podt The Daily Muse: Poem of the Day (POD) #1-10 1. Symphony Life is a symphony to Jack. Everywhere he goes, at every moment, He sits up straight and waves his hands And shouts as if the trees could understand, As if they were the Boston Pops, And he the new conductor, Youngest ever, at ten months old. My son conducts the world, Which is deaf as Beethoven To his passionate commands. 2. Bath Jack sat up in his bath today And got a new view of the water. It puzzled him at first, and then-- A burst of enthusiasm-- He tried to pick the water up, To grasp it like a rattle. The water didn't budge, of course, It exploded like it always does And sprayed him in the face instead. Figuratively he scratched his head And tried again to grab the stuff; He tried until he'd had enough, But, O, the joy in watching him learn, Laughing at his look of concern, His earnest, wrinkled, infant brow, Pondering, puzzling, wondering how This slippery, splashy, warm stuff works, And what it's for. 3. You Won't Remember This You won't remember this, my son, But, O, how you see it now: The penguins and Beluga whales, And the view from the top of the world's tallest building. I wish you could see your face, as I see it now: Licking the Chicago skyline off the glass. You sleep through the tour of Frank Lloyd Wright's house, And are unimpressed with the impressionists at the Institute of Art. It's as if this time is not really happening at all. I sense it now, your forgetfulness, Which makes my memory all the keener. This time is all mine, and you are only a ghost. Oh strange half-person, this poem is My message to you now, Bread crumbs to lead you through your memories Back to the Shedd Aquarium. Back to the sharks that swam up to your face, And the piranhas that couldn't scare you with their teeth. Remember the traffic and the bookstore on Michigan Avenue, The Tappas bar and Uno's Pizzaria? I'll always be there waiting in this poem, This time capsule beyond time, waiting for signs Of intelligent memories, sending out signals And calling out an SOS to childhood. But, alas, I fling myself against a wall, A barrier like death. No one sends a message back alive, No matter what they promise before they go. Something on the other side is too big to understand, Too big to see from here. So even though I know you'll never get this message, Much less understand my intent, Know that I tried to tell you, That I tried to hold back time just for an instant, When the three of us were so happy together That the city of Chicago could not contain us. 4. Eating the Mail We walk outside to get the mail And sit down in the grass to read it, Or so I think, as I hand it to you, And you begin to eat it. It is mostly junk mail, Which tastes better, I suppose. Anyway, you like it. And I like it that you like it. And I like you more than anything This day. I wouldn't trade you For all the trades on the New York Stock Exchange. I wouldn't trade you For nuthin'. And all the bad things that have ever happened to me, And all the bad things that will, Are worth it because I have had this one day, This one moment. And this is no exaggeration; I mean it much more than I can mean it Having you here now Makes everything okay, And the rest can go away And I wouldn't miss a thing. Yes, You've put the whole world out of business. There's nothing left for them to do. They can all go home While you finish with the mail. When we get up to go back in, I rub a dandelion on your chin To see if you like girls. But you just put it in your mouth And smile, Trying to play dumb. You've got other things on your mind, And I wish I knew What this wonderful day Means to you. 5. Reading? First, he sits on his book and tries to read. Then, he turns the pages backwards, upside down. No respecter of chronology or matter. Why can't he and the book occupy the same space? Why can't he turn the pages and sit on them at the same time? He still thinks he can be in the book physically, That there is no beginning and ending. Why did God not let us stay that way, Thinking that the world was just a part of us? Because I could not have this happiness watching him, As I do now, which is sweeter by far than The ignorant bliss he has which is no true bliss Because he will not remember it, just as I Cannot remember when I was as he is now. Just as marriage is better than an affair. Just as virtue is always more dramatic than sin and lust Which are utterly predictable and short-lived. To stay always a child is never to be a child. For childhood is only childhood, After the child becomes a man. 6. Steam or Cottage Cheese Today I sat in the car with you, and we watched The rain, and listened to the radio. I tried This first line out on you; you turned around as if You'd heard a noise in some dark wood that startled you. These words of mine are just strange sounds to you; they might As well be steam or cottage cheese, things to eat or feel. Why should they mean, or be anything more than sounds? It seemed to me you would remember this moment, But just in case, I wrote it down so I could show you (If you remind me) when you're old enough to read. And then I thought, what if the world was small and safe As this, just you and me? And then you fall, we'd be In trouble if I was the one to stitch your head. I'd probably start writing poems and you'd start The car, and that would be the end of us and our Small world. I guess it would not be so great, But let's pretend it is, for now, our very small World, and not go in. You grab the wheel And turn the windshield wipers on; we watch and laugh At all the things you have to learn, and even more, At the crazy people you have to teach you. 7. Body What is it about a body of water That is so seductive? What part of its anatomy Attracts us? The calm and reassuring voice? The ever-lapping tongue? The curves and contours of its coasts? The way it moves and swells? The sheer volume? Or, the absence of all of these? The voluptuous vacuum. A suction of sorts. An empathic emptying Of all our associations. A return to the womb And our wet origins. 8. Weeping Willow Giant man of a tree, As massive and unlikely As a skyscraper with hair Trailing behind in braided tresses. O mighty cross-dresser of trees, You've been around for centuries And still letting it all hang out, Letting down your hair. Samson and Rapunzel Rolled into one. How did you ever make it as a tree If you're as sensitive as you pretend to be? Such thick limbs, and such tough skin, And such long hair blowing in the wind. And one more thing: I'll have what you've been drinking. 9. The Quiet Machine Between the tick and tock, The clock produces silence. A solitary fish in a glass bowl Swishes silence with its tail. A herd of cows on the horizon Chewing silence with heads bowed. A teacher asks a question; The sound of unraised hands. The note just after the final note Is the loudest note of all. 10. Childhood #2 "Ideas Petrify." --Ezra Pound "Organization is the enemy of initiative." --Winston Churchill We don't learn things in order Like machines, That's the problem I've always had With education. It's a messy, fitful, Cantankerous affair. We learn a lesson Here and there, Over and over again; But the learning doesn't end, It just keeps on going And twisting on itself, Getting harder every time, Like a wrestler Learning new moves, And always applying pressure Where it hurts the most. And this wrestler knows your body and mind Better than you. Only it's worse than wrestling against yourself Because she's stronger, Lady Luck, some call her, But I know better. She is anything but lucky, She's earned her stripes And then some. She's been around the block Before there was a block, Before there was a was, Before before. I can't tell you anymore Except she's killing me right now, Ow, that hurts, I give. She pins me to the ground, And there it is, My posturing and posing day to day Pinned and helpless on the mat of truth. My moves are all in vain, But I will try again tomorrow, Because I never learn. My ability to forget Is uncanny. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 7. ---??? Bathtub Poetry The only taboo subject in poetry today Is the idea that anything might really be taboo. And talk of forbidenness Is the only talk Forbidden. To talk about sin that is really sin Is like distilling bathtub gin During Prohibition, Because the radical sect Of the politically correct Strictly prohibits prohibition. So the spiritual drunkards like myself Must continue to buy their scripture At the usual places: The speakeasy steeples Of the new taboo. 11. 10/14/97---epithal---draft #6 Epithalamium1 "Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound" --Epithalamion, Edmund Spenser лапочка ты моя2 Welcome to the mystery, The delicious knot; Welcome to the institution. It's a funny place, Complete with padded rooms, Locked corridors, and men in white. You meet the strangest people there, And each one of them is you, Wearing the strangest clothes And sometimes none at all. Art is kin to madness And marriage kin to art. It's a Catch-23 And God swallowed the key. If you want to get out You're normal, and must stay in. If you want to stay in, You're crazy, and must leave at once. But first you have to ask to leave, Which would make you normal, And you'd have to stay Either way. The real people inside you Will start to emerge Like cicadas Crawling from their crunchy skins. Marriage is sticky Like a pine tree with sap, Your emotional exoskeletons Hunched and clinging To the sweet and bleeding tree As you climb with your green and still-wet wings, Drying as you climb, until you fly And play that eerie insect music with your legs Together, because both of you are new. Welcome to the best thing you will ever do. Welcome to the envelope, Now push it, Lick the sonic boom of joy. You're astronauts now, Forever, Made of the eternally right stuff, Indeed. Splashdown and re-entry Are a blast, When those heat resistant tiles Start to melt, And you begin to pull Those spacey G's As Jupiter's, O, pink moons Revolve around you. Men aren't from Mars And women aren't from Venus. That would be too easy. They're more different than Mere opposites, And more similar Than the same. And many a man has tamed the world And failed this simple game. Welcome to Parris Island, To emotional boot camp. Welcome to D-Day And the storming of the beaches. If you liked Ike, You'll like this even more. Air assault, Hoo-Ah3, Semper Fi4. Amphibious landings are not so bad. You'll see why. The plane you're jumping out of Doesn't merely fly; It soars through time At fifty years or more above the earth, And you'll be falling for at least that long, At a terminal but tingling velocity, If you do it right. One warning, though, You are now officially a spy, And if you are captured Behind the enemy's lines: They have their ways Of making you talk. You may be twisted sweetly Like a pastry. Kneaded like bread. And, O, the delicate, flaky crust Has driven soldiers mad. But it's an all-you-can-eat buffet, And remember, When things get rough along the way, The walls are padded Like the paws of a dog. 1epithalamium=Gr. "at the bridal chamber" ( a song commemorating a wedding) 2Lit. "You are my dog paws." (Russian version of you are my honey bun, etc.) 3Who, us? 4Latin for "Always faithful" (marine motto). Epithalamium1 "Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound" --Epithalamion, Edmund Spenser лапочка ты моя2 for Keith and Paige 1. The Institution Welcome to the mystery, The delicious knot; Welcome to the institution. It's a funny place, Complete with padded rooms, Locked corridors, and men in white. You meet the strangest people here, And each one of them is you, Wearing someone else's clothes, And sometimes none at all. It's a Catch-23 And God swallowed the key. So you're both here to stay Either way. 2. The Love Bug The real people inside you Will start to emerge Like cicadas, Crawling from their crunchy skins, Because marriage is sticky Like a pine tree with sap: Your emotional exoskeletons Hunched and clinging To the sweet and bleeding tree, As you climb with your green and still-wet wings, Drying as you climb, until you fly And play that eerie insect music with your legs Together, because both of you are new. Welcome to the best thing you will ever do. 3. Hangliding on the Moon Welcome to the envelope, Now push it; Lick the sonic boom of joy. You're astronauts now, forever, Made of the eternally right stuff. Splashdown and re-entry are a blast, When those heat resistant tiles start to melt, And you begin to pull those G's, As Jupiter's, O, pink moons revolve around you. Men aren't from Mars, And women aren't from Venus. There is a greater distance between us. We are more similar than the same. Neil Armstrong was wrong: this is the one kind step for man. 4. Hoo-Ah! Welcome to Parris Island, To emotional boot camp. Welcome to D-Day And the storming of the beaches. If you liked Ike, You'll like this even more. Air Assault, Hoo-Ah3, Semper Fi.4 Amphibious landings Are the reason why The plane you're jumping out of Doesn't fly; It swims across the sky Until you reach eternal velocity, The Divine viscosity.