by Eric Nixon
And slow down enough
To be savored and enjoyed.
That special day where
Families can be together.
That special day filled
Tip-top-full with plans
Every week since forever.
That special day
Gone, done, and over
Much too soon
A friend with a daughter,
Growing much faster
Than they had anticipated,
Recently observed and noted,
“There are only
940 Saturdays
In a childhood.
When put into perspective
It doesn’t seem like quite enough,
Does it?”
Reading her words,
I look from the calendar,
To the darkened window,
To the clock on the wall
Arms spinny and ablur,
And I would have to say
That I agree with her
May 9, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
A friend posted those two lines on her Facebook the other day and it’s been stuck in my head ever since.
Lacquered Dreams
Earlier today, a phrase popped into my head:
“Lacquered dreams.”
I don’t know what it is, or even what it means
But it gave me pause enough to write it down.
I could spend considerable time devising a meaning
Or I could just forget I ever coined the words.
Whatever they are,
I just hope I don’t have them when I go to bed
May 12, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
I was going to save this phrase to use in a book I plan on writing in a few years, but thought I’d use it now. Besides, I can freely plagiarize myself later all I want.
Words Overheard
While waiting in the hallway
Of a depressing government building
I overheard an older man
Chatting up a younger woman
His haughty words slimed their way to my ears,
“I’m of the old style. I get right to the point.”
Which would have been fine to say
If his mouth closed and was followed by
Nothing but joyous silence.
Instead, a stream of words meandered and droned –
Bragging, boasting, and retelling;
The words flowed, filled, and drowned me with his voice
Until I could take no more and dove for the door
May 12, 2012
Northampton, Massachusetts
This guy was so annoying. I had to get something signed and stood down the hall from his irritating “I’m so great,” voice for about twenty minutes while waiting for someone else to return to their office. I couldn’t take it anymore and actually interrupted him and asked him to sign it. He proceeded to ask dickish and unfunny things before signing it, all the while trying to act witty and humorous for the woman.
Welcoming
I entered the room
Holding tight to a heavy box
The air thick and dense
Holding fast to the aroma
The smell of fresh paint
Welcoming us to our new home
May 25, 2012
Benson, Vermont
We moved into our new home a few days ago, but have been thinking about it since then. There’s something wonderful and just-right about the smell of fresh paint in a new place. It really cements the idea of a new beginning.
JUNE
Ethan Allen Express
My eyes are closed
As we travel onward
The gentle swaying
The soft rocking
The faint screeing
As we turn slightly
The other passengers whisper
In sub-library hushed tones
Easily concealed by the air blower
Care-free and relaxed
I lean back and take a nap
And wait to arrive at my destination
June 3, 2012
On board the Ethan Allen Express in New York state
Kari and I are on our way to New York City where her new book, Grow Your Handmade Business, is debuting at BookExpo America.
Reel Mower
Handle in my sweaty hands
Constant phlegmy sound
As the blades spin
Propelled by my pushing
Until a stick sticks things up
Stopping me in my tracks
Handlebar hitting my chest
For the fourteenth time
In as many minutes
Nothing real about this
Except for the pain in my ass
And the constant longing
For a sleek and sprinty
Mower made for riding
June 17, 2012
Benson, Vermont
While it seemed like a great idea at the time (“Let’s be green!” and “We’ll get lots of exercise!”), trying to mow a very hilly, weedy, and obstacley 1.5 acre yard with a non-motorized push mower has been a very difficult and frustrating ordeal.
Toys On A String
Toys on a string
That don’t run on batteries
Are so two generations ago
These days it’s nearly impossible
To put your hands on a yo-yo
Because it’s reached the end of its rope
And the invisible hand
(Which has no heart)
Is reaching for a pair of scissors
To cut it free
To keep the market
Free of distractions
Free of things without
Planned obsolescence
June 17, 2012
Benson, Vermont
To be honest, I’d rather reach for the blinky electronic toy.
JULY
Night Lights
Three-quarters past twilight
I’m enjoying the spreading night
Crescent moon with black disk
Saturn and Mars along for the ride
Fireflies in the trees and fields
Fading lighter dark horizon
International Space Station arcing above
I’m surrounded by night-lights
Stunning and inspiring, each and every one
None of which were seen
By the rest of the residents in the village
Captured and entranced
By the blue flickering hue
Direct from their TVs
July 1, 2012
Benson, Vermont
So much beauty to see, yet it often goes unseen by modern eyes.
The Morning Ritual
I press the button
Starting the morning ritual
Hers, not mine
I inhale deeply
The rich aroma
Is one I love
Causing my mind
To think of days past
Making my spirit
Smile and relax
Despite the opposite effect
It has when you drink it
But I wouldn't know
Since I don't partake
In the world's morning beverage
Well, I guess I do
In my own special way
July 1, 2012
Benson, Vermont
Every morning I start Kari’s coffee for her. I can’t stand the taste of it, but wow, I enjoy the smell of coffee.
Softer and Prettier
Try as they might
When they gather
Tomorrow night
They will discover
Sometime between
Arriving and the second drink
After the initial excitement wears off
And see the age accelerated acquaintances
People they would have passed
Unnoticed on the street
Of the evening's situation
When the stark scars of time
Separating the different versions
Of those there and themselves
Sink in
Causing more
Drinking
Clinging desperately to the past
Because memories don't age
But get softer and prettier with time
More trips to the bar
To blur the edges
Soften the lines
And ease the lies of today
"It seemed just like yesterday,"
They will say, as it begins to feel like
Twenty years were gone in a day.
The discovery lost for the evening
Under the weight of too many ounces
But will burn bright in the morning
When they realize the hard lesson
You can attempt to recreate the past
By gathering the same people
In the same place in the same town
Desperation isn't a binding agent
And time travel isn't possible
So even if the details are in place
There's no way to get it back
You're still decades removed
And it's impossible to relive the past
July 20, 2012
South Deerfield, Massachusetts
My 20 year high school reunion is tomorrow night and I feel an inordinate amount of internal angst regarding it. I hadn't planned on being in the area, but here I am just an hour away by car. And I could find things to do tomorrow to occupy the day so I could attend it…but I don't want to. But then again, I do. I have strong and compelling reasons for both, but the call of my present and future is so much stronger.
I feel like I'm in a car and traveling on the road of life (horrible expression, I know) and the reunion is my past calling me back twenty years. The thing is, I'm on my way to new and interesting places. I don't want to turn my car around, lose my forward momentum, and focus on the past, not even for a single evening. I want to push on to new and much better things.
For some reason, "Suburban War" by Arcade Fire has been fueling this poem and my feelings. I've had it on repeat tonight.
Note (7/23/12): I’ve been looking at the pictures people have posted on Facebook of the reunion and it looked like a great time. Now I really regret not going. Wah-wah-wahhh (sad trumpet sound).
Caught In The Middle
I identify with those who live in the city
(apart from the rudeness)
In beliefs, motivations, and sensibilities
And while it’s nice to visit from time to time
I find it overwhelming with too many and too much
I could never make the brusque life my own
I can relate with those who live in the country
(apart from the rudimentariness)
In surroundings, seasons, and scenery
And while it’s good to stay for a spell
I find it under-stimulating with too little, too far
I could never make the rural life my own
I need to find a good balance of the two
While abstaining from the pre-planned suburbs
Somewhere close to what I need and crave
A place brimming with character
Where the creative community thrives
Someplace perfect I haven’t found yet
July 23, 2012
Benson, Vermont
I now live in rural Vermont and while I like the scenery and the remoteness so I can write without distraction, I dislike the forty-minute drive just to go to the supermarket. At the same time, I was miserable living in Boston for the opposite reasons. It was nice to have everything so close, but it was too much, but also little to no scenery. Northampton, Massachusetts was pretty close to perfect, but I still want to check out other places before I settle down permanently.
Drowned
Changed
Walked
Looked
Beached
Stripped
Sunned
Crisped
Toed
Dipped
Splashed
Smiled
Splashed
Enjoyed
Splashed
Climbed
Docked
Jumped
Merged
Rocked
Cracked
Pained
Gasped
Gluged
Dimmed
Dulled
Slowed
Stopped
Drowned
July 23, 2012
Benson, Vermont
The tragic story of a person who went to a beach on a lake, jumped off a dock, and hit their head on a rock under the water. Brief, yet it still paints a picture in your mind. Did you notice how the only words with two syllables are the happy words? It’s funny how that worked out.
Night-Lights
I look up at the night-lights:
Crescent moon with a black disk
Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars
Solid space station star sliding by
Fireflies in the trees and fields
Fading, barely-there, horizon light.
None of which were seen
By the rest of the residents in the village
Captured and entranced
By the blue flickering hue
Direct from their TVs inside;
Protected and blinded
By the bright white security lights
Shining from every property outside.
I head up the hill and put the town behind me
Lie down, look up, smile, and stare in wonder.
July 23, 2012
Benson, Vermont
As I write this, there’s a big, booming thunderstorm warring outside, so this one wasn’t written by anything I saw tonight. It was inspired by an evening walk I went on a few weeks ago, when I looked up and happened to see the International Space Station gliding overhead.
NOTE! – I was not aware that I had already written a poem called Night Lights earlier this month. Apart from a line or two that are the same, this one came out very different. I think I’m going to keep it in here.
I’m Sitting A Little Higher In My Seat This Morning
I’m sitting a little higher in my seat this morning
So much so that I had to adjust my rear view mirror
Not that I’ll need it
Why? Well, just because
Everything is going right
From the blue skies above
To the road rolling below
And everything in-between
I tilt the mirror so all I see is me
The place where my happiness
Starts and stays until the end of days
The smile on my face is telling
That I choose to be the happiest I can be
I roll down the windows and turn up the music
Living in the moment
And enjoying life that much more
July 29, 2012
Benson, Vermont
Heh. The funny thing is that I’m grumpy on this overcast day. I opened my Line Ideas file and saw the first two lines of this poem sitting in there. I wrote that a couple of weeks ago on a day when I felt so amazing and alive. I guess I still feel that way, underneath the layers of cranky crud.
I Killed Emily Dickinson
I killed Emily Dickinson last night
She met up with a horrible fate
Struggled, fell, choked, and died
The thing is, I feel no remorse
It’s not that I’m often a murderer
It had to happen to move things along
Which makes me sound unfeeling
But I have a good enough reason
I did it because I’m an author
And she’s my lead character
But don’t you worry one bit
&nb
sp; Because she rose from the dead
This very Sunday morning
And is about to get her revenge
On me? Ha! No, it’s not possible.
The unseen controller
Is never held accountable
For anything they orchestrate
So I get off scott-free
And she gets a chance
To live through another story
July 29, 2012
Benson, Vermont
I’m finishing up the Emily Dickinson, Superhero story, Austin In Boston and had to kill her off last night. No problem, though. She came back in the next chapter.
Sunkist Sun
Sunkist sun
Shining down
Warming up
Everything and everyone
The tanners love it
But do they understand it?
Do they appreciate
The delicate balance
The spacely dance
Of astrophysics
Perfect distance
And nuclear radiance?
I don’t think they do.
Lying on the beach
Their trivial concerns
Are far too important
To give a moment
And think about
Our local star
And the life
It gives,
Maintains,
And makes possible
July 29, 2012
Benson, Vermont
I spend a lot of time appreciating the whole perfectness of the cosmos and how everything fits together so seamlessly. Every once in a while, I look around and wonder if the average person ever thinks about such things. Judging by how popular “reality” shows are, I’m probably going to say, sadly, no.
AUGUST
Shoulder the Stream
Popular spot - coastal Maine
Lower-end national chain
Supplies the motel setting
Of the unheard of thing
That you may not believe.
I entered the bathroom
Intent on taking a shower
I spun the chrome-colored
Plastic handle mostway to H
And pulled up the pin
Like a grenade
It caught me unaware
As the water blurred past
And sounded as if it was trying
To drill through the wall
My finger rose up and touched
Only to be kicked back