Lockbed Monster

Friday, January 24th, 2014

They call me the Lockbed Monster,
With grippy pincers like a lobster.
Stripped of my blankets, I’ll still clamp,
Adhered to bed just like a stamp.

Sun may rise but not my eyelids
As I increase my REM mileage.
Bells and whistles, they won’t do it.
Marching band? I’ll sleep right through it.

A lion roaring in my face?
Twenty elephants in a race?
Through clash and clamor, I won’t surrender,
Locked happily in horizontal splendor.

Hubble’s Handbag

Wednesday, January 8th, 2014

What do you carry in your bag of brains,
Marvels, and memories and little word games?
Do you pack a calculator for everyday use?
A wrench for tightening when things get loose?
A fan for cooling those overworked fuses?
Some ice and heat for soothing your bruises?
A scosh of sun in a sealed tight jar?
A map for days you want to go far?
Photos of everything you’ve ever seen?
A cinema screen to watch as you dream?
A notebook of names, a binder of musings?
A gold case of moments especially amusing?
Got a telescope for long-distance viewing?
A cauldron bubbling with ideas stewing?
Files filled full of insightful defeats
Next to a stack of success recipes?
Records tooting your favorite tunes?
A safebox of sweet words that once made you swoon?
An album of faces you’ll never forget,
Blank pages for ones you haven’t met yet?
The size of the satchel is constantly growing
So don’t stop now, keep on stowing!

You Called?

Tuesday, December 24th, 2013

Buzzer buzzes, I must get going,
Time for me to get out of this head.
It’s early but the juices must be flowing.
It’s my job, so I pop out of bed.

As soon as I’m up, I’m raring to go.
Scramble into my blue coveralls,
Grab my yellow hard hat, I’m out the door
And I jog down the soft spongy halls,

I get to the drum, and turn left and then right,
A maneuver I could do in my sleep.
On the other side, I run into my team,
We continue on shuffling like sheep.

Squeeze through the lobe out into the open,
I turn to grip the craggly ear.
Hoist myself up the familiar path,
Always happy heights isn’t my fear.

At the top of the ear, I grip the hair
In clumps to help as I climb.
I start to sweat as I summit the hill,
And plant my feet on the top of her mind.

“Okay, team, are you ready to go?
Looks like we’ve got a medium drip.”
Our Captain announces as we all gather,
And start on our cross-cranium trip.

We hike across to the head’s middle,
Surveyor inspects the spot with care,
Picks six patches, begins battening,
Tying ropes to thick pieces of hair.

Anchor Men and Women stay behind,
Securing the ropes at the base.
We march forward to the head’s front,
Naturally we quicken our pace.

Nearly there, we fall to a crawl,
Til’ we reach the cliff of the face.
Belly-down we peer over the edge,
Sheer drop always makes my heart race.

I peek behind to check my team,
Ten brave members lining the rope,
A pair of strong hands grip my ankles,
And I settle down into the slope.

Quick nod to my other Cliff Hangers
Fasten a foam hook to the rope’s end,
Slowly lower it down over the drop,
Being careful not to let it bend.

Over the brow, nearly touching the lash,
The hook dangles at the base of the lid.
A short swing toward the eye, a brace, a tug,
Then pulling up as if catching a squid.

My job is obscure, but the perks are swell,
And my boss is a magical bean,
Helping keep eyes in a locked position,
She is otherwise known as Caffeine.

Rambo

Tuesday, November 19th, 2013

Before he wanders through the wood,
The knave knows not of the beast,
Except for details loudly sung
In the safe warm halls of a feast.
Until an answer can’t be found
The brain knows not how much it grows
When forced to search for methods new,
Opposed to those it thinks it knows.
The body hums an easy pace,
And seems a simple system, sound.
The strength of each component part
Unknown until it comes unbound.

And as it’s breathing down his neck,
The knave remembers those he loves.
He turns and stares at beastly eyes,
His hands fly forward, true as doves.
When answers lie just out of reach,
And all used paths lead to an end
The brain remembers more than facts,
Creative thinking is its friend.
When beaten, bruised, tired, and sore,
Immunities against the ropes,
The body soldiers on and on,
What flows in veins is blood and hopes.

* Inspired by my dear, brave cousin, who is battling cancer.

Some Things Come with Age

Wednesday, September 18th, 2013

Before zookeeper, astronaut, athlete, or teacher,
I had another idea of what my future would hold.
It was less of a career and more of a feature
I decided I wanted before I grew old.

When I grow up I’m going to be tall!
I’d announce as if I had the means.
Turns out I grew up to be quite small.
Picking pants is not the same as genes.

I Blame the Cheeseburger

Friday, July 12th, 2013

I had a large dinner at quarter past seven,
It rendered me too full to sit.
So I laid on the hammock to stare up at heaven,
Thought I would rest for a bit.
It was a peaceful two minutes, supine outside,
But the little stringies beneath my bum,
Silently screaming, surrendered to my backside,
And submissively snapped, one-by-one.

Instinct and Extinct

Thursday, May 30th, 2013
Stanley

Stanley

Maybe the dirt under his toes,
The million-years-old grains of sand,
Sparked the ancestry of his fine nose
Set off a chain reaction, demand

To hunt, to chase, to set his gaze
Upon the horizon and scan
For preys to raze and bring forth praise
From his best friend, his master, man.

His muscles twitched. But not so fast,
Fowl was sparse in this urban land.
Jays parted ways, larks did not last,
And the city had chickens banned.

But his stance was firm, his jaw set,
His tail was as stiff as a mast.
Paused his duties as a house pet
As he spotted something fly past.

The hound in him snapped back with ease.
Adjusting to much smaller kill,
Domestic dog settled for bees.
Wild pup just enjoys the thrill.

Crutches, A Haiku

Friday, May 3rd, 2013

Like a hummingbird
Moves so little, so much work,
Except I am slow.

Miles Per Giggle

Monday, April 8th, 2013

My great grandfather owned a gas station,
The first fuel pump in all of the nation.
Well maybe not nation but first in my town,
Well before laughter fueled us around.

Perhaps ingenuity skips a generation
Because my father ignited the transformation
From cars using gas to giggles and hees,
And laughter, not gas fumes, filling the breeze.

It happened one day when we ran out of gas,
Began telling jokes to help the time pass.
We burst out with laughter, the car it roared
With laughter too, and the gas was floored.

The rest, is history, as you are aware,
Each somber drive now a jolly affair.
And if you are alone and can’t conjure up laughter,
At a station buy bottles of hearty laughs – captured.

And now more folks plan on driving together
‘Cause laughing with two or more is much better.
Travelers are not alone in now feeling sunny,
The economy is thriving, and embracing funny.

Love Is A Many Aroma-ed Thing

Friday, April 5th, 2013

Most people are reminded of
Their loved ones by flowers,
Wanting to sit in a field,
Sniff and  ruminate for hours.
The scent of roses, daisies,
Fragrant petals and such,
Mimic their love for another,
But for me – this is too much.
When I walk by a swamp,
A dump, can, or a bog,
Or smell air filled with
Acid rain, smoke, or fog,
Or when I walk by a tooter,
Or a dog squatting on grass,
Or if Cupid is kind,
By a cow farm I pass:

That’s when I think of you.

Most people upon hearing,
Melodious music and sounds,
Daydream of wonderful times
Spent in their lovers bounds.
The sweet sounds simmer
In a soft spot in their heart,
And remind them they mustn’t
Spend a second apart.
I must admit, sometimes
I slide into this state of mind,
But for the most part I
Consider myself not of this kind.
When I hear music that
Makes my bones rattle,
My muscles tighten & flex
Jams that are a battle
Between thirty-two instruments,
With words that usually
Make little sense.

That’s when I think of you.

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