Temporary Licenses

I these times when
The majority of marriages
Fail the test of time,
And end up in divorce,
What if we were only
Given a temporary permit,
Or if the first time,
A learners permit
When we decided
To get married?
I wonder how many couples
Would renew
Their vows after
Their permit expired.
If a person was
Married before,
But he or she couldn't
Make it work,
Should they still be able to
Apply for a learner's permit?
I know it is a beautiful thing
When a couple who has been
Married for 20 or 30 years
Decides to renew their vows,
But does that mean
They got married
With a temporary license
In the first place?
Is that the secret
Of what made it work?
I wonder which should
Last longer,
A learner's permit
Or a temporary license.
Maybe part of the secret
Of having a great relationship
Is forever being
In the learning mode.
Maybe what is needed
Is lifetime learners permit!

Chess Hangover

Oh No! I did it again.
I stayed up
Two-thirds of the night
Playing chess
And now I am suffering
The consequences.
I am dead tired,
And I feel
Completely wasted,
But a new day
Has already begun,
And is demanding
My attention.
Unfortunately
I never got
Into the habit of
Compensatory sleeping
Until noon,
No matter how late
I finally go to bed.
Every time I do this,
I swear I will
Never do it again,
But I am simply
An incorrigible chess nut,
And enjoy the game
Even when I have to
Pry my eyelids open
With toothpicks
In order to play.
I know I have
Things to do,
But I need today
To recover,
So I might as well
Give up the idea
Of getting anything
Worthwhile accomplished.
At least I can write.
I can practically
Do that with
My eyes closed,
But trying to do
Much beyond that
Has a very low
Probability of success.

Cabin Fever

He had been sitting
There at the computer
Much too long,
And was fighting
Against himself
To get anything done.
The fact was that
His mind was
In open rebellion
Against the task,
And screaming out
In boredom.
He had exhausted
All his usual tactics
Like reading the news,
Or even worse,
Playing mindless games
Like Spider or Solitaire.
He obviously needed a break,
Some kind of diversion,
Something to take him
Away from the tedium
Of the assignment
He was working on.
Really, he needed to get out,
Away from the computer,
Away from that room,
Away from it all.
The way his mind worked,
That translated to
He needed a woman
In his life!

The Fires of Youth

With an amused smile,
I watch their frantic folly,
Reminiscent of my own
So many years ago.
University students,
Young, single and free
Full of angst about the future,
Concerned about
Landing a job,
And covertly focused
On finding a mate.
They sit there in class,
Boy, almost man,
Girl, almost woman,
Desperately seeking
Each other,
Yet though they sit
Opposite one another,
They seem oblivious
To the possibility
Each could be
For the other.

Spider

Spider is a card game
That comes on almost
Every computer sold,
And it may be
The most diabolically clever
Waste of time
Every invented,
For in every corner
Of the globe,
Men, women and children,
Scientists and engineers
Doctors and lawyers,
And even corporate executives
Are wiling away the hours
Repetitively playing
That foolish game,
Many addicted to
Its mindlessness
Just as I am.
I sometimes wonder
Who invented it,
And if they make
A small royalty
Off every copy sold.
Wouldn’t that be
A tidy fortune?
Just imagine
If someone could collect
All the hours spent,
And put that time
Towards something useful,
How much more
Could be accomplished.

Pieces of the Past

Meeting Bill that evening
Had seemed at the time
Like the answer to her prayers,
The fulfillment of all her dreams.
She fell in love with his eyes
And the graceful way he moved
And was a goner
Before the last dance was through.
It was all so incredibly natural
Being swept up in his arms
And making mad passionate love
Later on that night.
It could have gone on forever
Just like he promised
And he probably meant it at the time,
But forever didn’t last too long.
It seemed so perfect,
So unimaginably exhilarating,
Yet in the end he left her
Moving on to someone else.
She was devastated for a while
Virtually giving up on love,
And particularly on men,
When along came Steve.
Now do you think she
Was now passionate and free,
Open and expressive,
And naturally trusting with Steve?
Not a chance!
Where she was aggressive before
Now she was timid,
Where she was boisterous
Now she was quiet!
Where she chased him
Now she made him chase her,
Where she once openly trusted,
Now she was cautious.
Whereas Bill and her
Used to go out to eat
Every single night,
She took cooking lessons
So they could eat at home.
In reality she was not
In a relationship to Steve
But with Bill–Steve
And that wasn’t all either
For there were others before.
There was Danny,
Her first true love,
The next door neighbor
Who suddenly moved away.
Then there was Clark,
Her high school sweetheart,
Who went away to college
And found another girl there.
Who she was in relationship with
In reality was
Danny–Clark-Bill-Steve
And she had already drawn the conclusion
That Steve will leave her too
Based on her experiences before.
The same holds true for Steve.
Who knows who he was in relation with,
And what conclusion
He had drawn
About the opposite sex!
Each one was dragging along
Pieces of their past
And allowing them
To color their present.

The Song Inside My Head

There frequently is a tune
Rattling around
There inside my head
That I can’t seem
To get out of my brain.
It may only be a catchy
Advertising jingle,
Some old time ballad,
A song I heard somewhere,
Or some tune I concocted
But that darn thing
Will take hold
And jump onto
The endless do loop
Of my mind
Where it will be played
Over and over again.
I suppose I should be
More into music and song
If only to increase
The variety of the tunes
Stuck inside my head.

Pumpkin Personalities

October is the month
When we used to take the kids
To the pumpkin patch
At one of the local farms.
It was always a lot of fun
For adults and kids alike.
There were hay rides
And farm animals to pet
And all kinds of pumpkins
To choose from.
The farmer always planted
A huge field of pumpkins
And each person was challenged
To pick the one
He or she liked best.
It was fascinating to watch
How different people
Went about choosing
The pumpkin that was right for them.
There were so many pumpkins
Of such varied size,
Character and shape,
That the choosing
Could be quite involved.
Some people would go for
The biggest one they could find,
Far bigger than they could carry.
Others seemed to feel sorry
For the tiny ones
And collected those.
Still others looked for
The oddest shape,
Taking pity on the sorriest ones.
Then there were the perfectionists
Finding a suitable one
Then searching throughout
The entire field
Trying to find a better one.
Some people chose
Those closest at hand
While others seemed to think
The farther away, the better.
There is definitely psychology involved,
And each person
Appears to have
A distinct pumpkin personality.

Blind as a Bat

Have you ever noticed
How oblivious people are
To the havoc they cause
In their own lives?
Though it may be obvious
To you and to
Almost everyone else
What they do
That causes their fate,
They just can’t see it.
They are as blind as a bat
When it comes to
Seeing the impact they have
On their own lives.
How can they not see
When it is so obvious,
You might tend to ask,
But the same holds true
For you as well.
Without using others
As a reflective mirror
To tell us what
We can’t see,
We remain unconscious
To our complicity
In what happens to us.

Survivor

I counted myself a survivor,
Having overcome
A multitude of challenges,
Faced countless foes,
And fought many a battle,
In my struggle to get by.

The trail was windy and torturous
With my very existence
Seemingly in question
At every turn I took,
And I proceed on the dimmest hope
Of some purpose to my toil.

Yet as I look back at the path I took
It becomes apparent to me
That my struggle to survive
Was a figment of my mind,
That I had valiantly overcome
That which was never there.

Round Two

We had put in a hard day’s work
On a construction project
And it was time to call it a day.
After each of us had showered
The four of us headed off to eat.
We had spent the day
Building an appetite
And were ready for a meal.
There just happened to be
A little Mexican seafood place
Not to far away
That caught our fancy.
Each of us decided to order
The special of the house
And were treated to the most incredible
Jumbo shrimp dinner
Any of us had ever had.
Cooked in garlic butter,
Those shrimp were better
Than any lobster I ever tasted
And they were almost as big.
It was probably a combination
Of us being hungry,
The camaraderie of a group of friends,
The ambience of the place
And the succulent taste of the shrimp,
But we looked at each other
And decided to order again
Against our better judgement.
We savored the first round
But we really had to work
To finish that second round
And it somehow didn’t taste
Nearly as good as the first.
No matter how good the meal
I’ll never to do that again.

Road Rage Transformed

He arrived at work each day
Tense and irritable,
Consumed by the loathing
Of the traffic he encountered
And the multitudes of people
Who were in his way.

Traffic jams
And roadway congestion
Were enough to drive him crazy,
Filling him with rage
At all the roadway strangers
Who hogged his lane.

How dare those others
Impede his progress
And interfere with
Where he wanted to go?
What right have they
To slow him down?

It always seemed
That no matter
Which lane he chose,
The other lanes
Moved faster,
Frustrating him completely.

Invariably there was someone,
Irritatingly slow
At responding
Once the traffic light
Turned green,
Leaving him seething.

Often he would arrive
Muttering under his breath
Cursing some highway person
Who probably
Didn’t even know
The he existed.

Then one day
He decided to relax
And take his time,
To observe the others on the road
And noticed how tense
They all seemed to be.

He realized that
He was seeing himself
In the faces of the others,
And gained awareness
Of just how ridiculous
He had been acting.

Suddenly there were
Millions of people
He no longer had to hate,
And he actually
Began to enjoy
Drive back and forth to work.

Look at all the
Free entertainment he had,
Why there was a road show
Every morning,
And every night
A human comedy played out.

Mental Play

My mind is never idle.
It fascinates itself
Finding patterns and shapes
In everything I see.

It seems to have a need
To define an order to things,
And is always playing the game,
“What does this remind me of?”

The ability to see things
Where nothing actually exists
And the search for underlying patterns
Are not unique to me.

Why else would countless mathematicians
Using the most powerful computers made
Search endlessly for a pattern
Hidden in the number pi.

Maybe it is some ancestral trait
Passed on to me from eons ago
That has me able to look at the stars
And see shapes among the chaos.

My mind can entertain itself for hours
Conjuring up geometric patterns
Out of tiles on a floor
Or random spots on the ceiling.

My mind enjoys itself
Observing the clouds
And playing silhouette games
With them as they across the sky.

My mind can take
The most innocent set of hills
And turn them into female forms
Caressed by the sky in the horizon!

My mind is always at play
Seeing things
In the things I see
In this fertile head of mine.

Collections

I vividly recall
Collecting things
As a kid
Like stamps and coins,
Baseball cards
And even match book covers.
Later on my collections
Became larger
And more expensive
But no less temporary.
I would collect tools and things
That might prove useful someday
If someday ever came,
That is if I could find them
Once the need occurred.
As an engineer
I collected an incredible variety
Of engineering reference books
On almost every subject
In Civil Engineering.
My wife on more than one occasion
Questioned my sanity
Because I bought
So many reference books,
Few of which were ever used.
My decision to take a break
From engineering for a while
Was finalized when I donated
My engineering book collection
To the county library.
The library turned around
And sold the entire collection
To a local engineering firm
For a tidy sum.
Being an avid chess player,
I collected hundreds
Of books on chess.
I have books on
Every major opening,
The middle and end games
As well as collected games
Of the grandmasters of the past.
I would be a much better player
Than I currently am
Had I read many of those books.
Every once in a while
I will get rambunctious
And pull one of the chess books out
With great pretense
And intention to improve my game,
But my commitment
Doesn’t last long enough
To significantly improve my game.
No wonder I have
Such a storage challenge!
I am a collector of things
That interest me at the moment
But my interests frequently change.

A Minor Detail

Imagine trying to sail
Around the world
And neglecting to take
A Passport along with you,
But that is exactly
What we did.
In our rush to sail off
Into the wild blue yonder
From the Island of Hawaii,
That was one of many
Major and minor details
We, that is my brother,
My aunt and myself,
Failed to consider
Before leaving.
The opportunity
Was there, so we jumped,
And didn’t ask
Too many questions.
We just figured
We would resolve
The complications later.
It was something of an issue
When we got to Fanning Island,
A British protectorate,
And the local officials
Wouldn’t let us off the boat.
The worst indignity
For my brother and my
Teenage hearts
Was that they wouldn’t allow
The local girls
On the boat either.
A number of them
Took to tantalizing us
By swimming around
The boat and inviting us
To jump ship.
I am telling you,
We thought about it!
As soon as we got to
American Samoa
We applied for
Emergency passports.
We had spent the summer
Sailing down through
The South Pacific,
So I figured it was time
For me to head back
To the university
To continue my studies.
The only problem was
I couldn’t hang around
And wait until
The new passport arrived.
I just bought the tickets,
Gathered my meager belongings
And jumped on the first
Returning flight I could
Back to Hawaii.
To say that
The immigration people
Get a little uptight
When someone flies in
From overseas
Without a passport
Is an understatement.
They yanked me aside
Strip searched me,
And scrutinized my clothes
As well as my luggage.
They must have had me tell
The story of how I got there
Twenty-five times
Before they finally gave up
And let me go
Some four hours later.
The whole episode
Was kind of ridiculous,
But I was unstoppable then.
I wonder what would happen
To somebody if
They tried that today!

Unconsious Work Habits

There are things we do
Over and over again
That dramatically impact
Our productivity.
Most of the time,
We are only vaguely aware
That we are doing them,
If at all, yet they still
Have a profound impact
On our ability
To get things done.
We may hit
The snooze button
On our alarm clock
Three or four times
Before we
Begrudgingly get up.
We may wait
Until the last available second
Before rushing off to work.
We may routinely put off
A mundane task
Like returning phone calls.
We may have a practice
Of doing ninety-five percent
Of a task,
Then diverting our attention
To other things
Before it is done.
It is these incompletions
And procrastinations,
Our unconscious work habits,
That become a pattern
That runs our lives.

Why?

With child like
Innocence,
We perpetually
Ask why,
Assuming there is
A reason
For everything,
And where
None exists,
Or none
Can be found,
We will
Invent one.

The Writer's Story

Though she was a gifted writer
And had spent half her life
Honing her verbal skills,
None of her books were selling.
The people who reviewed her work
Uniformly agreed
They were extremely well written
Perhaps some of the best
In their genre.
None of that seemed to matter.
She had run the gauntlet,
As far as she was concerned,
Gone through author’s hell
Getting her work polished and ready,
Finding a publisher
Willing to take a risk
And print them.
That turned out to be
Only the opening salvo in a battle
To get the books out there
And in the hands of readers.
Ultimately it was not about the books,
But about how well
She presented herself,
And she was not a public speaker.
She was intimidated by crowds
And was not prepared
To go on the road
Marketing her books,
And the books
Didn’t market themselves.

The Speech that Never Was

He waited in strained silence
Hoping for the chance
To dazzle us
With his brilliance.
He planned his elocution
In minute detail,
Chewing over every word
He proposed to use
Until it sounded right
In his head.
Only then was he ready
To raise his hand to speak,
But by then it was too late.
What he failed to see
Or understand
Was that it was not
The carefully chosen words
From his mind
We wanted to hear,
But the rough, uncut words
Coming straight from his heart
Which would have revealed
Who he really was
Beneath the pretense.

Paternal Instinct

I saw her sitting there
Apparently alone.
With long auburn hair
And an easy going smile
But it was her sad eyes
That drew me in.
She was about seven months pregnant
With no ring on her finger.
Her and the baby’s father
Had gone separate ways
I was told,
But she appeared elated
About having the baby
And seemed to have not regrets.
What fascinate me, however,
Was the strength of my reaction.
I was overwhelmed
By my paternal instinct.
I wanted to hold her,
To take care of her,
To make sure she had somebody there
When the baby was born.
Fortunately, I suppose,
There was no need.
Somebody else had already
Stepped into that role.