Some sum up an um
With a silence or pause
while others might call it an
to insert an utterance
as um, hmm, or uh since
they stuttered to say them.
*Watch me read this poem from my basement.
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.
“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.”
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.
One “how ya doin’?” really means “hello.”
It’s confusing when it’s secretly inside
The “how ya doin’?” meaning “we should go
And talk somewhere you’ll more likely confide
In a friend, who truly doesn’t know
What it is you think that you can hide”
In a “how ya doin’?” left to mean “hello.”
Let me take a moment and ignore you
Then together we’ll regroup and have a break.
If we’re talking, I can’t guarantee to
Keep on clearly counting sans mistake.
Lets allow conversations to lull
In an instance before we both delve
Into deeper conversations full
Of caffeine after I count to twelve.
Have I done Eight? ‘Cause if I’m off we
Must extend the lull a little longer.
I won’t belate for fear of weakened coffee
But I’ll scoop another scoop and make it stronger.
I wonder why we wander by
The People pulsing past us
Our visual aversions vie
for speech that has surpassed us
vocal chordless conversation
doesn’t lack communication
but relies on the invasion
of our vision’s simulation.
Sometimes it’s hard to think
that your a person pacing past me,
Not an extra on the brink
of a main role in my movie.
You’re someone that is capable of having a bad day
Someone facing obstacles your image can’t portray
But since our conversation lacks an audible relay
I only hear your image to see what you have to say.
Looking at the cracked plastic circle Illuminated
I wait for the large box to fall from the sky.
The logic in this circle perpetrated
With a finger’s second push I deny
That the button’s already been pushed
By the other individual waiting
To step inside and be wooshed
In the act of elevating.
I look at him and crack a smile,
then stare at the numbers descending
He’d been doing it for a while
And I find interest in pretending
I know which doors to step toward.
A ding breaks my trance to guide me
moving as a two-person horde,
A blockade with him beside me,
We move to the silvery doors.
Ready to courteously back away
If a crowd of people outpours
From the mystical box of today.
Horizontally retracting doors hold the notion,
Differing from some sliding glass doors that I’ve known,
With a stickless, StarTrek, inviting motion
We’re ushered inside to be shown
More of ourselves on reflective distorting surfaces.
The brushed metal imagery will help us keep quiet
Lest we find consorting purposes
To interrupt this silencing riot.
We both file in, him first and then me
He decides to go in and secure deep
I egg on conversation and choose to be
The button pusher and pick the first “beep.”
“Floor?” I say to which he responds nonverbally
By extending his hand and retracting it then
In a choice to avoid this hyperbole.
But I push the button again.