Winning the Prize

Women adorn themselves 

in the latest fashion, clothing

identified by designers, even
in cold weather they appear
sleeveless with shoulders bare
catching the attention of the cameras
vying for the best dressed
but any attention is better
than none.They pose for the most
flattering angle, letting their smile do the rest
standing beside men, who in contrast,
are dressed the same, each hoping
to be the one chosen for the prize
for a few hours of work, pretending
to live another person's life
swept up in the façade of Hollywood
a place where people sell their souls
to be the darling of the hour for a trophy

and accolades from their peers.

The Unwritten Manuscript

It swirls about in my brain 
keeps me up at night 

begging to be expressed 
a turn of a phrase like a jewel 

in a treasure chest 
or a golden thread woven
through the tapestry 

but when I sit before 
the typewriter, the words
avoid my fingertips 
sometimes it is better 

to start in the middle then go forward
and backward to reveal the whole tale
but when the lights are out 

and I start to dream the words flow
like a gushing stream 
until I get up to put it on paper

then my mind goes blank

and I must begin again. 

Death of the Daily Newspaper

All innovations have a season 
the town crier became obsolete 
when the printing press was invented

allowing news to get out quicker.

As distribution improved 
and the machines became automatic 
owners built empires keeping the public

informed using advertisements
to pay for the papers delivered
to the front steps of individual homes.

Then little by little, the costs 
overwhelmed the smaller companies,
who could no longer compete with 
the big boys, than all of it went away. 

An invisible intruder entered
the airways, available to hand
held devices allowing people 
to be connected worldwide
often times getting access 
to events as they occurred. 

Word of mouth and social networks
dispersed the news at herculean speed
leaving the newspapers scouring 
the internet for leads. Then one
by one the publishing houses closed,

creating websites to handle digital

code, and then, like the town crier,

the newspapers eventually folded.

Gumball Prize

Ever since I was small 

I loved the gumball machines
they stood like little soldiers 

along the walls of small business stores, 

restaurants, and in the mall.

Sometimes they held M&Ms, 

sour tarts, or small toys. They used 

to cost a penny, then a nickel and a quarter
but didn’t matter what they were, my dad

always dug deep

into his pocket to come up
with the correct change 

so I could take a turn
and get my special treat. 

Catching a Cold

My oldest son, at five years old,
ran around the house

in his underwear, his feet were bare
he was holding a little string 

twirling it in the air
then opened the door and ran 
outside, I shouted, 

“Where do
you think you’re going?” 

He answered back as clear as he could,

“I’m going out to catch a cold!”

Before I could say anything 
his younger brother followed him.

I caught up with the two while they
stood in the yard shivering 

laughing at my distress they turned
and went inside, locking the door behind them.

I didn’t get angry, I was much quicker then,
I ran around to the sliding door 
came up with a might roar

we fell to the ground 

with giggles and squeals

letting the cold slip away

never catching it at all that winter day. 

Tattered Pictures

Torn photos scattered on the floor
pieces of lives lived before.

Did the rodents come in
for bits of paper 
to insulate their nests?

Grandpa’s face looking out from across
the room, his felt hat slightly askew
his eyes somber, mouth sad.

What stories did he have to tell?
There is my mother with hair freshly coiffed,
lips painted dark red and her first born
held securely in her arms, standing

next to an oak tree smiling at the photographer
who must have fallen in love with her
like the camera did so many years ago. 

Little pieces of this and that, the side of a building,
eyes of a cat, years of history now nothing
but pieces of confetti, tossed it in the sky, 

time to move on and say good bye.

Message in the Cards

Some use prayer to get messages
from on high, others seek out

a medium to disclose directions
and uncover the path of destiny.

The method chosen depends

on beliefs, some go directly to

the one in charge while others
ask for someone to intercede

on their behalf, grease the palm
of one closest to the father.

To the unbeliever either method
is in vain, seeking something

that doesn’t exist, designed to give
responsibility for choice to something

outside themselves, therefore
denying responsibility and leaving life

to chance, or sets of circumstance
from which they have no control.

Easier to think a message can be
delivered through the cards

or whispered from the mouth of god
then to feel alone out in the world.