Silent Countdown
1-3-98
Day 4:
Wow, what a wonderful person Susan is. I think she's the one.
Well, that's probably a ways off. Got a big game tomorrow that
I should be worrying about. What am I doing up so late,
anyway? I need to get to bed. I wish Larry would shut
off that stupid radio so I could get some sleep.
Day 3:
Yes! Yes! I caught the pass, and I am on top of the
world! Call me a hero. I saved the day. Oh, the phone calls.
Oh, the photographs. You know who I should call, is my mom.
Yeah, I haven't talked to her in a while. But it's late, and I
gotta get going to the party. Somewhere there's a plaque with
my name on it!
Day 2:
Praise God that it's still the weekend. Dang. I haven't
started my homework yet. I can't put this off until next
weekend, either. Well, at least Susan and I are going out
tomorrow night. You know, I've decided, I'm going to pop the
question. How exciting! I'll just die if she says no. Oh,
I'm so nervous. But I'm gonna do it.
Day 1:
I looked at my daily planner today, and this
week is booked solid with things I have to do. But
tonight I did the unexpected thing, I didn't write
down in my planner. I proposed to Susan, and she
said yes! Yahooooo!! We haven't set a date yet.
I don't think I'll ever have a better Monday! Life
is good.
Day 0:
Whew, big list for tomorrow. Call Mom, tell her the
good news. Arrange housing for next semester. Finish that
stinking homework. Right now I've got to remember to pick
up some litter for the cat, and a double cheeseburger for Larry.
What is this junk on the radio? I'll change it in a second.
Hey buddy, are you gonna turn left or are you gonna oh
sweet JESUS!!
THE END.
Grandma's Face
1-13-98
The dim, red room is filled
with an awkward
silence.
Candlelight dances
upon the simple walls.
Dad has stopped crying,
my aunts and uncles too,
so I gingerly stand
and approach our loved one's final slumbering place.
Grandma's face.
It looks different.
Slightly off-color, she is a wax statue.
But her face.
It looks the same.
Smiling, she beckons, "Come on in!"
We've been waiting for you!" She holds the door wide open
and hands me a fudge
and off I romp
on an adventure throughout the house,
forgetting her face
by the time I reach the jack-in-the-box.
Where is that foolish toy
now?
Those eyelids are forever closed, yet I can see
that she is now baking peanut-butter cookies for St. Peter
and all the angels.
Those waxy lips are sealed
but I can hear her sweet voice
silently saying,
"I love you."
Breakfast at Work
1-20-98
Snap Crackle Pop my Rice Krispies say to me,
"Buy Cornflakes!"
They plead.
"Shut up.
I'm going to eat you just the same."
I mumble.
Scoop, shovel it in.
"Talking to your breakfast again, Simmons?"
The boss strides in.
"Yes, sir or madame."
I cower.
"Good. Carry on. But do me one favor.
Mow the lawn."
The boss walks off into the jiggering rainforest.
And my little sister's head floats before me,
unattached, happy, smiling.
The Rice Krispies say hello.
"Shut up.
You don't know my sister."
Scoop, shovel it in.
The terrible grass keeps growing
taller,
and taller.
I methodically take my spoon
and cut it
out.
Let me be your X
1-27-98
Across the dance floor
Your seductive lashes whip
my heart
I see
in you
my love
I can't
I must
begin our glorious and terrible future
I wonder why you never call anymore
Remembering the warmth of your caress
I soak my bitter pillow
alone
with the bear you brought me
my only friend
I saunter on over
So, do you come here often?
old friends
2-3-98
Hi! Hi. How are you? Fine, how are you? Pretty good. That's good.
What are you up to? Not much, how about you? Same here, not much.
Well, I gotta go. See ya later! Bye!
repeat
Vail by Moonlight
2-10-98
She's working extra late tonight, but here comes a friend to say hi!
What a good excuse to step onto the balcony and enjoy the fresh air.
Finally, a release from the pressures of serving hot pizzas inside!
She breathes deeply, adoring the stars, and the clouds, and the moon.
What a beautiful moon he thinks stumbling, alongside his friends
What a beautiful woman she is walking directly in front of him
What a beautiful bottle he's holding between his loosely fingers
What a beautiful bell tower to complement the ringing in his head
He admires the myriad of hanging bells, wondering when they will ring.
Probably only earlier in the day, he decides, and gazes again at his wife.
Across the table he can see her lips, slightly curved into a smile.
His heart skips and dances to the music floating through the air.
She pauses a moment to enjoy the mystical melody; whence comes it?
Wishing there were more than a second to stop, she checks her watch.
I'd better hurry to get this package up there on time, she thinks,
As she glances at her destination, one of the many lights on the hill.
The peaceful, glowing lights onthe mountainside remind him of Christmastime.
A poem begins to form in his mind, a tangible record of spirit.
Where to eat, Pazzo's or Garton's, he stops in the street to decide until
He notices Justice the waitress and approaches the balcony to say hi.
Problems with Your Outfit
after Naomi Shihab Nye
2-24-98
Your outfit took too long to buy.
Before you wore it, you lost it.
Before the rippling waves found
the lighthouse rays
on distant shores
the guiding wind died down.
Your outfit has too many colors.
If you stepped through a door
twelve heads might turn.
Did anyone invite you?
Your outfit, your outfit, whose is it?
Did someone else own it too?
Your outfit knotted on the bust of a queen.
Sometimes your outfit looks cold when you wear it.
Your outfit might make his mother nervous.
This is only a variation of the outfit I saw
on a runway while dreaming.
This is not your best outfit.
Lords and gentlemen did not praise your outfit
but still, I wanted to wear it.
It was the only reason I noticed you.
From a Friend
3-3-98
You always wear jeans, and
I love the smell of them. How
well I know you, you
never could guess as I sparkle in
the shallow darkness. Do you think no
one hears you when you sing to yourself?
Since before you were born have I
spoken for man.
In God We Trust.
The Lincolns and Kennedys keep
me company in your
absence. We
take turns at sentinel, watching
for your smell.
Each tear you shed moistens
Washington's silver face. I lie in your
shadow, with forces tugging, upholstery
a firm seat belt.
I hear the muffled echo when you
idly call my name. I can only wait for
you to turn around. When
you see me again, will you even
remember? Your face will light up for
the briefest of moments, and
return to the ash-gray
of life.
Here you sit writing,
imagining me. Do you think you are my
creator? You're twenty-
five cents richer than
you think!
I went to brush my teeth this morning
3-10-98
I went to brush my teeth this morning but
the mirror wasn't working right. Someone
had stolen my reflection and repleaced it with
one of William Shakespeare, or John Donne, or
Robert Frost. So I said to my reflection, "Who
are you?" but he didn't answer because we had
asked our questions at the same time.
I raised my fist and he raised his too.
I scratched my nose and he scratched his too.
I did the Jitterbug (because I knew he wouldn't
know how), but he matched my every step.
He cocked his head slightly, apparently astonished
that I could keep up with him. But quickly he
remembered that he was late for class, and
needed to brush his teeth. Finally turning
away toward the door in the mirror, he put
on his jacket, flashed me a grin, and disappeared.
Wake-Up Spot
3-11-98
Where is the wake-up spot ?, I won
der stumbling to the shower maybe
it is a joint like a bone like
I hit my wake-up bone, now I
can't go to sleep maybe
it is a button that I just never saw I need
something jolting to wake me
up
Passing By Frederick, Maryland on the Highway, Three Years After I Dreamed of Coming Here
3-21-98
I scan the countryside, curiously and
wondering if I might be able to see
Hood College. I don't know how I would recognize it.
I am looking for some plain red brick buildings and
a huge neon billboard. I once spent
four months on the Internet
trying to talk to
every Hood female I could.
I met a few dozen.
Even if they're still at Hood College, I don't know
them anymore. I know the green of the countryside, though; I've
seen it on the Kodak paper that came in
the mail from Frederick. But
I know now firsthand that
even the land changes. It is
rainy today. The earth is refreshed.
when I am eighty
3-29-98
when I am eighty, I want to be
walking through orange leaves on a forest
path, knowing that at any peaceful or
beautiful moment, I may glance right
to your beaming face
adoring life taking step
after
step
still
with me
We have always gressed
3-29-98
We have always gressed from standing to understanding
science succeeds scripture
magic does a disappearing act
and people die
Tomorrow
3-30-98
Do not worry about tomorrow,
for tomorrow till take care of herself. I have
seen her silky fingers closing the eyelids of trees, her
hair breathing enough life into the stars that
they may give her light to open a cookbook
and read. I have seen her walking idly down
Main Street in her nondescript dress, glancing
into store windows, looking for the perfect glue
to fix broken dreams. I have seen her luminous
eyes gazing deeply into those of a child fallen
from his bicycle onto the pavement. "Arise,"
she said, "for I am always with you."
This is what happens when nothing happens.
Occasionally I will call her by name. In the
misty roads I will seek her presence. She
is a shy puppy, and I never see her face. Every night
she has a few drinks at the pub before heading
out into the world. It is common knowledge that
she carries a magical pill in her pocket, which
will cover her with a shroud and take her back
to the mountain streams, should anyone discover
her secret. I once found her footprints in the
sand of my childhood playbox, but the next day they
were gone. Someone's small finger had written
in the sand, "I was not here."
Seagull
3-30-98
Where does that bird think he's going?
Is he going to fly all the way across
the lake?
Is he going to stop out on the water
to rest?
Do birds float?
Does he enjoy the sunset as much as we think
we do?
The Long Trip Home
4-5-98
Here I am, an intelligent being (or so I think)
strapping my body inside a flying metal tube
roaring and soaring through the Utah sun.
A telephone sits dumbly before me,
silent reminder that the world
is at my command. I will be
sipping tea by noon.
Thirty-thousand feet down, I can almost
make out the tattered shape of a covered wagon,
inching through mud. Death is upon it like
the buzzing flies, hovering, waiting.
Silence is broken by the horse's gait.
Mother comforts her sick children, reading
aloud from the Book of Mormon, wishing
for the uncertain future, trying
to remember despite herself
that just on the horizon
lies Zion.
I see the sweet breath of the mother and the
hot sweat of the team, rising to support
my weight as the wooden wheels slowly
creak, creak, creak.
Nameless
4-5-98
An unusually warm day in Washington, D.C.
lets the nameless do his work on the street
though he still wears a dirty ranbow wool hat.
The other nameless counts to twenty in his mind,
trying to remember something he never forgot.
When the light turns red the ruddy nameless
makes his move. He sells a map of the city
for fifteen dollars. He disappears.
The counting man lost track of everything.
He smiles, then frowns, then looks back
over his shoulder. He has a name.
How I Write a Poem
4-12-98
I have to feel the air on my face, like the Greeks' ancient Muse.
The left half of my brain needs a cup of hot chocolate
prepared by the self-proclaimed finest gourmet in Alsace-Lorraine.
The ink and the paper must sign a contract to bleed together perfectly.
I must have a list in my pocket labelled "Things I Need to Do".
There must be a worldwide moment of silence.
No one talks. No one snickers. Radio stations play dead air.
God must tell St. Peter to redirect His incoming prayers.
I need all the help I can get.
Stubborn
4-12-98
My neighbor had a sidewalk made of quicksand
every morning he fell in and died
but he never bothered to pave it.
Chastity
4-12-98
My first time, her name was Chastity.
I wonder what her parents were thinking.
I gave her a belt for her birthday
and she whipped me
up a cherry pie for mine.
I try to abstain from vows,
but sometimes you need a break.
Sunset at the Beach
4-18-98
How did I forget
the soft blue-gray and lavender,
the yellow-orange, shades of purple,
the dark-gray black silhouette flying by
in the sky?
How did I forget
the plasmic undulation of shimmering orange light,
the rhythmic relaxation of "boosh" "boosh"
the secure sensation and oscillation
of the sea?
Each everning God gives a final exam
to the sand, who has perfect attendance
and never studies
and never forgets
to breathe.
Thinking
5-9-98
I have decided that I can't decide
what I will write. They have programmed my Paper-Mate
with a micro-computer chip called the ESP2000
and it knows for me. Tiny electric brain
alone on the desk when I leave my footprints
out the door, thinking.
Mr. Teddy
5-9-98
Mr. Teddy is looking especially sad today.
I know what he needs.
I'll throw him into the bonfire.
Nice knowing you, Mr. Teddy!
Little Bunnyhead, you're not feeling sick, are you?
I didn't think so.
clean
5-9-98
flame licking lucky luscious air
we share needing to care for
orange dark pink dark purple and
slipping to slumber to ashes
the dirt mother babies love
feeding flooding for farming on till
to garbage gunky goo grime
sticky to stretch to squishing
swim in river clear sweeping
away alleviation affection all
big breathing ball bouncing boing
to fly to free
fine
Florida
5-11-98
I have seen you before, you yellow painted pavement,
you very same molecules, but weathered
by the capricious storms
of time.
You, shape of the Floridan peninsula, you
hold nothing for me now, but the past.
If I place my finger just right, I can
crush Tallahassee. If I jump and wave,
she will see me
in Gainesville.
Rubbing my arm along the rough, black asphalt,
I create a tidal wave to destroy Disney
World!
Your tiny stones and gravel impress me, lying
here on the playground, where tomorrow
bright-eyed children will see
your sunny make-up land,
will bounce their kickball satellites in
your dreamlike outer space.
Thin Steel Cord
5-11-98
If only I could remember your face
when our hearts first touched.
I was watching your fidgeting hands
and loving your beautiful mind.
We had a thin steel cord between us,
no one could take away.
You or I would give it a tug whenever
we wanted to share.
I tugged too tightly
and caused you to let go.
Now I have a thin steel cord to myself
to whip my bleeding heart each day.
Falling Rain
6-11-98
The dripping dripping rain washes
like teardrops away
from my home
The plopping refreshingness turns
my nostrils alive, and full
of chlorophyll
Bloom does my skin of youth healing
stretching with age and pain
strong with the falling rain
undiscovered
6-18-98
I lie
neath forgotten boxes,
smelling of warm dust, must
I lie
forever a sad figment
in the echo of footsteps past
my fading record accurate,
crying
dust-bunny tears fall and
rest in peace
undiscovered
Leaving Home
6-18-98
I snap a dead branch into one
twig at a time, and toss them one
by one casually
at the top of the neighbor's wooden fence.
What does it matter if I miss?
Someone doing dishes is clattering from
the anonymabyss of the neighborhood,
and each twig
is sprouting new greenleaves growing
right up from the yard.
Vail by Sunlight
7-5-98
He carefully adjusts his racing helmet, shining silver in the sun.
Aligning it perfectly for optimal racing ability in the mountains
The smell of sweat and victory stimulate his racing heart
He will not fail; he adjusts the number tag on his racing jacket.
Number 366 is cute, she thinks, but I can't stay for the race.
If only Sheila would show up on time, we could walk to the covered bridge.
With that, the municipal bus pulls up, slowing silently to stop.
Oh, it's good to see you again! They warmly share an embrace.
The sticky sweat just breaks his skin, for it's awfully warm on the bus.
The familiar grass and hills and trees he adores for one last time.
From Lionshead to a distant beachhead, the journey lies ahead of him.
Adjusting his T-shirt, he watches as the slopes slip past his eye.
The skiers pay her living when the hills are filled with white
She smiling stands on the village walk, giving every day.
She has memorized every brochure she cheerfully hands out
And lives to see the smiles of those enjoying their visit to Vail.
Qu'est-ce que c'est? he asks his wife, accepting a map-brochure.
Des informations, she patiently replies, pointing to the translation.
Their arduous journey now affords time to explore the area.
Voilà! he points, indicating a race is about to begin.
Baby Food
8-15-98
a new milk i see i wonder what
it is like mommy puts it on my tongue
revolting away get it out spit it out
i cry mommy is cruel to me the bitter
taste i do not want to taste again
closed i will not open i will not eat
this terrible ugly food i want milk
so much it is painful to want how can i
get the milk i want i cry for it
is so painful to taste a new taste
My friends have asked me why I still eat baby food.
I ask them why they still drink beer.
And when I picked up all my belongings
and moved them across the nation
arms-crossed to a foreign land
alone
I tried hard to remember the
uncomfortable first taste
of baby food.
The Face
8-24-98
And now may the Lord make his face shine upon you
the Lord turn his face toward you
and give you peace
Now and forever, amen.
A fuzzy echo bounces in my brain
but I don't quite remember the words
and I don't quite remember the hurt.
It must have been terrible, whatever it was,
whatever turned his face from me
and took my peace
Now and forever, amen.
You should ask me on the street next time you see me
all those questions no one asks me on the street
when they see me
their faces turned down because they know
because everyone knows with their faces turned down
the Lord, the God of Abraham and Isaac, he sees me
on the street when his face is turned down on the street.
You have no peace, not a question, you see
and you never will see when your face is turned down
Look.
I am here, he says. Where? I can't see
it must have been terrible, whatever it was.
I am blind and afflicted and stricken
by me.
There is a web. It is sticky and tangling
dangling, waiting for food to fly by
but the crafty old spider outcrafted himself
and sits tangling dangling, helpless in space
on the street I sit silently,
cursing this place.
I walk through the alley of the shadow of death
expecting a mugging or beating or something
to snap me out of it
their faces turned down
they see me, they know, I don't care
I'll be found someday with my wife and my children
my life will be perfect and someday
their faces turned down
I am Job and I owe my whole life to a God
and I wander about
and I'm seeking a face
A Face
if you see it, and then
you must die.
Remembering You
8-30-98
If I could see your blue eyes tonight,
would they sparkle and sigh?
If I touched your soft hands tonight,
would they remember mine?
Do your cheeks recall a friendship
they once had with my fluttering black eyelashes?
Occasionally my nose asks me
about Eskimo kisses, and when I will see you again.
Are you lips still as sweet
as that starry night when we took an eternity
to find each other?
The tip of my tongue will never forget
the adventure, the bright newness
and freshness of playing and loving
the tip of your tongue.
My arms are aching to be reunited
with each other, with your body
to hold you, to hold you close.
That rhythmic soft echo,
pa pum
pa pum
in my ears is still beating,
your breathing and heartbeat are a part of me
Still.
My fingers are restless to run through your hair,
their sunny silk playground
from childhood they knew
And hardest of all, my heart is still heavy
for flying with angels
requires your soul
and I need something special
to make me feel whole.
Emigration
8-30-98
Running with the antelope makes my legs tired
but I find it's worth it to get some fresh air
and make some new friends and lose a few pounds
Cacti and tumbleweeds wave to me hello
and I whisk through the desert, searching for shrubs
searching the sky, checking for falcons and praying
to the gods for rain on my back
My sweat actually cools me but leaves my skin dry
and flaky with dust and sand but still I run
Pedestrian Xing says the highway and so I sprint
across the pavement but the metal is coming too fast
and I splat on the road and the driver speeds on
Dying, the sun beats me into the dirt, I've lived a good life
I am one with the earth
Bookmark
9-9-98
I have a bookmark which I put between
the pages of every novel. It is white with
cartoony animal shapes and balloons, uncolored.
Perhaps she picked this bookmark up from the
desk at the local library, or found it buried and
forgotten in the leaves of an old romance. I watched
with wide eyes as she trimmed its edges with her
brand-new special squiggly scissors and proclaimed
it a timeless masterpiece. With utmost delicacy
I accepted this gift, to mark my words forever.
I have a bookmark which I put between
the pages of my novel. The bumbling bear
will never let me sleep. The creamy balloons
remind me that I too
once soared above the clouds in an earlier
chapter. I no longer have to read the book
for I have memorized every mistake
and I would give all I have if
I could only publish a Second Edition.
Bouncing
9-29-98
Piper is bouncing, she's bouncing, she's bouncing
She's up and she's bouncing and down and she flies
Her hair is all tied up it's tied up she's tied up
She's bouncing and tied up and tied up her hair
She's painted fake freckles, fake freckles she's bouncing
Her hair is all tied up fake freckles she flies
And smiling she's bouncing and laughing and smiling
She's bouncing and laughing she tied up her hair
Piper is dressed like a farmer she's dressed up
A farmer is bouncing fake freckles she smiles
She's smiling and bouncing and freckles and Piper
Her hair is all tied up and bouncing she flies
For Matthew and Cori
9-29-98
Dark October night, the slient crisp air
Buzzing from a streetlamp hidden somewhere
The pizza man is coming, the house is still
I pretend to do homework, at least until
The bell rings suddenly, a visitor appears,
Cori on the porch, she asks, "Is Matthew here?"
He's not, I take a message, I'll tell him all right,
She smiles and reminds me to have a good night.
Her boots crunch the snow, I watch from inside
As she wanders back home, a thought comes to mind.
I noticed that hopeful love spark in her eye
When she asked about Matthew, and I wonder why
She loves him so deeply. Then I recall
That that's the way God has intended, after all.
From ashes to ashes, from dust to dust
When two caring people nurture their trust
There's just no telling what fruits may flourish,
The heart to revive and the soul to nourish.
Seated, silent, stroms on the way,
I stare at the wall and I inwardly pray
That God may yet grant me the fortune someday
To know, and to love, as truly as they.
Burger King Parking Lot
10-23-98
Roosevelt looks up
from the pavement saying,
"Your lucky day, kid.
Make the most of it.
I wish I could."
My Father's Back
10-29-98
It was 8:00. It was the late seventies.
"Time for bed" and I screamed and I hollered and I sassed
and my big, strong dad would lift me up.
He bore me on his back, barely hunched over
because he could carry the world.
I put my two arms around his neck
and buried my face in his skin.
I smelled his sweat from a hard day's work.
I hated it, and I loved it,
and I wanted to stay up late and do anything
and I longed to be carried on his back,
to be tucked in tight, and warm
in clean sheets.
After I slid gently down off his back
onto the bedsheets
and scrambled beneath the tight covers
he would tell me a bedtime story,
and I would ask him where God came from,
trying to imagine an infinite beyond infinity
and an absolute nothing beyond nothingness.
Lights out.
"Good night, sleep tight, see you in the morning light"
My dad God said I love you,
and turned his back.
The Bucket
10-29-98
I hated the bucket.
I slept in Mom's bed and watched soap operas
and talk shows and I felt my head spinning
Splish sploosh, on the waterbed
and I could pretend I was fine but just out of sight
over the edge, on the floor, was
the bucket.
Inside that bucket was pain,
a tart terrible taste out of my control
and the bucket held my face, and my soul.
I was chained, a prisoner, longing for freedom,
Freedom from school meant the miserable bucket,
a sick twist of fate I could never escape.
I sank in the waterbed, head in Mom's pillow,
body warm under the thick blankets,
waiting, and hating,
and knowing I would yet face
the bucket.
Last update: December 11, 1998.
http://www.cs.utah.edu/~thelenm/personal/poetry/1998.html