Some sum up an um
With a silence or pause
while others might call it an
increasing cause
to insert an utterance
recited verbatim
as um, hmm, or uh since
they stuttered to say them.
*Watch me read this poem from my basement.
Author: Andy Bonjour
Poet
Me and My Spaghetti
My wife went out to our yard and
Allowed the children to play
While she plucked up from our garden
Ingredients for the day
Of cooking she had planned
With fresh tomatoes, peppers and spices.
Over a hot stove she would stand
Creating some tasty new vices
For me and our dinner guests to try.
These specially made combinations
Were very pleasing to the eye
When presented as calm sensations
But before then, it’s intense
With the chopping and sauce splatters
The mess becomes immense
Although it’s taste that truly matters.
I start to do some reasoning,
And decide to boil water.
While she’s overworked with seasoning
I’ll make the kitchen hotter.
I’m stirring but my boiled over pasta mocks
The way I try to help with cooking dinner
I followed the instructions on the box
But perhaps it’s too advanced for this beginner.
Soon everything’s laid out and ready.
The conversation starts with “who’s the cook?”
My answer’s simply “I made the spaghetti.”
Then my wife gives me that look.
Changing my Routine
Everyday when we go to drink our coffee,
My wife and I have our own assigned mugs
That we place in a consistent spot we
Can find before drinking our drugs.
Leading up to our liquid caffeine
In an effort to hinder delay.
We’ve formed a substantial routine
That keeps us on track day to day.
But sometimes my mug is taken
By a guest who’s come to our house.
I’ll feel robbed, like there was a break in,
And look over to my spouse
Who sees my lost and forlorn look.
The corners of my mouth won’t turn up
‘Cause my own guest went and took
A hold of my favorite cup.
This Parent Rocks
Here’s a warning to those who don’t know,
That as a parent I might go
Back and forth from side to side.
I’m standing still, but still I glide
Back and forth as if at sea,
It’s slowly been ingrained in me.
It started around 2 or 3
Each morning and habitually
Has transformed how I now relate
With conversations everyday.
Be warned when we communicate,
My stance is now a sway.
Scraping the Jelly Jar
In my refrigerator, I disperse
A line of bottles balancing inverted.
My experience and training is diverse
As seen by bottles ready to-be blurted.
My knife enters a jar ready to scrape
The scraps of jelly left along the sides,
As stained glass preserved in sugary shape
Or jammed along that curved lip, it resides.
My P B and J’s are growing thinner
But there’s always just enough for one more lunch
There might not be enough for a beginner,
But this expert scraper’s scraping out his hunch.
And when I’m finished, I’ll return the jar
Back to the fridge to find tomorrow’s knife,
I’ll angle, pry, and slowly raise the bar
Until someday it’s thrown out by my wife.
Blinking at the Naysayers
Blank pages are less productive,
But part of me wants to stare
At something nonconductive
With a fraction of the glare.
‘Cause this light bulb in my head
Will worry, what you might be thinking,
Eyes then close ideas instead
Of writing after blinking.
Happy Birthday too
“Happy Birthday” he said
Which of course then led
To my reply, “You too”.
I should have instead,
If I used my head,
Replied simply, “thank you.”
On Planting Dandelions
They purse their lips and blow
Sweet kisses in the air
Magic miracles to grow,
In a lawn under my care.
But my weed killer is focused
On having miracles ungrown
Once my spray gun’s hocused pocused,
Watch some magic of my own.
Beh-duh Growing Up Soon
Listen to my daughter though you lack her
Simplicity in conversations tried.
Beh-duh beh-duh Beh-duh beh-duh cracker
Beh-duh beh-duh Beh-duh beh-duh outside.
That’s how she talks to me and tells her tales,
A garbled summing up of afternoon.
Cohesive conversation surely fails,
But cohesion kills simplicity too soon.
On the Way to the Well
I live in a place where the water’s unclean
And rather than choosing to drink the unseen
I go to the store for a vending machine
Dispensing five gallons of water that’s clean.
All my containers experienced drought
So last night I gathered them up for my route
To a filtration spot that’s completely about
The reverse osmosis to get garbage out.
Only it starts to pour as I pull in the lot.
I luckily manage to get the first spot,
But I sit in my car because I’d rather not
Get soaked to the bone like someone who’s caught
On a walk unsuspecting the water to come.
I see it, I came to get gallons of some
Cleaner water that’s filtered and not falling from
The sky I fault for this unfortunate sum
Of water that falls down with irony’s pain.
As me and my empty containers complain.
I step out in puddles that think I’m insane
To go out for some water in this kind of rain.
BonjourPoetry 