JakTraks

Btwn Flat and Brat

Cats are brats -
(why I like them so much)
more fun than being flat
if you recall, before brat
was slapped out of you.

Not that bratty works at work
or in casual relationships,
the impulse behind it
what we should never lose:
brought back to innocence it
cannot bruise.

Brats annoy on purpose,
say what they think regardless,
push buttons for power pleasure or gain,
blackmailer, tattle-taler, truth sayer,
an assertion of self at best
or heart of manipulative player.

Innocent, its mischief,
risk exchanged for delight
yours and theirs, jabs at serious,
foil for how things should go,
It says I have to do this thing -
that its crap, we know.

It is . . .
a fine line to wing
carrying fire.

Finding Enough Light

I
Java lays down
slaps his tail on the carpet,
I'm waiting it says
impatiently.
He knows I'll cave . . .
and I do.
Rub a dub dub.

II
Its been raining for days;
now the sunlight falls
on this paper, my sweatshirt
too warm, coffee cooling.
Many will be cheered by the bright,
but lost on me
who just hissed at the cats.

III
Some plants find enough light
in the shade.

Watching Ice Melt

Each day's a new block of ice
frozen at dawn, running down hill
as hours melt to thin memory,
rivulets pooling together somewhere (or nowhere).

Do memories visually pool with their like
forming layers on layers of similar scenes . . .

Are there tanks with various settings, collecting
specific qualities of recollection:
light water, heavy, murky or luminous,
drinkable or highly poisonous
(even though humans are not there
to analyze and provide such labels). . .

Is there a memory mixer, all histories
dancing or awkwardly gawking at one another . . .

Does the daily runoff evaporate
becoming the slight, fluffy or ominous clouds
of future days, our past drifting past . . .

Perhaps all recall is neutralized, or nothing
concerning us today but patiently waiting
for each person's next go-around
or visionaries' taking a sneak peak.

Sun Moon Void

Writing poems,
either sparks of light
or, so what,
sun, moon and void:
today from shadows,
tomorrow a clear lens
next Saturday -
darkness from Pluto.

Light never
can hide from itself,
no expectant
search or "ah" in find,
nothing that isn't
itself to receive.
What would light write
without craftsmen,
nothing I suspect
in alphabet.

Edges

Passion for God waxes
with our fear,
becoming a full moon
reflecting
all available light;
desperate hearts
may squeeze together
creating a high beam
to heaven.

Is this why
we scare each other
even to death,
letting fear for survival
bring us
to the edge of life,
a jolt out of numbness
for seconds
hours days or centuries
until we feel safe,
until safe becomes stagnant,
and the dance begins
once more.

What is it
that is better than fear
for bringing us
to the edge,
everyday,
with the threat not of falling,
but flying.

BIG BANG #2

laughter
is the savior with us,
alone or together
humor brings the fragments
into alignment,
for a brief space we are whole,

when wholeness lingers
we know what it is
to be whatever it is we are;
healing enters:
the pieces become
familiar with one another

creating scenes
not of suffering,
learning
there is no order to wholeness,
only movement
and mingling of bowls
full of jelly;

when all aspects at last
jiggle together,
working the same comic strip,
look out!
a big-bang of joy
will re-create the world.

Persistence with Paws

i tried to teach my cats
delayed gratification
and that canned cat food
doesn't grow on trees
that fur does not entitle them
to endless massage
(even when they purr)
and dripping faucet sink-drinking
is a waste of water

of course
if they had learned those things
i'd be disappointed

i like that cats don't sacrifice
even for good reasons
they gladly receive whatever abundance
comes their way
and they know how to make it
come their way
having something in mind
sooo persistent are they

i think
at least once a week
every person should act
like a cat

Tellers of Tales

what is your story
the one you tell yourself
about yourself
every darn day
what's it made of

the main character
the star of your plot
is she caressed
does he enjoy his own
sweet and sour company

there are two storytellers
upstairs
in separate rooms
identical dictionaries
symbolize what isn't
or what is

the programed writer
punches out the story line
survival sentences
strings of pain
masquerade as lifelines
winding around
blinking with holiday lights

the aware one weaves phrases
in commonsense
wisdom in plain clothes
without special effects
a hero's journey where
the protagonists
pull out the sword
and love themselves

Docks

It is being at the crack of dawn
finding the finger-hold of dusk
the beginning and end at once
that is never seen before its gone,
you know it's there
and that watching for it is futile
but you can be present with it
at the end of a dock with feet dangling,
in your periphery solid and liquid meet,
facing the shore we imagine birth
turning back toward the water
we can walk no further
but if we didn't need a turn,
if we faced both ways,
the edge of the dock would be one thing.

My Service

last night
putting away my stoneware and "silver"
I realized
they'd been in my service
35 years
since my first apartment

a couple chips on plate and bowl
one has a stain
the shape of lips
a missing fork or two
three coffee cups sized for a doll house

think about it
all the times the spoons and forks
in and out of my mouth
bowls crusted with yesterday's oatmeal
times 35 years
one thousand six hundred seventy weeks

such a long relationship
with things appreciated but not loved:
I'm not into kitchen stuff
useful my criteria for utensil beauty

if I loved eating tools
would likely have replaced them all
by now
many times

Some Days

some days
I wake up in the a.m.
already tired of the world

we the people
of all countries
can utilize reason and instead

rationalize insanity
and say
that's the way things are

what we forget
is things are how they are
because we justify them

and I wonder
how much in my own life
is still a rationalization

Poets' Prom

The alphabet mingles
in the warming whirl
bumping elbows
exchanging pleasantries,
sometimes gathering and
making meaning
where none existed before;

if photographed
the group will be synonym-ized,
metaphor-ed and
immortalized
for gigabyte years to come;
or just as easily lost
in the middle of the dance floor
as partners exchange.

Forked

One way is a life-long pattern
thought processed, over and done,
the other ethereal as yet unformed
or informed as it will be,
should these diverging paths be one
or choose, forget the other.

This fractal in the road I think a test
for which I'm hoping there is code -
before deciding I decipher -
ah . . . no, the crux is this:

do I possess the nerve to portray wholeness:
each day an upper case Self,
not secure as a nested doll
but rather without doubt
live the terror all stops out
as the one I am.

Early Spring

I need a sweatshirt in my house
a t-shirt in the yard
typing this with bluish fingers
makes staying in very hard

an extra blanket on the bed
as if thirty below
my toes turn red inside my socks
like when shoveling snow

a pair of shorts hang by the door
for when I venture out
sink my bare feet in the grass
enjoy the tulips sprout

in two months when weather warms
the chill inside be gone
I'll sit here sweaty and complain
then turn the AC on

Domestic Hunter

yesterday I was an intrepid domestic
my vacuuming fantastic
sucked prolific dust bunnies
into dust bunny heaven

a layer
of white and black cat hair
ascended through the tunnel
joining the bunnies and mighty mites
not anchored in the short pile

sweating from exertion
switched off the hoover
and gloating above the wall to wall trophy
knew it would never be
nearly as satisfying
if I hunted every week

Loose Ends

Most everything comes around:
holidays, cleaning the toilet,
dentist visits and taxes,
the moon waxing and waning
though always having a ball.

I like the frayed ends
of my marriage,
the things I never said,
broken and mismatched links
of several quasi careers,
projects quashed
just out the starting gate.

Without those dangling modifiers
living would be a circular file,
a never ending tilt-a-whirl,
perhaps a perfect hum
contained and constrained,
but there'd be nothing
for the unshaped part of me
to love.

Sometimes its good to stop short
of beginning again,
to have threads untied,
a good hit
that doesn't get you home,
discordance without resolution
or Beethoven without motifs.

I love the parts of my life
sans closure
flopping around like live wires
ready to make interesting connections,
or limp ragged ends
touching nothing at all.

With due respect for the circle of life,
Some ends are better left raw.

A Third Thing

what moves you

what flows red and molten
through your veins
until it is felt
in the heart

what fills your mind's eye
with iceberg blue clarity
until it is seen
by the heart

searing river and crisp water
meet and steam in the four chambers
giving off a third thing -
an offspring -
eager and ephemeral

All I Wanna Do

I am selfish
all I want to do
is write poems
insignificant or significant

to play with words
express things beyond myself
each verse a miracle of sorts

I've come to be annoyed
with people
needing help and attention
mindless chit-chattering
(myself included)

if I were able to write
to my heart's content
I'm pretty sure
I'd love people again

Order in Chaos in Order

the utterly ridiculous barrage of paperwork
expected to be done in perfection -
no kidding, perfection
or the state will withhold funding -
is another symptom of chaotic-itis fragmen-titus

so I've decided not to let it stress me out
or fight it or grumble grumble grumble
(well maybe a little grumbling)
I can look at getting papers' minutia perfect
as a sign of better sense to come
you know, the dark before dawn thing

being burdened with detail is part of the craziness
that needs to wear itself out apparently
come to a head reach its zenith
max out, until we are utterly tired
of our centuries-long adolescence

a lot of people have come to their senses already
call it enlightenment personal development
soul growth or light-working

sages monks missionaries mystics
change diapers twelve times a day
wash windows 44 stories up
buy out failing businesses
drive cabs and counsel clients everyday

that's why I won't allow
stupid irrational joy-killing record-keeping
anywhere near my heart:
when enough of us say "let there by peace"
it will carry the force of God

Dali's Watch

one of those eternal feeling
mornings seeming centuries long
almost . . . time has been suspended

and I've lived entire lives
in spite the measured flow of hours
stretching like millenniums

until my eyes catch a clock
notice how its all but stopped
and with awareness relishing
elasticity of time

I'd sped nowhere at about
the speed of light after falling
into every moment making
the sum of them nearly one

hands and digits waiting for
the edge of it . . . to move them on

Purple Grass

when very young
we're gods and goddesses
of color

purple grass greenish sky
ochre sun teal moon
rivers rushing in burgundy
silver stones wash by

wondrous thing: it isn't strange
to us still fresh and free
from the palette of our birth

the awe-inducing palette
of our birth

Within It

what's it like to be alone
what of the sadness in it

what's it like not to be
to those she said who love it

imagine the first born vibe
come from nothing ever heard
yet nothing's presence we know
inside our pith of heart and bone

she said with those that shun alone
I've loneliness of perception:
unless a similar world is shared
we look
but sans reflection

but all that love the still are in it
alone is never alone within it

Surprise!!

oh what joy what relief
I had called time a tricky thief
but it was only bad subtraction
brought about my false reaction
to my birthday which is today

I am a year less
than I had professed
the past few months
since about may

illusion it is
illusion I'll take
of gaining a year with my birthday cake
my math-dud mind so easily teased
by errant digits my brain had seized

so happy birthday to me to me
from scare of an extra year I'm free
later the blazing light from candles
won't be much dimmed but less to handle

Brilliant

hanging on so tight
even when we loosen the grip
hard to imagine whatever
could be but that already known
like a brilliant new color
outside the spectrum of the bow

I noticed a little girl
in the park with a yellow balloon
and let go the string
we watched the balloon lilt the breeze
becoming in spite
expectant eyes
a Goldfinch in and out the trees

Sand In My Shoes

for a long time now
I've been walking in a desert
that's how it feels anyway

but I'm not thirsty
my soul's not dry
I am alone but never lonely

the hardest thing is not to panic
thinking this a huge mistake
on my part in my heart

perhaps I've found a source of water
within myself I'd like to think it
(though thinking is not how to drink it)

perhaps the sub-text of my mind
took it hook line and sinker
the reality it all is one

so what am I doing in the desert
maybe just to see the difference
from my sand-swept journey before

but I detect there's something else
something about emotions unable
to signify well experience of life

for my solitaire heart is full
as the midnight mohave sky
and soft with heat beneath the sun

Whatever is the Point?

ever get to a point where all seems pointless
which means of course you're standing on a point
that doesn't really exist

point is a sharp curious word to use
it indicates direction of perception
or a pixel print on digital paper
the former is to show someone the way
whether it be a finger or compass needle
the latter indicates a part of things

a third way being the essence of what's said
nutshells boiled down the bottom line
the crux of stuff a legal distillation
the gist the core a naked nub or pith

now to the point whatever is the point

sometimes people act like points and point
show the way model for or lead
and one human's a miniature of men
are iron ore zinc salt and seed
and one with courage goes right to the thrust
sharing daring baring what is meant

we show we are we share whatever is
so I present my thoughts because they are
and by this verse they now extend to you

Dali's Watch

one of those eternal feeling
mornings seeming centuries long
almost . . . time has been suspended

and I've lived entire lives
in spite the measured flow of hours
stretching like millenniums

until my eyes catch a clock
notice how its all but stopped
and with awareness relishing
elasticity of time

I'd sped nowhere at about
the speed of light after falling
into every moment making
the sum of them nearly one

hands and digits waiting for
the edge of it . . . to move them on

Trade-off

it's been a while since I've written

not happy about that
my time taken up with work
is so against my religion

but it is a learning experience
that much I can't complain about
discovering things about myself
and putting what I knew in words

for example I never knew
in words what is the difference
between the service I give direct
and that completed indirectly

I get a kick out of the latter
like getting something done quickly
knowing it makes someone else's
responsibilities easier
knowing I could have put it off

I like helping on the fly
(but I knew that)
getting cereal off the top
shelf at the grocery store
for a person of lesser height
or giving directions on the street

doing things with or expected
is service yes but it's not fun
(it is to some but not to me)
feeling more a burden than a
joyfully given gift

I don't get that good feeling
helping others do their stuff
or waiting on them as a guest
(perhaps I'm not selfless enough)
but if by taking care of biz
or being where I aim to be
another is lifted or moves along
bliss tells me I have served

even so
it's been a while since I've written

not happy about that

- ness

if there isn't more or less
then all giving is the same
and all receiving
and every pain

then love is always what it is
no matter that it seems
somewhat lacking or too much
according to our dream

nothing can be stripped or added
to loveli-ness that makes it so
though music may sound loud or low
all vibrations dip and crest
and dressing up or dressing down
alters not respectful-ness

less could be some absent ness
and more
being opposite of less
each erode our peaceful-ness

maybe ness is heaven on earth
(and maybe its heaven in heaven)
that thing beyond dichotomy
a ness-ence of humanity

if there's anything that renders
me discernible from you
without better same or worse
it has to be unique-nessence
audaciously coloring human essence

To Be or Not To Be . . . a Buttercup

I'm really busy right now because
of my promotion at work
I don't like being this busy because
it cuts down on time to shirk

but at work I shirked to walk
the weather so genteel
and spied a single buttercup
in a soccer field

tiny drop of summer sun
just one can make you smile
much as millions of buttercups
strewn a lemon mile

standing alone it was exquisite
framed by throngs of green
just as jaunty bumptious and bright
whether or not I'd seen

asked if it had a thought for me
and I heard it say
be a drop of summer sun
a pixel in the play

Taking the Throne

monday is my first of days
being a manager type
yipes!

a foreman not a yeoman now
and here I sit the same old cow
but inside I feel it stretching
the sleeping lion lifts its head

courage the groggy feline said

my presence will cause them all to pause
while compassion blunts my claws
it will be hard to bare my teeth
squeezed inside your skinny sheath

but if you need it I can pounce
roaring scares them when it counts
and hunters above will never see
the lazy cat you're born to be

those below will always find
a lioness is mostly kind

I think that's what the feline said
rising from her yeoman bed

So Far . . .

just finished looking at a cool site
about creating six word memoirs
the sum of me in six words
now that could be a lot of fun

knowing love as respect and wholeness

cats don't care about scummy toilets

drinks coffee, loves animals, is tall

never made a perfectly rumpled bed

hates to work, always had job

my vision has grown more inclusive

a non-people person becomes a psychotherapist

my life's common thread is poetry

searched for self that doesn't exist

born unique just like everyone else

a darker roast makes better coffee

know less than when I started

truth is known, all else believed

don't eat Oreos before seeing clients

I was right
it is fun

To Rise Or Not To Rise

so, I'm up for promotion at work
to be middle management
having a new challenge enticing
thought of fitting in I irk

having all the qualifications
the obvious choice from within
pay to be negotiated
before I take this ball and run

know I can do it
have the right stuff
but what will happen to other dreams
should I step the ladder up
when the salary's enough

if I hadn't peace inside
I'd hop a plane to Mexico
before becoming one of them
rebels must maintain some pride

the challenge would be to keep my counsel
using humor as a sword
bridging below and above
down to lead and up to dazzle

in the middle
will I frazzle

Head and Heart Romance

I'm taking an animal communication
class and we are four weeks in

learning how skeptical my mind
but how well I trust my feelings
and how the two work together
keeping me from fantasies
of talking with the ants cats
squirrels foxes birds horses
etc
while allowing me to know
the experience of close
communication with another
species

they balance one another well
to separate the real from not
but then
what is reality

maybe it's the great romance

Doing Lunch

at work

finished a subway sandwich
and chips
and yogurt

all around me were people
with various kinds of mental illness
and personality disorders

Len could be a stand-up comic
Pat is a wonderful artist
acrylic or oils

a stupendous advocate in Rachel
the musician Reeve writes his own songs
sings them and plays guitar

they're people who live next door
shop next to us in the grocery store
drive the honda just ahead

Melinda and Tim
write beautiful poetry
usually not
about their Schizophrenia

our amateur chef is Ryan
bam
Mick is selling stunning photos
of the windy city
over the net

I'm fortunate to eat my lunch
monday through friday
with so many interesting teachers

Reminding Myself

not needing to be right
even if you are:
emotional intelligence
distilled to a byte

today I'd rather say
bite me

today I'd rather say
you don't know
what the slick
you're talkin' about

get outta here

or maybe choose to argue
loud voiced
not listening

emotional diligence
tires today
I'd rather say
spew you

but I won't

not because I'm good
(obviously)
because its how
I'd like the world to be

Fur Bait

so today
taking a walk
in the neighborhood

a thirty-something man
I've waved to several times
stood at the end of his drive
holding a cat

he was holding the cat
so I'd stop and chat

to bite or not to bite

the long haired calico
was gorgeous
what the hell
I stopped to stroke the bait
she's very pretty is she yours

the feisty feline hissed and bit
not hard enough to break the skin
I grin

do you live nearby

in the area
beautiful day
nice meeting you and ferocious cat
a wave a smile
on my way

thinking
I'm a sucker for fur
he's too young
but yep
still got it

A Dime's Worth of Then and Now

when I was kid
I loved the far off song
of an ice cream truck
coming my way

drumsticks fudge-bars popsicles dream-sicles
ice cream sandwiches
strawberry sundaes eskimo pies
ran to the house
hey mom can I have a dime
why not
but mom . . .
(no matter what time of day
mom always said
it will spoil your dinner)

still I always hoped
and it was ever pleasant
to hear the truck nearby

today
if the ice cream truck
drives by one more time
playing
do your ears hang low
I will throw a grenade

In-Like With Yourself

dear theresa

why expect anyone
to like you
if you don't

after all
self-worth's abundant energy
is giving
not something to get

people like people
who like themselves
they're likely low maintenance
and like to give
unconditional regard

not everyone in the world
will treasure you
doesn't matter much
if you care about yourself

you have to be who you are
to be happy
you need be happy with who you are
to generate sparks of bliss

there is no healthy point to you
disliking you
tell me one feel-good thing accomplished

lightening does not strike
when you decide
you're the greatest thing
since sliced irregular bagels

anyone who said
you're unlikable
(directly or indirectly)
they lied to you

the payoff's this
life is more enjoyable
without the weight
of shame

if for no other reason
be in-like
with yourself

because I said so

Someone I'll Never Forget

today one of my clients
said good-bye he's moving on
moving into the city
(Chicago)
to share a place with his friend

intelligent wise compassionate man
living with Schizophrenia

its an honor to know him
be touched by his gentle spirit
to watch him come to terms with what
grants a period of ecstasy
followed by
weeks or months in hell

that's how he describes it
without medication
the high is great
and then you crash into the dark

very proud of him
and happy that he's taking the risk
using strength and courage to live
in the so-called normal world
when he is so-called not

I will miss his presence
but know this sage musician's song
by heart

Define Normal

I work with people diagnosed
with so-called mental illness
they often wish to be normal

I tell them
be careful what you ask for

having had many jobs
and worked with many people
normal
is subjective and relative

like a sales rep I knew

enthusiastic and charismatic
in a narcissistic way
the greatest thing since sliced bagels
even though his slice
was slightly crooked
no one trusted what he said
yet he thinks he's normal

like an administrative assistant I knew

a people pleaser and loyal
always sincere
but then she couldn't say "no"
never laughed or was silly
life given meaning found
serving the boss
never calling in sick
extra hours without extra pay
was thought a good employee
I believed she gave
an abnormal amount of herself away

but according to a different culture
her animal totem is the (loyal) dog
as dog energy goes
she tops the bell curve

I tell those who wish they were normal
accept everything about you
and care for yourself as a garden