Category: Everyday Lenses

Mid-Calf Tube

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Closest Picture I could find to a mid-calf tube.

Mid-Calf Tube

I will only wear the mid-calf tube from this day on.
I will throw out every other sock I own
And I’ll forget them when their gone,
Pretend the mid-calf’s all I’ve known.

The marvelous mid-calf tube, sweet foot pocket,
Blissful blazes of bleached glory
Busting eyes out of the sockets
That look on to this bright story.

The story when we retire all our other socks.
Is this that day, or is this just the buzz we
Chatter about when we talk
So we can dream of that white fuzzy.

That future memory that’s not so distant
If we’re consistently persistent
In our standards for our socks.
When we go out on our walks,

Or go to the grocery store
We shouldn’t have any more
Mismatched temptations
Yielding pairations

Of socks never meant to go together.
Time constraints should not force a pair.
I dream of a day where
It doesn’t matter whether

I have my eyes open or closed
When I go in the sock drawer.
What are we pre-pairing for,
When we could have proposed

The solution long ago.
It’s time to rise up and take action
Join this mid-tube faction
And Throw out every other sock we know.

Legally Killing My Son.

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*I usually don’t preface poems with thoughts… but wanted to throw a couple things out there.  1). My wife is not currently pregnant.  This poem would prompt the question from some of my readers.    2). where this is coming from:  I was remembering the weirdness of this thought when Matthias (our youngest) was still in the womb.  My wife and I have had 3 kids thus far and with each one of them, it strikes me that the government gives us these “free passes” to kill our children up to a certain age.  Weirder still, if my wife and I weren’t on the same page, then she could kill my child without my permission.

Legally Killing My Son.

The government gives someone else permission to kill my child.
Isn’t that wild?
That my wife
Could go without my knowledge and take a life.
And not just any life, but that of my son.
My flesh and blood undone.
Unraveled, unwound.
Never found outside the womb by this father.
Never seen to be more than a memory
By me without a choice,
Left without a voice.

Rubberized Grip Pen

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Rubberized Grip Pen

Don’t you hate when you’re writing and then
Your pen slips out of your hands?
What you need is a rubberized grip on your pen
So each finger understands

That they shouldn’t give in to the slippery friction
That often occurs when you’re writing
Your pen should step up to an elegant diction
And stop this ridiculous fighting

With fingers that keep on impressing their prints
As the whites of each digit turn whiter.
Your fingers are frustrated writing in stints.
You uncramp, then hold your pen tighter.

But stop the madness, there’s no longer a need,
There are new pens on the market to feed
Your hunger for a pen that doesn’t slip.
Go buy yourself one with a rubberized grip.

Spending Money on Show and Tell

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Spending Money on Show and Tell

They never advertise
So you realize
That you can wait
To work it in your budget.
They’d rather you complicate
Your budget and fudge it.

But while your mentally defending
The purchase in your mind,
That wasn’t supposed to be
More than you typically
Would end up spending
On something of this kind.

They advertise that TV
Or whatever deal you see,
That’s now at a discount
And it’s only “X” amount.

And at that price, “you deserve it,”
So you might as well
Buy it and preserve it
For show and tell.

Avoiding the Death of the Coffee Pot

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Avoiding the Death of the Coffee Pot

I look at the coffeepot and know he’s
Purposefully dripping down slowly
But I’m too out of energy to get up
Walk over and steal a cup
From the drips, delightfully hot
Descending into the pot.

I look at him, imagining the worst
What if the coffee pot burst
And I had no caffeine inside of me.
In vein, he would have died for me.
I’d see my friend’s life come to pass
In broken coffee-shards of glass.

I grab a mug down from the shelf
and make a promise to myself
To avoid this tragedy
And grab the pot more carefully
Than I did inside my mind.
Then pour my cup so I’ll unwind.

sidetracked

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sidetracked

The park was our destination
But my son’s procrastination
Was fueled by acorn shell designs
And spelling STOP signs.

Things that were understood
To be not as good
As the slide
he would ride.

I guess I should slow down and learn
The path his walking weaves.
It’s time for me to take a turn
Enjoying crunchy leaves.

What’s the point of time to spare
If I hurry towards the end,
Not realizing my son’s not there
‘cause he had time to spend.

Black Friday

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Black Friday

I see the same items wheel past me again and again
As if there was some strange force driving us
To wake up blurry eyed and ready to fend
For ourselves in a frenzied fuss

Over things that don’t matter,
Not as much as the patter
Of little feet
That come to greet us
After a Friday fuss.

Thank God

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Thank God

I’m thankful that I have a lover above me,
Three persons that love me,
Take care of me, and provide
All the things I’ve tried
To do on my own
When I haven’t known
Or realized He’s tried
To ease my pain and provide
Everything and love me
While walking with me and above me.

The Superhero Life

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The Superhero Life

I’m living the superhero life
With a wonderwoman wife
An while we work for wealth we wait
With the knowledge that we create
Smiles for our children that can see us flying
In our invisible jet where we’re trying
To get to point B
Translucently.

Our kids see us dreaming together
Whether or not we succeed
They can read our superhero faces
In our comic book of love
Where a written-down picture of graces
Displaces
Any downsides in what we’re dreaming of.

Dignity is Not Based on Duration

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Dignity is Not Based on Duration

There are people that we’ll never see again
People we meet at a party and then
Proceed to ignore
Because they’re not people to us,
They’re not worth the fuss
Of human dignity.

We build fences based on a duration,
Of an undefined relation
With a stranger.
When we know our contact won’t be long
We think it isn’t wrong
To write off the human person.