Author: bill

i was so enthralled with the experience

i forgot to take pictures
let alone record it with words

 

 

i should write of zurich
i should write of prague
i should keep a journal
or start an on-line blog

but when i’m in the midst
of some exotic scene
the effort to record it
would really contravene
the pleasure of the moment
the experience as is
flatten out the highs and lows
decarbonate the fizz

 

even taking photos
puts a camera in between
the object and observer
the scope of what is seen

subtracting precious seconds
from one’s immersion in
the culture or the vista
where climate meets the skin

 

what’s true of vacation
can also hold for work
i should record the progress
but i get so berserk
with deadlines and revisions
with meeting the demands

where’s the time to analyze
all the different strands
of thought and creativity
from everyone involved
the input and great teamwork
to get the problems solved?

 

yes i should write of all of it
take lots of pictures too
but when i’m in the thick of things
there’s just too much to do

when it comes to keeping house
i am my mother’s son
though i’m not a legal spouse
i’m the cleaning one
i’m not really a fanatic
and often let it slide
until the dust and clutter
reach a point i can’t abide

 

i’m especially like my mom
if any visitor is due
a repairman coming by
prompts me to face the slew
of papers, mail and stuff
which endlessly accrue
or at least to tidy up
anything in view

 

lately i am finding
this place difficult to keep
i feel like a dirty louse
or at least a clutter creep

 

when we first moved into this spot
those many years ago
it was relatively easy
to have everything just so
each relic had its place
and those places did seem ample
to file or store away
each artifact or sample

 

but through the years we grew
busier and older
with extra residue
filling file and folder
and more and more it seems
the clutter keeps on creeping

out of where it’s meant to live
’til there’s barely room for sleeping

 

clothes escaping closets

books still seeking shelves

papers strewn like autumn leaves
tossed by playful elves
gifts we never cared for
but couldn’t throw away
mementos which are meaningful
with no place for display

 

i have to say i’ve noticed
we are not alone
friends with bigger houses
have rooms now overgrown
with the detritus of living
with things they want to keep
like me they’re on the losing side
of all this clutter creep

we shouldn’t be dining out
but with both of our heads
about to explode
from the difficult day we’ve had
(the hacks having driven us nearly mad)
we’re far too spent to cook
instead we’re splurging precious jack
when we should be cutting back

 

our neighbor got rid of her cable t.v.
a loss we deem a tragedy
we’ll give up taxis
and vitamin b
but not our prized h.d.t.v.
as times grow increasingly black
and everyone’s cutting back

 

now i think twice
before i buy
and price tags make me
want to cry
grocery shopping’s
a continual sigh
staples out of whack
that’s why we’re cutting back

 

coffee at starbucks
is a special event
when it used to start the day
investments raise questions
about where they went
their statements cause for dismay
the thought of vacation
is instantly quashed
as spendthrift and elegiac
a change of location
is quickly kiboshed
because we are cutting back

 

i still believe in butter
but won’t buy the high-priced spread
champagne makes my heart flutter
but i drink sparkling wine instead
even friends who are wealthy
with little that they lack
are finding thrift is healthy
they’re also cutting back

 

financial cycles
do come around
we might see good times again
but i guess pinching pennies
and cinching up belts
will have to suffice ‘til then

i’m usually cheerful
and times when i’m tearful
i treat like an amnesiac
but my strong optimism
now refracts through the prism
of constantly cutting back

waving palm
rising moonlight

laid-back vacation

breezy balm

warm lagoon night

true relaxation

no one to call
no cares at all
sweet reprieve
tropical christmas eve

 

on and on

waves are lapping

by the posada

tension gone

poolside napping

pina colada

nothing is planned

fantasy land

make believe

tropical christmas eve

 

hand in hand

barefoot strolling

down by the shore line

toes in sand

waves keep rolling

under the star shine

faint noel

underscoring

ebb of the ocean

cockleshell

hope restoring

joyful emotion

just you and me

nowhere to be

never leave

tropical christmas eve

tropical christmas eve

tropical christmas eve

i recently had the great pleasure of meeting carol hall, the composer of “the best little whorehouse in texas” … we had communicated years ago because alan stein, an attorney who represented both of us, gave carol the poem which follows … she wrote me the nicest letter saying that no one in the world would understand it as well because she also comes from a ranching family …

 

(for dad)

 

 

the steers are herded

into the sales ring
and the bidding begins
my father
(“cowboy” to all)
sits stoically tall
knowing he’s going
to take more of a beating
than he already has
from these high-strung cattle

 

the battle began
with the branding
and never stopped
foot-rot and runaways
topped by the round-up
when his horse gave way
and he and his steed
tumbled down the hill
sixty-four years of western will
in a painful pile

 

and now the trial
of compensation
the market’s down
and the calculation
of average weight
shows the s.o.b.s

hardly ate hors d’ouevres
let alone the bulk
to make beefy curves
of profit

the ranchers scoff it off
chalk it up
carry on
tear and toil
all gone
for loss

 

and as we cross
these cruel plains
my dad explains
the cattle trade

in my youth i paid no heed
thinking i would never need
knowledge at such far remove
from worlds where i longed to prove
my worth

a birth of understanding
happens on this sunset ride
as i confide
the workings of the stage
and we compare
the nurturing of page
and steers
the months or years
of work
dependent on a single day
when scales or critics
have their say

 

the way our callings
are the same
extends right to the bottom line
for if we reap reward
or not
we both love the work
it’s been our destiny
to pick
and share the bond
of ranching, writing and arithmetic