Home Alone

First item of business
after driving twelve hours home:
give brother a buzz cut.
He's talked about it since grade school.
With the parents out of town
he finally did it. No, I did it!

After American Pie
we end up outside at the end of the driveway
discussing his girl, future plans,
and the past contained in the house behind us.
I hope one of us grows old right here
with the other just across the street.

Green-Striped Melons

A good magician never reveals his tricks. And likewise, I'm tempted not to share where I find some of these poems because you might check my blog as much. But it'd be wrong not fill you in about American Life in Poetry. It's a program that Ted Kooser when he was the U.S. Poet Laureate. It's a short, weekly column containing a poem that's syndicated free to newspapers. You can also get them emailed to you, just visit www.americanlifeinpoetry.org. Or come back to my blog for the best of them.

Here is last weeks that I just read. It's so short and deep. Drink it in:

"Green-Striped Melons" by Jane Hirshfield

They lie
under stars in a field.
They lie under rain in a field.
Under sun.

Some people
are like this as well--
like a painting
hidden beneath another painting.

An unexpected weight
the sign of their ripeness.

Up Past Curfew

7-24-09

Sleep isn't always a satisfying elixir.

For to finish some days requires

an out-of-bed experience

like sipping tea on an empty porch

watching the night fall asleep.

Two days off. Two poems.

Two untitled poems I wrote during my day off today and last week. Comment if you wish!

7-8-09

The Eastern Kansas road stretches out

then abruptly twists—left then right, repeat.

Oddly there's no rush or pressure

of people to see, places to go.

So down with the bass; up with the treble.

Under the speed limit instead of over.

Thumbs up to the bicyclist I just passed

instead of the finger.

What a different way to live!

7-15-09

Is it really so odd

that one day is warm

while the next brings snow?

That rain and clear skies

can swap spots in minutes?

Why berate the poor weatherman

when no one in the world

can predict my change of mood?