go, April is my favorite month for many reasons: Spring has sprung, NPM of course, and my birthday. Originally I planned an H poem (last name starts with H) for my bday because I thought it started Monday because of skipping Sundays but that's OK, I'll just write about I on that ominous day.

Came in to the diner at 4 am as usual and started prepping for today, we got slammed yesterday and afterward I sat there exhausted and realized that the challenge started the next day. I usually just go with the flow but knew I needed an A poem so thought about why I was doing it in the first place and came up with art, something I think anyone creative can relate to.

I look forward to reading entries that challenge my mind and meeting new blogging and non-blogging friends. Have a great day and a great time.