Paul Newman Never Made All-School Yard

He looked the part,

Once drove race cars,

Made salad dressing                                  

And was a good actor.

I go back to the early days of TV,

Milton Berle (yeah, you never heard of him),

And live TV performances.

I could see Paul lacked good hand-eye coordination.

Hey! I’m not saying he wasn’t a nice guy.

He might’ve been a sweet guy,

Gave to the right charities....

Or not.

I can’t imagine him ever dribbling behind his back,

Taking a left-handed 15 -footer,

Going into the pit for a rebound,

Or threading a pass between 2 defenders.

On a different level Paul Newman could shine,

But when 10 guys, (Sorry girls!) choose up sides,

The better players get picked immediately.

After that it slows, until someone is stuck with Paul.

Of course on the right star-aligned day

Paul might cut off a pass ,

And heave the ball halfway to Texas

Where it is gratefully caught and stuffed.

It could happen!?! 

   

Needing a Voice

When do you know it's gone?

Or does asking the question supply the answer?

Starting a sentence, fearing a word

Will not come upon command.

Reaching for a sound,

Anxious, lest your pronunciation

Reinforce a growing belief

That you’ll inherit Grandma's blank stare.

Someone will finish your thought

While you fight to retain its integrity,

Feeling relief when that someone

Fills in your blank.

No, that will not be the worst.

Don't you remember

Your impatience when that

Old uncle could not stay here and now?

Until you are long past

Constructing a universe that accords

With one that a 20 year old can visit,

I suggest fighting for a better ending.

Why All The Poems?

Not for the first time

A friend asked why I bother

Sending new poems out every other week?

I’ve thought long and hard on this.

Surely, not everyone reads every poem.

Some might read a couple, others less.

For all I know I may be sending poems

To an old acquaintance   … who died in 2011?

Just because I like writing poems

Doesn’t mean all those emails

Go to folks who are hungry for my

Incredibly brilliant insights.

So, dear reader, I must confess.

It is not to save humanity from self-annihilation

That I explore the far reaches of my disturbed brain.

It’s for the MONEY!!

She Explained

I stand with the quiet men.

Those who, at any point in the conversation,

Can render themselves invisible.

It is not a matter of recognizing an opening

And going for the kill.

It is based upon her life’s experience.

Having passed through the crucible

Where, per force, you must endure

Both the seasons and absurdity

Of man’s slightly moronic understanding

Of all things,

A woman reaches that state of zen.

Then it is no longer possible

To allow lesser beings (men),

Who seem confused by difficult concepts,

Such as making a bed,

To continue mumbling about the inconsequential.

It is with great reluctance that the heirs of  Athena,

In order to assist those poor uncomprehending simpletons,

Bring wisdom and truth to their aid.

From Catalina to Manhattan Beach

On a frozen lake it would be 32 miles.

Of course it’s been a couple of Ice Ages

Since the last freeze.

So with a light chop it was only 35 miles.

100 of you demented Homo sapiens

Decided you had nothing better to do

But to hand paddle board the day away.

What the hell, it was all-downhill.

It is really hard to believe

That last finisher didn’t beat you,

I think the guy wanted to be the 100th.

Man, you are some kind of lazy.

Yeah, you were older then most.

OK, everyone else had working legs,

But I know there ain’t no leg work

For fools that spend a day on their stomach.

Sure, everyone waited for you and number 100 to arrive.

Yeah, they made a lot of noise, a hell-of-lot of noise

When they finally dragged your ass onto the chair at waters edge.

Christ, I think half of the crowd was family.

So what do I think? Funny you should ask!

I thought it was the damnedest, craziest,

Most extraordinary thing I have seen...

Since my oldest son’s first step, 49 years ago.