My Words

Understanding the World through words

Don’t Study Philosophy

Why you should reconsider becoming a philosophy major.

Look what happened to me:

* I hate academia and macadamia nuts.
* I think way too much—over analyze.
* I can’t buy into the status quo or any presidential nominees.
* I have an outrageous sense of humor, that frankly, no one understands.
* I am bitterly sarcastic about everything.
* I read philosophy to settle down while I drink beer—Thank you Prof. Robin Roth.
* Rather than listen to music on my way to work, I listen to erudite people explain the meaning of things. Everyone finds this boring except “moi.”
* I rather go to a book store and read Dante or Nietzsche than go to a party.
* I have a hard time understanding adults and their silly views.
* Religion and I are bitter polemical friends—
*I am a mental mess when left alone with my thoughts.

If you want to mess up your life forever be a philosophy major.

Advertisements

June Seventh-poem

Feeling unpoetic today—
June seventh twenty sixteen.
I’ve been contemplating
¿why?
I don’t know.
I suppose
I can describe my room:

Wide arch into the bath
nicely shadowed white.
Fan above swirling at a
moderate speed.
The TV’s on but I’m not watching.
Purely background noise.
I’m lying on my bed with legs lazily spread.

My door is open while the light gently slips in.
I can feel the warmth of summer seep in through my window shutters like a thin veil; pushed aside by the
cool breeze of the air conditioner kissing my face.

In Bloom-poem

I just shaved, it feels good
I’m growing out my beard
so the shaving is nominal.
Stray hairs mostly
unwanted growth
like weeds in a garden
I plucked them out.
Now it looks clean again
the flowers are in bloom.

Sailing—poem

Work your magic
calling on fate
My left eye is glitching
Like an analog TV
with static electricity.
The perils of a few more
years under the belt
A few more beers too.
Reminds me of a plump
Beachball someone forgot
that it ends up on the side
of the road
drifting
sometimes sailing with
the wind, until it gets stuck.
Calling on magic and fate
I’m tired of getting stuck
being in a rut—
I like the feeling of sailing along
being carried by the Pacific breeze.

Memorial Day 2016-poem

The live oaks are green
almost impervious to drought—
Alive.
My kids are alive,
swimming in a resort pool
while I watch them
scream with glee.
The grey squirrel almost blue
running up and down the seasoned tree
showing off for a gallery of kids.
Excited, ecstatic, joyous
“Look at the squirrel.”
Alive.
If those who paid the ultimate price
could see what I see,
Perhaps they’d say
it’s a price worth giving…
While the living celebrate life
on another Memorial Day—
and the live oaks continue
to grow green leaves.
Alive.

 

 

Camping-poem

We are messy campers

Our campground isn’t littered.

It’s just that everyone around me

except one neighbor have new rigs,

new trucks, large and expensive toys.

I have a 70’s pop up that I love.

It’s constantly needing attention.

Yesterday, I sewed the netting.

The door doesn’t close right.

The color is faded.

My daughter’s boyfriend Nic

Said, “it was camping swag.”

Like me, he loves it.

My neighbor has

a 70’s camper too.

When I saw his, I loved it.

I told her, “your camper’s cool.”

I finally got the the door fixed.

That got Nic -oohing-

I improved my camping experience

by a margin of twenty.

Even my wife said with a smile and hug,

“I’ll give you a little treat.”

I bet my neighbors don’t get that

kind of attention,

all their toys work fine.

Morning stretch-poem

I turned over this morning
to readjust.
Woke myself up.
My wife is getting ready in the bathroom.
I stretch and yawn.
Good morning babe.
“Good morning,” comes the response.
“I’m heading out,” she says.
Come here and give me a kiss.
I’m still in a morning daze.
She leans over and gives me a kiss
I grab her
playfully fondle her.
She leaves.
I turn around, close my eyes
and go back to sleep.

Photography-poem

Photography captures the moment,
the click click of the shutter.
Behind the veil–
It’s a drama between two actors:

1. Framing our visual experience.
and
2. The complexity of seizing that elusive light.

My fingernails are clean-poem

I poured a bath
not too hot
squeezed a little
shower gel into it.
Squeezed myself
into the tub.
I Scrubbed my body
until it lathered then I
dunked myself into the water.
Like you dunk a donut
into coffee,
until my fingernails are clean.

Open and Close-poem

Another door closes
I saw it coming,
happy for it.
There’s nothing’s worse than
treading in the mud
without a way out.
I have direction.
I have a future.
Another door will open
It always does.