Chivalric

Bejewled with honor
He divines at last the sacred truth
To live
To be
Demands bravery
The mustering of strength
The command of courage

Like Percival and forgotten times
The same fifty or five-hundred years ago as tomorrow
To love and be loved
Battle scared clutching one's heart

At end of journey
Sunlit banners unfurled
In unseen glory did he strive
In un-witnessed grace did he serve
In unblemished virtue did he search

To his own self was he true
Free at last in his banished state

A Few Simple Truths About Life and Death

In No Particular Order

Every day you don't shave is a good one.

Swimming is the best exercise.

We are not alone in the universe but with out limited lifespans we can not overcome the distances to communicate.

Running to catch a bus just makes it pull away faster.

Make sure to have a working spare, a back-up pair, and plans three including "B" and "C".

Drive defensively because some of those crazy people ARE trying to kill you.

Mythologies and religions aren't real, they are just pimping Jesus, Muhammad, Buddha, Krishna, Moses, or Benedict the umpteenth.

Taxidermy is weird.

Get your shots.

Eat correctly.

Stand aside.

Walk to the right.

Wear a life vest especially if you don't think you'll drown.

Plaids, poka-dots, stripes, and paisley might not work for you.

Big marshmallows are best for smoors which MUST be taken on all camping trips.

Drink mostly water.

Wear your seat belt.

If you are tripping the light fantastic wear a helmet.

One should not allow heavy objects to fall upon one.

Be kind.

Play and have fun 'till someone looses an eye, then be sadly quiet.

Don't litter.

Remember AND keep the golden rule.

Sing in your voice.

Dogs will give their life trying to save yours.  Cats wait for you to die then they eat you.

Farm family Thanksgivings are the very best Thanksgivings.

Trains are the coolest way to travel.

Patience is only a virtue if you have it now.

Be gracious.

Live THIS very day of days.  

Don't actually break a leg, but if you do it's a good thing if you can come crawling.

Clean up after yourself AND your animals.

It really is best to look before you leap.

The madness, anger, and disgust are not there to mess with you it's just a manifestation of our hurting emptiness on this planet we call the human condition.

Be your authentic self.

Listen.

Smile.

Say "thank you".

Love and be loved.

There is nothing wrong with being right.

It takes courage to be a decent human being.

Be courageous.

Put things back.

Enjoy your fleeting life.

Go naked.

Be respectful.

We all start dying at conception, some of us are just slower than others.

AT BAT

All resting on Lefty, a pair of shoulders
He steps up to the plate
Here's the pitch
Change up - outside
One and oh.

Hot glare of the sun
Outfield shadowing left
Fast ball down the middle
Strike called
One and one

Lefty crowds the plate
High and outside
Really chased that one
The call is one and two

Attendance good
Heat considered and reconsidered
Some runs, bats, errors

Fast ball inside corner
A swing and up it goes
Up and up and up
It's outta' here
Tell it goodbye

Cheers for Lefty, pair of shoulders
Doffs his hat on the way home

The loneliest teamwork

For Win

smile joyful

search honorable

intelligence undeniable

heart pure

pulse strong

independently independent

adventurously adventurous

Buddhistly religious

middlely pathed

peaceably at peace

sincerely sincere

lovingly loved

mightily missed

Opening Flower

Like a summer flower

 Her smile is a gift

She can bring joy by thought alone

Watch your heart

Her laughter at class time is a thing to behold

Bold, funny, endearing and searing

A ringing of bells

A knowing of secrets

Her sweetness can smooth hurts

Ask her of mystery

Ask of love

From an ancient land to a foggy sky

My dear Ozlem

My friend

Thinking of you I pray

For your journey, life, safety, loves

Blessings friend

As your heart unfolds like an opening flower

Kevin Watkins © 2010

A poem for Ozlem on the occasion of her engagement – San Francisco, California – October 2010.

POP

POP UPS
POP TOPS
I'LL JUST POP IN
SODA POP
POP GOES THE WEASEL
POP'IN FRESH DOUGH
POP-UP BOOKS
POP TOPS
THE BOSTON POPS
POPPY FIELDS
POPPY SEED MUFFINS
POP OFF AT THE MOUTH
POP A PIMPLE
POP YOU ONE
POP A CORK
POPCORN
POP MUSIC
POP TARTS
POPULAR MECHANICS
POPA SMRUF
POP ROCKS
POPULARITY
POP THE QUESTION
POP A PILL
BOMB POPS
POPS

The Most Holistic Way

she was dressed all in leather
she was spiked from head to toe
she'd got on the bus and started to cuss
and boy did that bus driver go

her chains did more than jingle
her spurs did more than clink
she looked like an escapee from a nut - house hotel
I assume she was the head shrink

more piercings than st. sebastian
more needles than a sewing queen
she was looking for an acupuncturist
to prick about her spleen

it's the most holistic way she plead
as her spikes poked out my eyes
i hope they don't mess up my hair she said
if they do i know someone dies

TEN KINDS OF SADNESS

There are ten different kinds of sadness

They start out at a one with such things

As hang nails or paper cuts

Perhaps the bus was late or too crowded

Perhaps it was your hair

These are the fleeting sadnesses soon to be forgotten

Number two kinds of sadness involve the loss of something

But only temporarily

You can’t find the keys

You can’t find the remote

You don’t remember where you’ve sat your glasses

Number two kinds of sadness make you move

They make you worry slightly

But it almost always has a happy ending

In just a few moments all is resolved

We first encounter the third kind of sadness as children

When we have lost something of fleeting value

Ice cream falling off of summer cones

The favored baseball card lost in some child’s game of chance

Lightening bugs escaping your sweaty hand and the killing jar

The higher numbers of sadness

The sixes and sevens

Are for losses of greater magnitude

A limb lost in battle

A mind lost to war

A home lost to a nameless corporation

A loved one lost to a drunken driver

Things still held oh so very dear

Gone and forever

I would tell you of the numbers nine and ten kinds of sadness

But my soul can not bare such today

Not while the sun still shines

In truth, I am afraid

I’m afraid your hearts would break open wide

I’m afraid you would never forgive

untended lemon tree

small beautiful green nuts growing into sour teenagers

if left unmolested they will grow into fullness

nearing their peak they will mature into an ever sweating nectar

if they get to hang around long enough

they will be perfect for a favorite chicken recipe

or to have as a refinement for caviar

or to properly flavor some sophisticated cocktail du jour

towards the very end

just before the fading

deserts and custards to be shared

or a sacred digestive

if you get to hang around a long time

like the lemons on an untended lemon tree

it will be grand

simply grand

all the while

locked in our bones

is the certain knowledge
like these glorious lemons

we too

one day far too soon

shall succumb to gravity

IRISH LAD COLLECTING DONATIONS

Today it’s the American Red Cross

It could be for children of any color suffering anywhere

But the Irish lad is collecting for the American Red Cross

though you don’t want to be drawn into conversation

though you are broke

you allow him to lure you in

because you like his green eyes and his accent

You had seen eyes that color once

on a girl on the cover of a National Geographic magazine

when you were a young child sitting in a doctor’s office somewhere

“They won’t let me give blood”  He says

“It would make people talk funny”  He says

Though you know it makes no difference

you can’t help thinking some of his blood

might make your eyes green and your skin so white

You realize you are more than halfway towards becoming

the person you have long yearned to be

inside your own skin

with your ordinary eyes

and your own accent

Summer Love

“Some people swore that the house was haunted.  Can you imagine?”  She tossed the paper umbrella next to the AARP card.  “I hope they don’t forget our discount this time.”  She was scanning the pool area for a waiter.

“Um.” He murmured.

“Oh, you aren’t even listening.”  She playfully scolded.

“Am too.”

Having seen her parents old pile of bones laughingly called their summer cabin, he could in fact imagine it being haunted.

Her comment reminded him of the summer they’d met.  He was a lifeguard with a brand new Red Cross card; she was thirteen, electrifying, being trained in First Aid.  Instinctively he’d recognized something feral and dangerous.

“I’m lucky,” the camper had thought, as they’d marched in afternoon woods towards the lifeguard’s secret. 

“That’s sick!”  The kid had spat, when he’d understood the warm, intimate whispers. 

In an instantly blinding rage his hands had flown to the boy’s windpipe.  The child struggled desperately.  It wasn’t until the camper suddenly shifted his gaze and reached out for help that he’d realized they weren’t alone.  Jumping up in horror, he automatically released the boy, who lay gasping.

“I knew it!”  She’d smirked.  With a twisted little smile she’d told him not to let the kid get away.  She’d pointed to where the camper had run into the trees.

Dazed, chocking on thick ropes of guilty bile he watched as the boy vanished.

“Get him!”  She’d commanded, still pointing.  “Go!”

He caught the boy, but with discovery, her watching, and his churning guts, he hadn’t enjoyed that first time.

After, they’d walked down to the lake’s edge, where she had carefully washed him, as he’d quietly wept.

“Oh, stop.”  She’d soothed, and after a time he had.  “You’re only upset ‘cause I caught you.”

She had been absolutely right, of course, and that had made him surprisingly happy.  He felt a smile skip lightly across his face as he lay in the bright sun beside her, waiting for his next cocktail.

“I like you.”  She had cooed, that first day by the lake, in a voice he didn’t know he’d grow old loving.  Heading back to camp, as the dappled light faded, the two young gods had held hands for the first time.  Nothing was ever the same again after that.

sungsang

late night concrete parking lot floor cold
synthesized orchestra ancient thai xylophone drums warm
retro dreads classic long hair glorious young beauties
arizona gas money needed for oregon
musical paradise laidbackness
with skate borders providing dissonant backdrops

i asked the girl beside who was playing
his impromptu concerto of spiritual song
i forget - i forget she said
but in the moment it didn't matter

sungsang - it's one word the clarinetist later told me
if that's what you call an electroincial gizomized magic stick player
the pied piper could only dream about
but only on days with too much sunshine and just enough wine
and his fill of well fed laughing children

ON BEING A POET

You hope that the muse gives you something to say

Something erstwhile and worthwhile and good

And if she should speak

You will write well that day

Just like a good poet should

But if she won’t speak

If she’s nothing to say

You sit and you stare at the wall

You would sacrifice a child

Or a lamb or a goat

If it would just make her call

One must avoid triteness

While aiming for brightness

And please don’t sound like the bard

The reader won’t know

You’ve ripped out your soul

And are spilling your guts by the yard

It’s not easy to be green

I’ve heard poor Kermit lament

Well I suggest he try his hand at verse

Where I know on his street

He couldn’t pay the rent

That is the poor poet’s curse

Sometimes I think I’ll get a beret

Or a scarf

To wear so gaily

But generally I wait for the muse to speak

For that is what poets do daily

Chafing and Bloating

He hadn't actually intended to reveal so much to strangers.  He thought he was speaking to a confident.  Someone to whom one could share his secrets.

She had, after all, seen him naked, sick, happy and sad.  She had nursed him back to health and she had dyed his hair twice.  Green for St. Patty's day, and orange to bring the Giants good luck.  It had worked too, for the Giants won the world series that year.

But this illusion of personal propriety.  This status of trusted confident was vanquished.  If only he hadn't shared his problem of chafing.

"You're what?"  She asked rather loudly he thought.  They were after all, walking down 18th Street towards Mission.  Because the locals weren't able to tolerate anything above 70 degrees,the streets were full of hot sweaty families and their thirsty dogs.

"I'm chafing."  He said.  A bit more quietly, leaning in like she'd taught him.  He was sending her the secret signal for intimacy as previously instructed.  It was their code for me talking to you wanting love, or so he thought.

"Your chafing!"  She said even louder as everyone on the sidewalk looked at him.  When she had everyone's attention she delivered the coup d'etat.  "Are you feeling bloated too honey?"  She smirked and laughed.

But she was laughing at him not with him and he knew then and there, on 18th Street heading towards Mission, that their relationship would end.  He included new retirement plans to his speculation about the benefits of baby powder products.

DRAGON FLY

ancient
flitting
bug eyed
shimmery gossamer
hued green
buzzing almost silently
it's greatest grandparent
a thousand fold older than mine
we're far too young to have learned to fly

I AM AN ASSHOLE

Before you award me with ribbons,
before you engrave me a plaque,
I want you to know it came natural,
I was born an asshole in fact.

I yelled at the doctor who slapped me.
I yelled at the nurses it seems.
I took up the room for two hours or more,
and used up the gauze by the reams.

Upon entering school my plight worsened.
My teachers all thought me a cad.
They would draw straws to see
who was the teach of me,
and the short straw was the teacher I had.

I entered the workforce with guts,
but the boss that hired me went nuts.
I'm a challenge un-sweet to all that I meet.
That's why my carer's in these ruts.

Looking for love is a challenge,
weather I'm up or I'm down.
No matter how I should smile,
my face always looks like a frown.

Where will I go to retire?
Where shall I lay my head?
Everyone that knew me,
and they're sure they saw through me,
will secretly hope that I'm dead.

When St. Peter greets me in heaven,
he'll inform me it's true that I'm bad.
But I'll be the asshole in heaven
and St. Pete and I will be glad.







Kevin C. Watkins - copyright 2011

What Life Has Revealed To Me

there were some wonderful days
the day i graduated from college
i was so happy several people
asked me if i was high
or on drugs

no i said
i'm happy
i just graduated from college for pete's sake

there were the two surprise birthday parties
the only two birthday parties
one arranged by a boy named michael
one by a friend tiffany from school
she drove all the way back from kansas city
her homemade spice cake and frosting were made all the more especial
i loathe spice cake and love the memory

there was the day my third grade student cried
he said i
his favroiatest teacher in the whole world
wouldn't love him anymore because he was gay
i told him i loved him even more now
as if i could have loved him more

there were some lovely days
sadly the were well spaced between
heartbreaks and tragedies
between the taxes and corporations
between deaths and divorces

there were some wonderful days
mostly however
the things that were revealed to me
included not looking too closely at the homeless
least you catch poverty
like a cold

it was told to me
that one should stop
and smell roses
but when you do
people think you are crazy
or that you are about to pick them
without permission

they said that the children should lead them
but the children were told
they should be seen
and not heard

they said that the grass was always greener
on the other side of the fence
but I discovered
through simple observation
that the grass is almost
always the exact same color
no matter which
side of the fence
you are standing on
it all has to do
with the angle of the
sun's own light

the gay man from sunday
said he had
never been discriminated against
by the church

when did you marry that man
you said you loved so much
where were the
it's ok to be gay
sunday school teachers
where were the
it's ok to be gay
sunday school lessons
when did they condescend
to allow you to hold hands
like the other couples do

no they discriminated
in ten thousand different ways
in big was
in small ways
in all ways

they told him in  ten thousand
ten thousand different ways
you are not of worth
you are less than

there were some good days
some brilliant days
with intelligent conversations
with actual philosophers
but mostly life has
revealed to me
my nation and faith don't
by - and - by
put much value in thinking

it's considered
if it were ever considered
threatening to the status quo
thinking is boat rocking
boat rocking is not tolerated

you will silently
be complicit
in the lie
the lie of equality
the lie of worthiness of all
or you will have to go

because we, "want the church back for the church"
pastor jamie will tell you
before he tells you of the hate
how he hates you
how he hates the church
then he breathes in
and pretends
to
be
a
friend
but you will have to go

and when you cry out
to Ron Smith
the top preacher
when you point out the lies
when you point out his lies
"oh well" is all he will say
that is the depth and breath
of his sacred ministry
"oh well" are his exact words

we hate your message so much
your instance on truth
we will condemn the form of delivery
said pastor midgorden
just before he asks
"what are gay people to us"

you will have to go
we don't like that example of thought
thinking simply will not do

there have been some wonderful days
some gloriously fabulous days
the miracle of my son's birth
catching his slimy body
when his mother pushed him out
the bloody blind screaming
quivering mass
that refused to look at me
untill three days later
when he did look
and i could see
he was only half
as afraid
me

this was overshadowed
by his dying in my arms
murdered by a drunk driver
"why daddy"
his very last words

i had no answers then
i have no answers now

there have only ever been
unanswered questions
and we can all see
the good they've done

His Prize Possession

His prize possession is an exquisitely constructed Japanese cricket cage.
It is so special, sooo VERY special, that he keeps it in a box.
He keeps that box in a locked cabinet half-way hidden behind his chair.

"Look!"  He will exclaim, after the ritual of the unveiling.
After moving the chair and with a certain kind of gleam you haven't seen on any one's face in such a long time, and after he reveals the key's secret hiding place.  After opening  the first box, and after placing the ancient cricket cage before you.

"Look!"  He will exclaim.  "Not a drop of glue, not a hint of a nail or brad!"
"The art isn't in the object itself.  The art is in the making of it." 
It's important to him that you understand this part.  This is the teacher's lesson.

Although the ratty thing looks to be about a thousand years old.
And even though it's constructed out of slivers of bamboo thinner than tooth picks.
And even though there isn't a drop of glue not a hit of a nail or a brad.
He will astound you when he leaps up doing a perfect handstand on top of the little thing.
His feet will stretch towards the ceiling and he will wiggle his toes in a most curious manner.
He then informs you that couldn't, just simply could not ever fit back into his cage again.

He will tell you of the songs of the cricket.
He will tell you that those songs are lodged in his soul.
He will tell you of the secret prayers of crickets.
He will tell you that crickets pray for the same things and you or I.
To stand free, on top of your cage and look for drops of glue or hints of nails or brads.

My Friend, When I Meet St. Peter

I don't mean to distance myself.
I don't mean to seem aloof.
I'm not demanding perfection.
I'm not demanding proof.

But when I approach those pearly gates,
When that glorious day begins,
I'm going to deny that I knew you,
I'm going to deny we were friends.

You see I need Heaven
For I need a place to dwell,
And if St. Peter knows I knew you
I just might end up in hell.

Now this doesn't mean I don't love you.
It does not mean I'm untrue.
It just means that if St. Peter should ask,
My answer might happen to be, "who?"

My loves have non-christian friends,
They live their lives quite free.
But if your a non-christian buddy,
Your an acquaintance to me.

I wish you well my brother.
May you avoid hunger and thirst.
And won't you please put in a good word for me
If you should meet St. Peter first?

HOME MADE SOAP

When asked I pretend I'm looking forward
I don't want to seem like damaged goods

But all the while I'm looking back over my shoulder
At what might have been but never was

No silver horned unicorn dancing in an emerald field
could make me believe again

Only the smell of your homemade soap can remind me of when the bloom was new

Only you holding my hand
Only your kiss can restore

Copyright - Kevin Watkins - 2011