bwhowe

[bwhowe]

I am not Bukowski

if I could write like Bukowski, I'd still be

broke. As good as he was, he was broke too.

But he was honest about it. He said it like

it was, pulled no punches, was crass and

awful, but refreshing and beautiful.

He drank, went to parties, played the

ponies at the track, farted, fucked,

had hangovers and earwax.

He lived his life, traveled some, ate, drank,

and got in fights. He was the voice of

the lower class, the poor, the

forsaken, and the unforgiven.

he wrote about people, what they said, what they did,

and, importantly, what he thought about it.

I don't see many people, go to parties,

or to the racetrack. I write about what

I deal with. I write about how to

face and survive depression and anxiety.

I write about what it's like for me to be suicidal

and not want to tell anyone for fear of their

reaction, or worse, lack of understanding and empathy.

if he was the voice of the poor,

I am the voice of the lost, the suicidal.

[bwhowe]

listen

journey with a sad heart

  moving around

    my world

      myself

        mine

flash of Monet

  country

    city dark

      streets

        a flower

is it snowing

  outside?

    inside?

the horn knows the

  truth of it

    blues

      jazz

        soul

          heart

how can we be

  so alone

    together

      listen

        ssssssshhhhh

the room looks in on us

  standing

    holding hands

      leaving

the door

  closed

    opens

[bwhowe]

as hard as I try

I’m crying. I’m not the person

that saves a cat, or a dog, or a

homeless vet. I want to be, but

I am not. I am not going to be

interviewed on the evening news

as someone who saved or helped

out in the life of another being.

The kindness I have is in talking

to people and shifting their

context so that what was stopping

them before is no longer an issue.

Not exactly newsworthy. It does

not get a life out of the shelter

and off the list for killing or

euthanizing. It just doesn’t.

I can barely take care of the

family I already have. I admit

that my wife does the bulk of

the work in this area. I do my

best but as hard as I try I just

can’t be as good at it as my

wife is.

What I’m left with is a

feeling of being less than

ordinary, less than useful,

and less than everyone else.

And that sucks.

[bwhowe]

ghosts

the dog is listening to ghosts

he is standing in the corner

panting and staring into space

he does not listen to me telling

him to go lay down, just stands

there panting to the corner of the room

not listening, not minding the 

living, only the ghosts of the past

I finally coax him to his bed

in five minutes he is back in the

corner panting and staring at nothing

and not listening or behaving

then my wife arrives

order is restored, the dog settles himself

no more Blair Witch voodoo

[bwhowe]

[bwhowe]

thirty revisited

suppose I said goodbye and slipped off the years like a wedding band?   and suppose it worked?   what would you do then?   and what would you do, really? what if the years dropped off of me as if they were simply dirty   clothes, diving to the floor? what if my magic ring worked? would you follow me?   knowing what you know, where would you go in your life? how far back? hands down I would re-do my 20’s.

This completes 30 poems in 30 days. Thank you for reading along whether it was one piece, several pieces, or all of them. Leave me a note telling me what you liked, and even what you didn't. Thank you.

[bwhowe]

twenty-nine

i didn't think I could do the competition - thirty poems in thirty days. I have been challenged

and I am almost there: twenty-nine of thirty. it sounds like the borg from star trek: some

good episodes, and some dark, like my poems. I will have to go through the thirty, when complete,

to see what needs editing. it's been suggested that I put together a chapbook now that I have something

to work with. maybe I'll do that, maybe. maybe I'll keep up the poem-a-day ritual. right now I just want a pint.

[bwhowe]

incense

last night our dog ned the greyhound lost a fight with a skunk. he came running into the house immediately   and brought his new perfume with him. my wife and I took him to the shower and eventually forced him into   the water where she could shampoo him to get at least some of the stench off of him. I helped light candles and   incense and we turned on the kitchen fan before we were finally able to breath again. we’re still airing out the house   today. why do we have to suffer while ned f***s around and finds out? not exactly fair, but charlotte came to the rescue with the incense.

[bwhowe]

magic

every family has its holiday traditions. it could be as simple as nothing, to as complex   as taking the entire family to high mass for Christmas. my family was somewhere   in between, but closer to simple when it came to celebrating Christmas. when my dad died the   day before the holiday it killed the magic of Christmas for me. but when my first daughter   was born things changed. because, when it stopped being about me, the magic came back again.

[bwhowe]

brief

there may be a place in your heart, a memory of a time or a place that brings you back to a   simpler space in your life, where colors were brighter, food tasted good or even great, and   really, people were nicer to you and each other. this space is home for you. it exists outside of   space and time – in your heart and mind. you can always travel there, but you cannot stay for long.   no matter how brief, home teaches us that peace and love are possible, that we simply have to believe and   create it as possible. just a little shift in context and what was once a memory is real.

[bwhowe]

used to be

I’m tired of cooking because I do it just about every day. it used to be something special   but after three children and almost thirty years of marriage, it gets a little stale – the fun   things to cook now take several hours and I just don’t have that kind of time these days. so why   did it used to be fun and exciting? what was the secret ingredient? It’s magic that’s missing.   the magic of loving who I’m cooking for, making a dish they like, to nourish and enliven their life.

[bwhowe]

actually

what is it about that silly four-letter word that makes people crazy? some people can’t even   say it – they have to use a euphemism for it. and you can say it too soon, and also too late. this   word has timing issues. using it with your neighbors is different than using it with your kids or parents,   and different again with your significant other. you can use it with food, fashion, and music for sure. it’s   really universally accepted, and feared. oh yeah, go ahead and try to define it. it’s very simply put, love, actually.

[bwhowe]

hero

we went to pismo beach

for a weekend on the

beach: mom, dad, peter,

the dog, and me. all

 

together in one van

converted for sleeping.

we climbed sand dunes,

made forts in the trees

 

and bushes, and of course

played in the ocean. my

dad was the ringleader,

finding cardboard to make

 

sand sleds out of, and

pushing us beyond the

limits of what we knew

was fun and exciting.

 

my dad was my hero back

then: part myth, part legend,

an all-knowing oracle of fun.

that disappeared as i got older.

 

maybe heroes aren’t meant

to last, or maybe they get

changed out for new ones as

we get older and learn more.

when i became a father

i got my hero back. he

never actually left, i

just got jaded with age.

[bwhowe]

solstice

each season is only

one day if you think

about it. all the others

are unbecoming that

season and becoming the

next season, leading 

away from and leading

up to, really a push and

pull transformation. the

seasons are a constant

transition from one thing

to the next. cherry blossoms

in the spring, transitioning

from not there, to there,

to gone again. same with

trees changing colors in

the fall. this is nature's

long game. we are just

so shortsighted that we

can't see the beauty of it.

[bwhowe]

want

what’s your current context? are you happy? sad? joyful? depressed? Maybe somewhere in between, or not?   I find a home in ‘resigned’. it’s comfortable, familiar, and it never changes. I know I can count on it, always.   but, I am not committed to living in that context. it’s limiting and disempowering. it keeps me from the things   I want the most: love and connectedness. with those two I can accomplish just about anything I want.   what about you? what do you want? do you want it bad enough to shift your current context?

[bwhowe]

better

one dog curled up at our feet on the bed, the other ten feet away on his bed,   in our bedroom. this is the aftermath of our Saturday night date. oh, the dinner was   really good, the company even better. the guitarist was good if uninspiring. I’ve   heard better, much better. but back to the date, and the dogs. there was also a dog at   the restaurant. totally adorable. the thing about dates is that the key is who you are there with.

[bwhowe]

patterns

“apophenia” is the human tendency to see patterns in random information like the movie “A Beautiful Mind” with Russell Crowe as John Nash the math wiz.   John actually loses his mind, for a while, to apophenia and conspiracy theories. so, where do you see patterns in your life? at work? in conversations? where?   is it the flight of birds, or the arrangement of flowers in a field, or maybe in the dance of a honey bee? how about a flight of clouds, or (shudder) the entrails of a gutted animal?   maybe there are patterns in the written word? take any magazine you can lay hands on and use this unique gift to find a pattern, I’m sure there is one there for the reader.   give it a whirl and see what secrets you can unlock. it’s possible that these patterns hold secrets, and if so I wonder what they say? hell, maybe there’s a secret pattern in this poem…