Friday, December 16, 2011

another letter to a person of interest

Dear Person of Interest,

You know I’m not particularly fond of pedestrians. They are these funny, in a bad way, kind of people who walk about on streets and sidewalks, and they go when they shouldn’t and they drive real slow in the narrow passages of the skyway, where you can’t pass them because of oncoming “other” pedestrians. And are you a pedestrian only when you are outside, and crossing a street, or can you be a pedestrian in a crowded hallway, or in the bike only path? I mean don’t you only become a pedestrian when you get in the way of someone who is a hurry to get to their destination, whether they are on foot, or bike, or are in their car, and you are the cause of what they consider an unnecessary yielding to your way?
And I find it a bit maddening, that if today, I decided to put “find some money” on my “to do” list, that I could look under my chair cushion, on the floorboards of my car, on the sidewalk, and in the lawn, and even at the bottom of the pen holder, and I would find a penny or two, or three. However, I will not find the money I desire to find (and that would be most helpful) such as a fat wad of bundled together 20’s. Damn those conveniently located pennies for taking over the “Here I am! Money!,” world. I feel if they got out of the way, that perhaps dollar bills could fill the void. Although there was one time that I had parked in the parking garage for overnight parking which was going to cost my $5 dollars, and at the time of leaving work to head to my car, I realized I had forgotten my wallet at home and therefore, had nothing to pay for the parking of my car. I then happened to look to my left at a shelf un-thought of at work, and there was, five $1 dollar bills on the shelf. Well I figured that if I were to ask around as to who it belonged too, and went to hand it back, but then asked “Do you by any chance have $5 dollars I can borrow to pay for my parking?” they couldn’t lie to me and say no, cuz then I would hide the money between my fingers and make it look like I did a magic trick and made their money disappear, so I lent myself the money.
And one time, I found $500 dollars in a room I had to clean at my place of work at that time. And no, it was not left as a tip. It was left in an envelope where just the teeny tiny bit of the corner of the envelope was sticking out from a tray the coffee maker sat upon. When the money finally was turned over to me after the rightful owner never came forward, well; that was about the time that I started adding the additional caramel drizzle to my Starbucks morning chai tea, for an additional 60 cents. Disposable income is amazing.
And normally I am not the traffic controller.
Well let discuss what is enough. He says “I just want to hear you say to me “You are enough for me.” To which in my head I reply, enough, is similar to the word “snuff,” which implies, putting out and smashing violently to quit a process. So I say, well what is enough? Why is enough a comforting lullaby to his ears? If you are pouring me a glass of milk or dishing me up a plate of garlic mashed potatoes and you say “tell me when it’s enough,” I feel very comfortable saying, “Ok, that’s enough,” and I am quite satisfied at the result of the just the right amount of potatoes and milk to eat and drink. But in a relationship, being just the right amount of stuff is not good enough. I want you to be my everything, (but not my car, or my mom, or my job, or my walk about the park.) I want you to exceed my expectations, to disappoint from time to time, to hug me tight on a perfectly good day, to sext me when I’m feeling down, and to surprise me with a witty comment or goofy face to make me laugh every single day! But never will you get me to say with perfect harmony in my voice “You are enough.” And this I am glad about.
And finally, I wish today to say that I am terribly sad at the exiting of three very fine co-workers of mine, who wish to move to far away places across many state borders. This is my Congratulations to each of them. “Congratulations! And I say that with this odd feeling of sadness in my heart, similar to the way one might feel if they had just got a flat tire while they are on a desolate road, 50 miles from a town, where the wind is blowing the snow around, and the land is lost in a blizzard, and the temp is -33, and ironically you were the last car to pass through on the road, as the sheriff came by and shut down the road right after you crossed the border 30 miles back.”
And to all, Happy Holidays. May you get yourself something nice, because we all know so well, we give ourselves the greatest gifts around the holiday season!

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Some poems I wrote long ago.

Version One – Is this the reality of Love?

Can it be that you polish the stars just for her?
Is that you who dances on the moon every Saturday night?
And every day, is it such that you carry the sun
Across the sky upon your back just for her?
Oh blue eyes of heaven, how you adore her;
And is it such that you spin this world round just for her
Oh how your feelings run deep in the salty ocean depths
Your spirits softly treading high among the feathery clouds
Your soul ever seeking through the forest depths
Searching for her love
Searching for her soul
You know that she’s out there.
She knows that you exist as she sits quietly upon a grassy hill
To watch you paint the sunrise just for her.
And all that she wants is for you to sit beside her,
Wrap your arms around her,
And let the stars go dull.

Version 2 – But is this not the reality too?

Can it be that you polish the stars just for her?
Is that you who dances on the moon every Saturday night?
And every day, is it such that you carry the sun
Across the sky upon your back just for her?
Oh, blue eyes of heaven, how you do look into her eyes with fascination,
And is it such that you spin this world round just for her?
And now she, she had just taken you very beating, throbbing heart,
Into her delicate hands,
Dropped it,
Stomped all over it,
With a little glee,
And walked away with your heart on the bottom of her feet.
And tomorrow you’ll be up early to paint the sky with vivid colors
Of the sunrise, so that the green eyed girl with your heart on the soles of her feet,
Can see the beauty of it all
Could it be love?

And just for fun, a poem I wrote about one of my biggest fears, what it feels like to live alone and fear an intruder in the middle of the night.

I think there is a dead guy somewhere in my home,
He’s hiding in my closet, wearing my good clothes,
He sitting on my bed and writing out his grocery list,
He’s in the spare bedroom staring out the window, watching it snow,
He’s behind me in the kitchen as I’m cooking my dinner,
He’s in the bathroom combing his hair as I’m brushing my teeth,
But I live by myself,
And as each night I do the dead bolt to keep the strangers out, 
I feel his hand upon my shoulder,
As I shudder with a fright.
As I crawl into bed, he stands at my door….
I think there is a dead guy somewhere in my home.
This I fear, 
Good night.