Okay, I’m going to ask Billy Collins
To sign his book.

He’ right over there.
Not 20 feet from me.

He just ate a banana.
And read an article
In the local paper

Minding his own business
At a table in the hotel lobby

About to speak to
A
Few
Thousand
English teachers

He’s talking with a friend
Right now

Should I interrupt?

How many chances to do you get
In
Life?
.
.
.
Did it.

Very gracious.

Signed my book,
Said hi to my students
In my voice recorder.

Feelin’ the rush
Flowing through me.

You
Know what I mean,
If he’s spoken to you
In “Forgetfulness,”
“The Art of Drowning,”
Or
“Another Reason I Don’t Keep A Gun
In the House”

You
Know.

Keep speaking, Billy.
And thanks.
You rock.

Karen reminded me
Of a cross between my mother-in-law
And Carol Burnett.

Her flight directions
Had extra emphasis
As if she were mocking herself.

“For your safety, keep that seatbelt fastened”

When she handed me
My napkin, saying,
“Here’s your advertisement”
I knew

“Continental is celebrating 75 years
1934-2009”

The other 27 people
On our flight knew,
Especially the guy behind me —
He wanted coffee
In the midst of our jolting ride

“It’s a tad bumpy for coffee, but hey,
You’re an adult.
I’ll pour you some up there
We’ll see how much makes it back.”

Most of the flight
She sat there
Staring at us.
She became Sister Mary Margaret
Overseeing
Our weird CCD fieldtrip.

“If Cleveland, Ohio is your final destination”

Long

Pause

(you might want to rethink your decision…and)

“you’ll need to your find your luggage.”

—–
{Again, the date says 11/20, but I wrote this late on 11/19, so it counts for my Thursday poem}

I don’t love anything
Like I love her;
It’s a glorious, complicated relationship;
Unconditional and frustrating;
Comfortable, reassuring, pleasing, and confusing.

I get her
a glass of water,
I know she wants one;
She writes me a note, places it in my bag,
as a surprise;
we plan a get-away,
over and over again,
and sometimes,
we even get there;
when actually, every day
is a slice
of paradise.

——-
Again, I thank Kevin for the forethought of his Voicethread.

My favorite dream
of all time
is when I soar
around MSU’s campus

I look in the windows
of the library
as if looking for myself
in deep thought

I usually frequent
the Red Cedar River’s rapids
following the river downstream
to that proud, though tiny, statue,
that is Sparty

My Spartan Stadium fly-by
is something out of a sim computer game
and the band’s kick-step
looks almost war-like
from above

Recently, a student asked me
what animal I would be

I’m all about the larger-than-life eagle
reaching unheard of altitudes
soaring effortlessly down
in slow spirals

and snatching a bass right out of the river

Haven’t seen an eagle
at MSU
except
in my reflection

Some people just have their ducks in a row. I like knowing people like this (especially when they are generous) because I can use their “togetherness” for my own poeming. In the following poem, I’m referring to the goldfish in Kevin’s Voicethread.

The mouth of this goldfish
Looks deeper
Than the goldfish itself.
Mr. Goldfish appears to be
Coming up for a desperate
Breath of air
Like I might
If I was a tad overweight,
49 year old, Armenian
Goldfish.

I’m working on an idea for a poem

It’s working title is “Theories”

I’m trying to make interesting observations
Odd connections
Relationships between things one might not expect

There are weird things happening all the time
Getting them down on paper is the hard part

Colleagues who call me Mr. Kabodian
Think they are being respectful
Just make me feel old

And

The fact that my dentist reminds me of that scary clown
From my childhood

And

I tend to notice less black squirrels
In upper middle class neighborhoods

And

People who like Math
Are harder to please

And

The same ten people get their Editorials
Printed in the newspaper
All the time

All of the theories/observations
Would have some theme or make some point
About the complexities of life
Or its quirks

I’m not sure I’m a deep enough thinker
To pull this poem off

But if I can put it all together
I’d be very pleased

Did you want to know all of this?

Back in the 90's
I looked forward to the bird cloud
Visiting East Lansing

There was a certain power
And grace to their amoeba-like,
Dance in the sky.

One time, I remember,
They swooped fairly low near the sidewalk.
I still regret not jumping up to join them.

Their fleeting invitation became
My blown chance
At freedom.

Apparently, my bird friends
Are still getting together.
Just not here.

So, I suppose,
I need to fly to Denmark
For another chance.

I’m not feeling creative
I think I need the night off
No, this isn’t a poem
This is me giving reasons/excuses
for going to bed instead of trying
to be creative
Tired, cranky, bit of a head cold, not in the mood
good night
be well

In honor of seeing Julie Andrews next week at the NCTE Annual Conference in Philadelphia, I wrote a poem about a few of my favorite things.
me singing \"Ode to Julie Andrews\"

A cold glass of water, after hard labor;
Stopping a forward from scoring at point blank;
Just about any opportunity to sing —
These are a few of my favorite things.

When thought’s gone,
When the Spartan lose,
When I’m overwhelmed…

I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don’t feel so old.

Making the time to write all of these verses;
Walking with Judy and planning a getaway;
Joking around with my students once more —
These are a few of my favorite things.

When I can’t rhyme,
When the bills come,
When it’s dark too soon…

I simply dismember by most favoritest stuff
And then I don’t care that much.

Audio version of the poem

I drop Aaron off
At the CATA bus sometimes

Today, the bus arrived
Right before we pulled up
So I raced ahead two stops
Dropped him off at the Beal Street stop
Where I used to get on in college

It was smooth.

That put me in a different spot
On a crisp, cool morning.
And I noticed the sunrise
As if it were the first time
I’d really seen it.

(Think, Oklahoma, the musical)

There’s a thin, crunchy frost on the dead leaves
There’s a thin, crunchy frost on the dead leaves
The sun low in the sky makes me nearly cry
And its glow is reflecting far and wide

Oh what a beautiful morning
Oh what a new day is born
I don’t how long I can do this thing
I should really stop before somebody gets hurt.

« Previous PageNext Page »