Had It Been Us (my christmas poem)

We are three righteous and good kings

And We have come to kill you.

In One Block

You can go hours without saying a word
You suspect that, without interruption,
You can go days.
You have surprisedyourselfNO You have amazed yourself.

You thought you had a greater need to speak.

That if no one hears you You aren't alive.
But hours go by without the need without the want without even the thought
To speak.

You walk into the cold bright city at night.
You emerge from the subway.
You emerge from The Underground.
The city is loud.
You love how loud the city is.
It complements how quiet You have become.
You have astonished yourself with your quiet.
With your Still.

The snowflakes slap your face and the wind rushes down Sixth Avenue and you feel like your in a canyon and even though your surrounded by the noise of New York You Yourself are so quiet inside that you can imagine that you are the last one on Earth You are The It You are The Only One And you feel like your in a canyon!

And you think of David.

Because you're not in a canyon.
You are a block from Times Square.
But You know that if you walk down Sixth till 6th turns into something else -you don't remember what but something else- the streets really start to twist on each other down there.

Down in the guts of the city.
Where Wall Street is.
Those streets
Are actually called
The Canyons.
David told you that.
Back in that other life when You lived in Florida.
You and David were talking and he thought back to his other life when he lived in New York. He remembered that they called Wall Street and all those other streets whose names, he couldn't remember and You didn't know yet to forget,
They called those streets
The Canyons.

He remembered that.
He lived that life and then He told you about it.
And when he told you about the Canyons
You felt like a wise man had told you a secret.
You felt good and You felt welcome.
He may not have told you THE SECRET
Sure.
But he told you A secret
And all things considered, that was pretty good.
Because up till that point David The Wise Man still kind of intimidated you.
And you weren't all together certain that he enjoyed your company but now he had reminisced with you and he had shared one of his other lives with you and you have other lives yourself so you know what a kind gift that is to share.

All those lives.

And a snow flake slaps you in the face
The wind rushing down 7th Ave now.
And you are no longer in a canyon.
You are in the eye of a hurricane.
New York is So Loud.
And You Are Still.
A thousand lives inside your mind.
A thousand lives swirling stirring your soul.
A thousand lives and
You Cry when you see a Couple Kiss.
A thousand lives remembered
And a thousand lives to live
A thousand lives in One Block!
And You.

You. haven't. said. a. word.

Yes I do Listen to Garrison Keillor. What?!

I’m sitting on a public bench by the water right now
The Schuylkill River
In a famous city that I don’t know very well.

Except:
Back in the day, Ben Franklin and some folks got bout about here.
and
I’ve never really liked this city’s sports fans.

But it turns out that I like their city.
I’m surprised at how easy it is to get around.
I have no map.
I came with no plan.
But I can walk around and tell myself
I’ve Seen This City.
I travelled here and I am better for it.

The river shimmers.
And every minute or so a jogger passes by.

It seems like lots of people live in this city.
Which is more than I can say for the city whose sports teams I root for.

This is their “Hidden River.”

It says so on a sign.
"Come Enjoy The Schuylkill. Our Hidden River."

And with bridges and bike paths and street lamps,
Well,
It seems to me to be more of a “Celebrated Unknown.”

I just made that up
While sitting here by the shimmering river
In the famous city
I didn’t know very well
Whose sports fans,
that I don’t like very much,
Left a bench
For me to sit on
-Should I ever choose to visit-
And enjoy their shimmering river.

Adjusting to Insanity

Tonight
The roaches are dead
And I can sleep.

I think about them all the time -
the proximity of their living quarters troubles me.

I plan my lessons and I think about them.
I cook my food and I think about them.
I wipe my ass and I think about them.
I think about them all the time.

the way the light plays against my body as I pace about my room creating an unnatual looking shadow and I swear I spot one!

Their feeding habits trouble me.
Their mating habits trouble me.
Their sleeping habits trouble me.
I think about them all the time.

I found one in my bath towel and almost wept.

These alien creatures who became my neighbors.
Then my roommates.

I do not like them.
I want them more than gone.

I have laid traps.
Called assassins.
And many are dead.

But I think about them all the time.

The One That Really Happened

A fat unpopular white kid

Had a problem with a good looking popular black kid

It appeared there would be a fight.

Another fat white kid.

Slightly less fat

Slightly more popular

Saw opportunity

"You got a problem with my boy?"

The second fat white kid challenged.

With no sense of historical irony it should be noted.

The good looking popular black kid explained 

to the second fat white kid that this was not his fight.

But the second fat white kid was proud now 

and looked at the good looking popular black kid

as his brother.

One he was put on this earth to protect.

And he smelled opportunity.

And so it came to pass,

That two fat white kids

Who were usually ignored

Were the center of attention

They flailed about.

The second white kid flailed in a manner that garnered the crowd's admiration

And they cheered that fat white kid as he 

stood up 

for the oppressed 

good looking 

popular black kid

At one point

Mid Fight

The second white kid stopped

And turned to his peers

To soak in this rare good will he felt from them.

He then turned and continued to pummel his sudden enemy

And oppressor of all good people everywhere.

A third fat white kid would later remark

That when that fat kid turned 

And saw the people cheering 

"He smiled the biggest smile I ever saw."

Years would pass

The first fat kid discovered punk music and moved on

The good looking popular black kid was murdered

alone in his house

And the second fat white kid wrote a poem about it all

Still confused 

Still desperate

Defensive

Instances Where You Can Use Someone’s Else’s Poetry

Poetry has gotten kind of a bad rap.
Not w-r-a-p, like Saran
But r-a-p, like hip hop
But not hip hop,
(Although hip hop is poetry)

But rap,
Like slang for reputation.
It can be confusing

Those last lines are probably part of the problem.
Part of the reason poetry’s gotten such a bad rap.

But don’t throw poetry out with me!

I am the bathwater.
Poetry is the baby.
It’s not poetry’s fault that I’m not a very good poet.
I’m just not.
There are lots of other poets who will tell you that I’m not
And some them are good.

Not Good capital G
Like Good versus Evil.
But good poets.
Which actually is a Good thing to be.
We really need some good poets.
Because most of the good ones are dead.1
But you can read their work.
In the bible.
Or your World Lit Anthology.

That’s why so many of us bad poets keep writing.
We’re keeping the seat warm.
Waiting for the good guys.
We’re sirens.
Writing and writing our bad poetry.
Hoping some good genius will take notice
And come over here and fix all this.

Or maybe

We are good poets.
But the problem is that we’re not dead yet.
But one day
When you’re dead
And I’m dead
And a-lot of other people are dead
Someone who is alive will read this poetry
And they will say
“WOW!
That guy was really good!
It’s too bad he’s dead because I would really like to tell him what a good poet he is and how he helped me have a better day today and I wish all those people who were alive when he was alive treated him better and they really missed out and they should have been more appreciative of the genius in their midst!
Footnote:
When I’m quiet at night
I can hear that person.

The point is that regardless of your feelings on my poetry
Poetry, the Art, is valuable and useful to all of us

And here just a few examples where memorizing someone else’s poetry can be helpful.

A neighbor’s house is burning down,
someone behind you is playing a violin
and you want to sound really cool.

Your child’s first pet has just died
You’re having trouble taking the trauma seriously
But you want to say something
Just to let the kid know you care

You have to give an off-the-cuff Best Man Speech
Or
You have to give an off-the-cuff Eulogy

Really it’s useful at any formal or informal gathering
Where without warning the mob turns to you and shout-chants
SPEECH!
SPEECH!
SPEECH!
SPEECH!

For these random occurrences
I recommend having a handle on Robert Frost
Specifically,
The Road Not Taken
Sure everybody knows it and nobody is going to go
“Geez! That guy really knows his poetry!”
But here’s a secret.
When you recite poetry that everybody knows.
You not only make yourself look smart.
But you make everybody else, having recognized the poetry, feel smart as well.
And that makes everyone feel positively about you.
Which is the point of every speech.

So like I said
Poetry is very useful.

Oh!

I almost forgot
The whole reason I wrote the poem
Yesterday I was at Starbucks
I was really frustrated
There was a foreign person who just couldn’t order their beverage.
Which confused me.
Because
isn’t everything at Starbucks foreign?
It should be the one place in America
where every foreign person feels at home.
Starbucks,

It’s like America’s first Barack Obama.
Where we said
“Look World. We’re really trying.”

So I was convinced that that I was never going to get my coffee
Which was all I wanted
And I was frustrated and confused
Because if Starbucks doesn’t help us with the foreigners
What will?

And then it hit me.

T.S. Eliot

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but with a whimper

And suddenly my wait didn’t seem so bad
It even made a weird kind of sense


1. Not a fair point really. This is a pure numbers game. Of course most good poets are dead! The ranks of the living can never outnumber the dead. So there will naturally be more dead good poets than living ones. So we should all take a deep breath, acknowledge the value of our predecessors, and move on!

One So Much Crueler Than The Rest

Gerald fell down really hard.

You could hear his kneecap when it hit the pavement.

All the kids laughed.

I wasn't laughing.

I never had much of a sense of humor.

But...

I hated to be excluded from a good time.

So I joined.

And to prove I was in on it.

I laughed louder than

every 

body

combined.

God could not have laughed louder.

Gerald didn't weep at the cruelty of children.

Gerald wept at the cruelty of his best friend.