It's a Wonderful Life...

Everyone knows that Frank Capra's film about a man on the brink of losing everything discovers just how blessed he truly is gets played a lot this time of year. For many, it's a yearly tradition. Last night, I got to watch this beloved classic on the big screen. Yes, for a couple cans of food to be donated to one of the local food banks, a local indie theatre opened its doors and showed the original black and white version of the film.

I got to see it with some good friends, and, what's more, a person who had never before seen the film. I cannot decide whether the show in the seat next to me was better than the one on the screen or not! But as this film always does, it found me contemplating the parallels between George Bailey's life and the real world.

This last year has not been the easiest for a lot of people. Think about it: The economy stinks. Jobs are scarce. Our political structure is a wasteland of greed. We cannot care for our own. We don't know what tomorrow will bring. All the carefully laid plans of generations past are falling to pieces around us while we sit, mouths agape, fearing to do anything to upset the proverbial apple cart, to stunned to move. In scope, our society is sitting on the bridge with George Bailey, contemplating the depths of the icy waters below, and thinking somehow that we might be worth more dead than alive. It's easy to get discouraged.

It hits us all in different ways. The man who taught me to love the written word, for example, has found that he now suffers from writer's block. Several friends are trying to salvage themselves from broken marriages/engagements/relationships. Some are coping with additional pressures in the home - elderly relatives needing assistance, young children chronically ill, a never-ending supply of bills and a limited supply of cash. There are a myriad of ways in which we all experience these trials, these difficulties - and an equal number of ways in which we can deal with them.

But like George Bailey, sometimes we all need a slap in the face to help us see that even through our problems seem insurmountable to us, they are as nothing in the grand scope of our lives, for they are what make us stronger, wiser, better people. Look around, and count all the people NOT smiling this Christmas. In the malls, the plazas, in the churches and schools, in the bars and restaurants - each one of them is a person you can connect with. So busy, they're forgetting the simple joy of being alive. They need a Clarence, someone to jump into the frigid waters to wake them from their reverie, and to discover that their life is still wonderful. Can you be that angel? Even if it's a word of encouragement, an unexpected compliment, holding a door for someone, bagging their groceries as you finish yours, helping them load their car, or holding a Christmas tree so they can see it, or cracking a joke or two while standing in a check-out lane - the choice is yours to connect with these people or not.

What difference will your choice make? You might just keep George Bailey on that bridge. You never know until you try.

As for me, I will say only this: If you're reading this, you probably know me. If you know me, then know that because of you, inn some small (or large) way, you have helped make my life wonderful. Thank you.

Merry Christmas, and may you find Zu-Zu's petals in your own pocket.

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Trimming the tree...

Ahh, that greatest and best thing of all time: The Christmas Tree. Fake or real? Tall or short? White lights or colored? Themed tree or a cacophony of colors and ideas? We have made a booming industry out of the accessories involved with the Christmas Tree. And why? Because it's something that always seems to give us moments of beauty and clarity in our lives, I'd like to think.

I remember when I was growing up and we would decorate the tree (which I had scouted out on the property probably as early as July). In my defence, I was always right. After the last ornaments went on the branches, and there was hot cocoa being consumed and music playing, my father - who somehow only managed to get away with stringing the lights until we were big enough to do it for him - would look and say, "It's the best Christmas tree we've ever had." And the collective groan would go up among us all. Whether the tree was tall or short, fat or thin, full or sparse, it would always be the best three ever, and I didn't understand why or how he could say that.

Last night, I decorated the tree. This year, the tree is - a bit different. For the first time in many years, I'll be traveling for the holiday, and so I'll not be there to take care of a tree. I like real trees, and so, not being there presents a problem for taking care of the tree. But, as luck would have it, my roommate happened across a "Charlie Brown Christmas Tree" (yes, really - it looks just like the one from the special), and we decorated it. I pulled out my two favorite ornaments - ones that my father made, hung them up on the tree and looked at it. And you know what? It's the best tree ever. It may look hideous and deformed, but the point is, I'm here. I'm alive. I'm celebrating this holiday season with friends and family. I may never have a tree like this again....and I may have many more like it - I don'tknow. But for here, for now - it's the best Christmas Tree ever.

So today, readers, take a moment to look about you, and discover who and what make the holidays special for you, and let those people know it.

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Dear Santa...

I remember making out Christmas lists, and filling them with all the toys and various other stuffs that I wanted - those things that would be fun and fill my days with delight. I would wake up Christmas morning, hoping that underneath the tree would be the things I wanted so desperately. And I think that every single time I asked for that specific thing, I never once got it. Instead of an action figure (in my day, it was transformers) there would be a lego set. Instead of that snazzy youth football uniform, it would be the actual football, etc, etc. It was never what I expected, and never really what I asked for.

My parents had a rule: Toys were fine, but they should have some semblance of education to them. Lego sets taught you how to follow instructions. The football would become countless lessons in how to work together with someone - let alone on a team. They had another rule, too: take care of needs first. Just as often, I would find new socks, a shirt or two, and other basic needs under the tree. Needless to say, I was not quite as thrilled with those gifts, but now that I'm older and pretend to be a little wiser, I'm grateful.

But I was reminded of this the other day when a friend asked me what I would like for Christmas. My answer: I have no idea. I haven't stopped to think about it. I came up with a quick answer, though: World Peace. Today, of all days, I thought that giving a nod to world peace might be in order. As many people know, December 7th is the "Day that will live in infamy." - it marks the 69th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor that cemented the United States entering into WWII. It sent our men and women overseas to fight for freedom, and the right to attain world peace. It sent women into the factories to create a labor force while so many men were gone. It gave us allies around the world. And enemies, too.

I appeal to each of you today for my Christmas wish: Practice peace in your daily life. Maybe together, world peace can happen - eventually.

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Season of hope...

So, there I found myself yesterday, sitting at Sunday morning Mass, and the priest brought up an interesting point of the readings. From Isaiah, Romans, and Matthew, he drew upon how each of them speaks of "hope." And, of course, to drive the point home, he mentioned how we, too, find ourselves hoping in this season. A child hopes Santa finds him or her on the "nice" list, while parents hope they have enough money to help Santa make this stuff happen. Many in this day and age have a lot of things we hope for. Jobs, a turnaround in this economy, politicians we can trust, our men and women home safely from fighting overseas, and a myriad of other things that we want.

It made me realize that I hear so many people getting stressed out and upset during this season. They're often mean to others, bitter and unwelcoming. It makes me wonder why, when we're supposed to be in a giving mood, in a hopeful mood, we are instead angry at others - many of them very close to us - our family and friends. There are "realists" out there who would probably remind me that "it's difficult to stay hopeful," and they're right. It's not easy. No one ever promised it was easy, only that the reward, the prize at the end, was worth the effort. But, we were also never told that we had to do it all by ourselves. We need each other to survive.

Don't waste time and energy getting upset about things this holiday season. Instead, I would ask that each time you're really tempted to get upset and rant and rave - any instance where you're going to lose hope - focus instead on giving hope to someone else. A hug, a handshake, an "atta-boy," a word of encouragement, of thanks. Tell a parent who's having a tough time wrangling their children how precious those curtain climbers are. Compliment a stranger randomly. Or a coworker. Thank a police officer for their duty. Buy the person behind you in line a cup of coffee. Especially when you're feeling down, and not particularly hopeful - give hope to someone else. Ask nothing in return.

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

What Scrooge Did.

So, as many of my friends and relations know, the Fat Kid considers himself a little bit of an actor - which is to say that I get on stage every once in a while for something fun to do. About two weeks into most rehearsals, I then realize why I never tried to become a professional actor. It seems many actors audition, get excited, and then spend the rest of the rehearsal period complaining about the show they were so psyched about...only to go and audition for a new show immediately after, and the cycle repeats itself. The cure? A show with only 2-3 rehearsals, one performance, and that's it.

I was lucky enough to engage in such a show for the last two evenings. Yes, one evening of rehearsal, one evening of performance. It was rediculously brilliant, by which I mean that its brilliance was in its rediculousness! The "Ten Minute Scrooge (with apologies to Mr. Dickens)" was nothing but the most famous lines from arguably the most famous seasonal work squished together. No frills, two props, 18 parts, and about 10 people - all having fun on a makeshift stage. My parts: gentleman solicitor #2, Fezziwig, and Joe - one of the merchants at the end...along with playing a bed, a doorway, a gravesite, and a ghost. You know - your average Thursday night. To say the least, it was slightlier more comedic than Dickens's original intent, methinks, but it was all wonderful.

But there are two things I took from this:
1) The Christmas pageant. GO. SEE. ONE. Or six. Why? Because whether it's through a church, a community theatre, a children's school, or even a professional grade full-scale production, it's worth it to laugh, cry, whatever. It kinda goes along with yesterday's post, too, of supporting your community.
2) An often-read passage - and even more often over-looked phrase in Dickens's tale is what Scrooge did when he awaoke Christmas morning. Everyone remembers that he told the street urchin/child/boy to go and get the turkey/goose hanging in the poulterer's place, and had that feast sent to Bob Cratchit's house. Everyone also remembers that he sought out the two gentlemen trying to raise funds for the poor, and he gave them a large amount of cash, saying that " a great many back payments" were included. Everyone remembers that he was telling everyone "Merry Christmas." But do you remember what else Scrooge did? He went to Church.
Before you get the idea that I'm telling you to go to church, let's look at this as a theme in literature only. The Grinch. Any holiday film on the Hallmark Channel. Probably any holiday film on ABCFamily, too. Charlie Brown's Christmas. Rudolph. Frosty. The Santa Clause. You name it - just about every single Christmas/holiday special or story has one common theme: someone messes up, and they must repent.
Whether you have a religious influence in your life, or whether you've wronged someone - repent during this holiday season. Ask for forgiveness from your god, from your friends, from your family. And if forgiveness is asked of you, I encourage you to give it freely, whether or not you've gotten it from others. Repent from the heart, forgive from the heart. The only requirement is that you mean it.

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

A Little Christmas Music...

Everyone knows them - the Christmas standards. All those little songs that we remember only at this time of the year. Everything from Jungle Bells and Frost the Snowman to O Holy Night and Auld Lange Syne can be heard at just about every venue, and even in the car on your commute into work. And it crosses all genres of music - everyone puts out a Christmas CD - except maybe rap and hip-hop....but I'll confess my own ignorance on that part - maybe they record CDs, maybe they don't. I just don't know. But the point is, music makes the holiday for a LOT of us.

So it has been in my life, and the lives of many others, thanks to a community just east of the city of Syracuse, NY, and the efforts of a few individuals over the last 39 years. The select choir of Chittenango High School (shameless plug) has been singing its way through the Christmas season, carrying the spirit of the season (be it secular or religious) with it, and hopefully making the holidays better for a great many individuals.

Thirty-Nine years ago, they began it simply: A concert, held in candlelight, of the choir singing a cappella along with narration from the Gospel (I want to say it's from Luke). As the verses are read - in my days there it was by a respected member of the community and school - the choir would sing carrols from time to time: Joy to the World, God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen - as fit the Gospel telling. It was supported by the community and by the school. An individual's particular brand of faith didn't matter - it was a community event. No one was forced to attend, and yet, it seemed like the auditorium was packed every single year. It was a beautiful marriage of school, community, and faith coming together to celebrate the season. Whether you went simply to enjoy the sound of the choir, the message of the Gospel, or even just because it was a tradition, it was a good thing for the community. It was an opportunity to practice being a community.

Sadly, events like this are becoming more and more rare by the day. Under the guise of the seperation of Church and State, more communities are staying away from events like the Candlelight Concert - because they do not wish to offend anyone, and they are afraid of any repercussions. What a shame - that during the most festive season of the year, communities are now practicing "fear" rather than "tolerance." Whether you believe in the ancient pagan religions that celebrated the winter solcetice, or the Jewish tradition of Hannukah (sorry for any spelling errors), or the Christian tradition of Christmas, or the traditions of Kwanzaa, or even the secular traditions of Santa Claus and Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer - this is a season of celebration, of culture, of religion, and should be a time when we put aside our differences, and celebrate as communities of people who live and work together.

I would ask anyone reading this to look for events in your community that maybe aren't your normal holiday traditions, and attend them. These are people in your community - your friends and neighbors. Get to know them and their traditions.

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Oh where, oh where has the fat kid gone???

Wow - December already? How did that happen? OK, OK, so it's been a long time since the Fat Kid has published anything on here. Why? Well, to those in the know, it's been an eventful summer and fall. For those who don't know and want to know more, send me an e-mail or something - I'm not that difficult to find. Here is not the appropriate venue. Suffice it to say, though, that the Fat Kid has had quite a few changes in his life, and they have left him with no time to blog. But finally, things have settled down, the holiday season is upon us, and so it's time for a monthly project-ish thing again.

So, as I sit here with Pandora playing Christmas music in the background, the snow falling down outside, I am dedicating this month's posts to the beauty of the holiday season, as I witness it fully. Thoreau wrote of how he went to Walden Pond to "live deliberately, to suck the marrow out of life" (ok, not an exact quote) - what better way to experience the holidays than to imitate Thoreau's zeal? No, I'm not suggesting that we all abandon our lives as we know them and go off and live like hermits - afterall, if we did that, why bother writing this blog? No, I would encourage you to look at each moment of your life during this month, and look for something beautiful in it. Especially during this season, find the beauty in life.

One of my fondest memories growing up was a stack of old vinyl records my parents would play in rotation all during the holidays. Now, there were a few secular records, compilations of different musicians singing things like "Silver Bells" and all the classics, and many were also of a more religious bent, specifically from the Benedictine monks of Weston Abbey in Vermont. Those guys can really sing, I tell you. But The record stack would go on the turntable, and the tree would be plugged in, and the lights out. We'd sit and watch the tree. That's it. Just sit and watch it. I would look at the patterns on the ceiling, of pine boughs and colored lights, and a glint of silver or gold that reflected off an ornament here and there. It's something I've always enjoyed. For me, it is a perfect moment - peaceful and relaxing.

Today, I wonder how many moments we get like that anymore. So - take a moment, if you will, and share with me your stories, your moments of peace, something beautiful about your holiday. It doesn't have to be anything specific - it just has to be a beautiful moment to you.

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

SPAM spam-spam, spam spammity-spam SPAM...

I love spam. No, not the stuff in the can called "simulatef parts and meat", "specially processed American meat" or any other version of it that you've heard. No, I'm talking about e-mail spam (thus named for it's closeness to the annoying Hormel product). Now, I don't love it because it's awesome, or anything else - no, I love it because of the humor in my junkmail folder. and 90% of involves some sort of financial transaction - either between me, a bank in Sri Lanka, a Nigerian prince, a dead relative that I've never heard of, or, my new favorite, the one that simply says "I can send you $622.77 tonight!" Dammit, I need $624.98!

So I got to thinking. What other get-rich-quick schemes are out there, and how should I employ them? Hmmmmm......
1) make a "product" to get rid of something silly - like dust mites or yellow heffalumps. Get the ShamWOW guy to sell it. Profit.
2) Start a religion. Demand tithing.
3) Marry someone rich, insist on no pre-nup, and divorce them. Like Paul McCartney or Hugh Heffner. Or one of the former Mrs. Trumps. Oprah.
4) Write something completely insane and provacative and publish it in the NY Times. It doesn't matter what I'd say - the offers would come in.
5) Kill all internationally recognized political pundits. Wait for the rewards to arrive.
6) Claim to know where Bin Laden is. Profit.
7) Find Tyler Durden. Make Soap.
8) Start a production company. Allow it to fail. Escape to Belize with the insurance money.
9) Buy stock in AIG, GM, IndyMac, etc. Their stock has virtually no value anyway. Sue them when they go belly-up....again.
10) Fall down in the correct driveway. Sue the owner for "emotional damage".
11) plug myself into a computer. Claim Steve Jobs told me to do it.
12) Try and fly like Superman. Blame the media.

So far, so good. Feel free to add your own, of course. Ooooo...I just won the national lottery of Uruguay! I better go collect my winnings!

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Of rain, my neighbor's lawn care, and bombs.

A large part of living in Pittsburgh means living in gray, overcast and/or rainy weather. Not quite sure what's so meteorilogically different about this area, but let me put it this way: A pharmacist friend encountered a patron who moved here from Phoenix. Naturally, he wondered why, and asked the patron. The person answered that she had a bout of skin cancer, and it was recommended she move to a more suitable climate and not tempt fate. Her doctor drew a triangle between Pittsburgh, Erie, PA, and Johnstown PA, saying, "Move anywhere inside that triangle and you'll be all set."
So, for a place where it rains so much, why is it that everyone feels the need to go 25 mph on the highways around the city when they're just a little wet? Seriously??? Snow and ice, I understand. We don't get much of those here, and it makes sense to be fearful of them. But water - well, in a city that has three major rivers (ok, technically, it's just the merge point of the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers to form the Ohio) - we know a thing or two about water. It seems that the only thing we don;t know about water is how to drive in it. Yesterday's commute, for example, was a downpour. The car in front of me (with NO ONE in front of him, I might add) decided that it would be prudent on a FLAT section of HIGHWAY, to go 25 mph. Oh - an aside: "flat" in Pittsburgh means there's less than 3% grade. And the driver - I eventually was able to pass the schmuck - was NOT an old person, nor were they a kid! It was a regular, normal, working-age person, completely forgetting how to operate a vehicle!

New topic: my neighbor's lawn care habits. OK, I'll admit my own aren't the best. I cut the grass and try to make it look decently neat. I like to keep the grass to a nice level..2-4" is good. When you consider that 3" is the "rough" on a golf course, it's enough to say that it's "tidy". But my neighbor somehow or other feels it necessary to take a weed whacker to her lawn. No, NOT the edges, and not just where her mower can't reach...the WHOLE lawn. And she trims it down to about 1/2". It then becomes a sickly pale green color - until the sumemr sun starts heating up and turns it all brown by the middle of June. It looks like ass. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if she could keep the weed whacker level, but no, there are streaks where she scalps the ground, eliminating all but the root of the grass. I am convinced the woman simply hates grass - and it makes me wonder why she bought a place with a yard to begin with. Or why she doesn't just put astroturf down. That is at least maintenance-free. And greener.

So - the Pittsburgh marathon was this last weekend. Some friends of ours came in to run the 1/2 marathon - that's 13.1 miles for those of you playing at home - and so we went down to the race to support our friends and enjoy the festivities. First, it rained. For explanation, please re-read the first paragraph. But the fun begins earlier than that!! On our way into the bus terminal for a pre-race potty break, we walk past a random microwave oven left on the sidewalk. Perhaps it was left by a random jitney who picked up someone and would not take the thing, we didn't know. We didn't care. Suffice it to say, we found it funny, but certainly not odd. Later that day, we discovered that said microwave was suspected to be a bomb. Police called in the bomb squad, they x-rayed the thing, found it contained circuitry (really? in a microwave?) and then used a robot to detonate the thing.....and ravioli went everywhere. Damned that suspicious ravioli! Still, it's kind of striking to realize that I walked within 18 inches of this device, and I THOUGHT NOTHING WAS WRONG. Proof positive that turning into a paranoid individual is a good thing!!!!!

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 30...on Day 31??

Alas, with the beginnings of a new month, It's time for the poetry project to end...for this year. Yes, I think I will most definitely be back next year with another month of poetry. There were several goals at the start of this project:
1) get in a better habit of writing every day
2) get over some of my fears of letting others see my work
3) learn more about my style and the medium of poetry
4) practice accessing that wonderful place in my warped mind that helps me write.

On all fronts, this month was a resounding success, and I have a few people to thank for it.
First, my family. While some of you don't necessarily "get" poetry and aren't literature buffs, you always stick by me. Secondly, the army of friends who have been so supportive: you guys (and gals) are the best, and I am thankful that each one of you is in my life. A special shout-out to the women of Steel City Endurance (www.steelcityendurance.com) - never slow down! Thirdly, to my partner in crime, whose insight has been so necessary throughout the many years - Adam, I thank you. Lastly, my wife, whose continued patience and acceptance of the fact that she married a dreamer continues to amaze me: You are my inspiration, my muse, my partner, my joy, my motivation...you are my everything.

And now that we've taken care of business, let's have the final poem of this year's experiment!

The Music

A melody, barely-there, a hint hanging on a whisper,
soft and gentle, each note a caress to the ear
as it starts to build.
A horn, cutting through as the first raindrop
of a summer storm - sweet and satisfying,
welcome relief.
It builds.
Percussive cracks of thunder and lightning,
wind whipping up the seas as the caress turns into fury,
the anticipation over, the storm has come,
bringing with it a music all its own,
a cacophany of sight and sound, of rhythm and phrase,
terrifying and beautiful together.
Nature's symphony, this, only a movement in the entire score.
The Music will change on the morrow,
a new song will begin, and the orchestra will play on.
It is our duty only to listen, to find the music,
and hold on to it with all our power.


Thank you all for reading, for commenting, for "liking", for "not getting it", for wanting more, for wanting to use it, for your compliments and for your criticisms - in short, for coming on this journey with me. Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 29

Almost there. Time to start thinking about tomorrow's poem. It's one of those things that I would love to be important to all who read it, and I have a sort of vision for it, but whenever I try and figure out the particulars of the vision, it disappears. So, while I know what I want to write tomorrow, I have no idea what I'm going to write. I hope they're one and the same...but don't put your money on it!

TOnight, I was watching a wonderful little film - one that I find a nice message in. It's cute, but it got very little playing time in the theatres a few years ago. It's called Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, and it's adorable. It's nothing special, nothing grand - just your average little magical toy store. It reminded me that it's important to remember a few things:
1) You have to BE magic to SEE magic.
2) You have to believe in things like magic,
3) in some ways, it's ok to never ever grow up.


Unstoppable

When the lights go down, and the music fades,
after the ball gown and tuxedo are put away,
and the guests leave, and the band is paid,
and you finally get home,
there is still a choice to be made.

It has nothing to do with money,
children, too, are not a part,
it's nothing that can be decided alone,
it's like a vow you took in front of everyone,
but somehow means more in the night-quiet of home.

It's taking your bride in your arms,
looking longingly into one another's eyes,
and vowing that, no matter the task, no matter the position,
you will be, together, unstoppable.



Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 28

Only two days left to go! As I try and think of what I'll go onto next - and yeah, i know what it is - part of me almost doesn't want this to end. And another part of me says "Oh thank the gods I don't have to think every day!" And so I am equal parts happy and sad. I entertained the idea of maybe not stoping at the end of the month, and seeing how far I could ride this poem idea out...maybe another year, I'll try it. But not this one.

But enough talk of it being over - for now, it's ON!!!!!!

The Path of the Writer

Flying - space and time meaningless
in the search,
eyes closed, breathing normal,
before this strange passenger,
images flash and burn,
forever impreinted in their vague identity.
Such are the visions of inspiration,
sights no man can tell, though though we must try.
We know not why, only that it must be told,
from the beginning of the search until at last it narrows down to a point,
and all that exists, all that live beyond must be put down.
It is a drive the writer will never understand.
He hopes only that after the dust settles, it will leave his vision clear to those who may read.

Yeah - this is probably a little too bland compared to most of what I've written, but what can you do? Sometimes life hands you a bland day, and all you can do is go along with it.
Thanks for reading!

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 27

Alas, sweet friends, our time grows short. Just a few days left of this crazy scheme of mine. I'm almost starting to get sad about leaving it behind. However, I believe that just the other day, I had my second request. Monica, you wanted something for your little girl. I hope I am up to the task. I will try my best.

Mother's Good-Night

Rest now, my little one,
snuggle close, hear my heart.
share the rhythm of its beating
slowly now, be at peace.
Mommy's here by your side,
ever watching with a smile,
from the moment you awake
until the night lowers it shade,
Little princess, don't you fret,
for your Champion is there,
dashing and handsome, awaiting only your favor,
and he shall let noone close in around you.
Sleep in peace, my sweet girl,
dream of fields of sweet clover,
where you and your handmaids play
the games of children,
My sweet, my perfect child,
Mommy's here by your side,
so sleep and dream the night away.


I hope it's what you were looking for, Monica! Thanks for your comments!!

Thanks for reading, everyone!

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 26

Today was a veritable mind-numbing day. Over my lunch hour, I played 5 games of chess. Yes, in an hour. Ummm..yes, I was playing more than one game at a time, and yes...I won them all. But it pretty much shot my mind. Later, a student asked me for some help with a paper, and all I have to say is: "Who is the stupid jerk who thought that Kerouac's "On the Road" was an appropriate piece of lit to be studying in a Lit 102 class?? I really want to hurt this person. I cannot fathom how you would ask an 18 yr old college freshman to understand and then write about a coming-of-age-identity-searching-travel-writing piece. Really? I mean, what does an 18 yr old know about that stuff? Not to say that most 18-yr olds aren't defining themselves in this day and age - so OK, there's ONE argument for it - but unless you think of literature pretty abstractly (and most people don't, particularly if it's something they HAVE to read) then it's next to impossible. A 200-level class....meh, if it's about modern American lit, ok. But the 100-level classes?? Please, it's a survey class, populated by people who are taking the class only because it's a requirement. I don't deny it's a great piece of lit, and important, but this idea clearly wasn't thought through.

Enough ranting about academic crap that I can't change. Let's have some poetry!!!


The Old Man

There is an old man I know,
who sits on his front porch, smoking his pipe.
I am afraid of him.
Smoke curling up around him like stray hair,
winding up and up, tendrils of smelly tobacco
staining the whitewashed ceiling of his porch.
He looks, but does not speak.
I think he knows something,
but he will not say.
He just looks at me with a sort of silly grin,
as if to say, "You'll know one day,"
And I run away back down the street,
to the safety of my own yard, my own porch, my house
my mother and father, my secret hiding-place,
Where the the Old Man doesn't know how to find me.

Thanks for reading!

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 25!

Can it really be, that there's less than a week to go? It hardly seems like it, but it's true. Well, then, I guess I'd better get to work on kicking out some serious stuff by the end of this little experiement of mine, huh?? Well, at least I can try! Let's have some verse!

Lullaby

Sleep, Little One,
for the day is over,
the Land of Dreams awaits.
There you'll be king,
adored by all,
there, in the Land of Dreams.
And a banquet in your honour,
as such there never was,
and princes shall come and greet you,
bringing gifts of finery,
for you are highest of all,
there, in the Land of Dreams.
And the grand orchestra will strike the bow,
and with your queen a dance you'll share,
until all at last join in the royal company,
and dance unto your pleasure,
all in the Land of Dreams.
Until at last, it will be time
to bid farewell for now,
and waking, you'll leave the assembly waiting,
for the king will return tomorrow
to the Land of Dreams.


Not really sure where or why for this one, I just know the idea came to me and I decided to write it. I thought at first about trying to make this more lyric, more musical, but elected not to. To be honest, I don't really care for rhyme schemes - I feel like I'm forced to make leaps that I don;t really enjoy when rhyming. I'm sure it would work, and with the proper scheme and music added, this might work as s singing lullaby, but for now, I like it this way. Thanks for reading!

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 24

What a day - I got to join my wife on a bike ride this morning, and share my love of a sport with her, then we got to see some good friends and have a nice time playing some pretty fun games with them....and THEN the Pens closed out the series against Ottawa! Oh yes, it was a very good day.

In fact, it's such a great day, I think I'll write some poetry about it!


She

She walks in moonlight,
silken beams of elegance filtering down across her shoulders,
illuminating her essence, her soul, her grace.
Gossamer threads of hair trail after,
light and aglow against the dark night,
hearing the call to dance in the breeze.
And dance She does, every step a careful placement,
every bend a perfect form,
beauty and grace on display where none but I may see.
And I wait patiently, observing this nymph,
this treasure, this divinity, perfection,
because in her simplicity,
She has enraptured me.

Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 23

It's your friendly neighborhood wannabe-poet checking in again! It was a beautiful day here, sull of sprin sunshine and nice temperatures. It wasn't anything spectacular - just nice. In short, my favorite kind of day. Couple that with getting to hang out with a dear friend over a couple of beers, and I'd say it was as close to perfect as I'm likely to find. Tomorrow will be more friends, I hope, and if the rain stays away, some time in a park. So keep your fingers crossed for sunshine!!!

But until we get sunshine, here's another poem. You know, because that's what I do. Today's poem takes its start from one of my favorite lines of Shakespeare, and then goes into my tangental offerings. It's a lovely little line that I have always enjoyed. Eternal props to Greg Ellstrom for allowing me to say it.

The Poet's Fate

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact.
Mad men, all, for with their every breath
demons surround them.
One raves against them all, his utterings a self-induced opiate to dull the pain.
The next forgoes all thought and in the carnival of flesh finds his escape.
The last, oh yes, the last, the one for whom there is no end of torment.
His devils follow every movement of pen to page,
Were he to show them, then all is known, and and he will diminish,
but to keep them silent only makes then strong of will.
Fame may be found, but it is fleeting,
He suffers needlessly.
And dies poor and wretched, oft forgotten.
His words lose their pull, and he becomes just a footnote for the next generation.


Yep - thought I'd try something a little different tonight, another experiment, if you will. The very first line is Shakespeare, the rest are mine - though, admittedly, it follows some of Shakespeare's ideas and form...but not the words. Hey, thanks for reading!!

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 22

Some days, the Fat Kid just feels like a good healthy debate. Now, I don't claim to be awesome at it, and I don't claim to be correct. I never claim to have all the answers. With every debate, I hope for one thing: to challenge the claims of the opposing side. Politics, culture, cats vs. dogs, it doesn't matter, I'll debate it. It's a terribly annoying habit that I picked up from my father. I'm pretty sure there are many who would gladly see me trade it in. Sorry, folks, it's part of who I am. Anyway, today's topic of fun was "veganism vs. omnivorous eating habits," and it was going along well until someone couldn't handle the fact that he couldn't difinitively prove that his argument was in every way superior to mine (I was on the omnivore's side, by the way) and he had to resort to put-downs and insults. It made me wonder something: When did we lose the ability to hold a conversation where no one HAD to be declared "the winner" or "the loser??" When and how did it become about winning rather than the quest to simply improve an idea by questioning it? It actually made me quite sad. This man has passion for his belief that I find quite admirable - i'm even a little jealous of it. Unfortunately, a wonderful debate turned personal, and instead of learning, I'm sad and he's probably fuming mad. What a waste.

So now I need to feel better - and a football draft and playoff hockey are just the thing. Oh, and while we're at it, how about I toss in some poetry?

Staring Into Battle

The drums of war beat on,
low voices carrying over the rolling landscape,
undulating with the soft rise and fall -
the earth quakes under its weight.

A general stands at the head of his army,
eppaulettes and buttons shining in the hazy glow of an often-covered sun,
while soldiers - men and brothers all -
shift and slide into their positions behind him.

The smell of nervous men is in the air,
the only certainty- some will not live the day,
not return home, never smile again, or laugh, or cry.
no posthumous tears.

They wait, sitting a knife's edge away
from destruction and triumph both,
for both will be found this day,
the drums sing it out.

A victory march and death knell have the same tune.


I've never been to war. Thanks to all those who have gone to battle, securing our freedoms. A special thanks to those in my family, generations past, present, and future. The debt is more than I can pay.

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 21

OK, so for those of you playing along at home, we're two-thirds done!!! Nope, I'm not making this stuff up - we're really doing it! I've even begun thinking ahead to the alst day of the project, and let me tell you - I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it that far when I started this thing. Yeah, 30 days isn't a terribly long time, but then, trying to come up with something new and original for each of these days isn't easy. It's far from the toughest thing I had to do, but it is still a challenge. Many thanks to those who take the time to read my scribbles.

So, what to write about today? With what topic shall I challenge myself? I've written some simple ones, some more complex poetry, and some downright silly stuff. What to do now? What to conquer next? Yes......this will do nicely....

The Challenge

Pain courses through weary flesh,
slowing the repetitive movements in limbs.
The final push was the worst, and it sinks in only afterwards.
Like the afterglow of a moonlight tryst,
where lovers at last notice the evening's cold,
so does the body realize the torture, after the finish line has been crossed.
The goal attained.

But there is more to come.
For the goal was not the challenge, no,
that comes after.
To wake the next morning, lace up the shoes, ready the bike, step into the water, hit the gym,
Yesterday's moment is gone. and the next contest is approaching.
You know you're not ready.
Too weak, too tired, too lazy, to care -
the challenge screams at you, there is no way to not hear it:
"Beginning is easy. Continuing on - that makes you immortal."



Starting this month was easy. Continuing it has proven to be a challenge at times. Most of the time, I sit down to write, not knowing where I will go or what I will see. But I sit down anyway. PG - this may be what you asked for, I don't know. Props to all those who find their challenge and keep on going strong. It doesn't matter if it's athletics, academics, love and relatioships, or a job. Just keep on going, everyone!

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 20

so like, today's 4/20 duuuuuudes - are you in on the 420??? OK, now that some of you are wondering what the heck that means...I'll explain. For some reason (of which I'm not familiar) 420 means "friendly towards marijuana." Weed, Dope. Ganja. Happy-tobaccy. Muchie Heaven. Yep, for some really obscure reason, the numbers 420 are magical to Ricky Williams. Now, because my mother is reading this I should take a moment to say I've never smoked pot. I have been in the room when it was being smoked, and when the bowl was offered, I passed it on to the next person. So yes, Mom, you did your job well. No worries. But since marijuana has been blamed for some much, including a lot of things from Mr. Bob Dylan, I'm going to channel the pot gods now...oooooohhhhhhhhhhmmmmmm...damn. It didn't work. How about we just have some poetry? (Yes, I know you were wondering how I'd tie that in).


The Americans

An Immigrant working,
bent over the hot steel of the rails,
driving the spikes to build an iron road.
A slave, back crooked and teeth missing,
singing songs of praise on a Sunday.
The old man down the street in apratment 2A - he used to be a plumber,
but now sits to reading, only because he wants to improve himself.
Who sees them?

The man in his business suit from Armani talks on his cell phone,
He is too busy being important to remember those upon whose shoulders he stands.
Without electricity, he is nothing, knows nothing, loves nothing.
Tell me - where are those tough-skinned men and women?
They had the courage to say what needed to be heard.
Today, I'm looking for Americans - and I'm not sure I'll find any.

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 19

Sometimes, there is nothing like a mundane task to set your mind at thinking. So as I was stripping paint this afternoon, I found my mind wandering, thinking of poetry and writing in general. I was thinking about why I write, and who it was that inspired me most. The obvious (and truthful) answer is my wife. She is my Muse. Bang - and then I suddenly remembered the film "The Muse" starring Sharon Stone and Albert Brooks (1999 for you film buffs). What? Stripping paint is very boring - I TOLD you my mind was wandering. In any case, I thought about one of the first times I was inspired to write something by another person. Her name was Julia, and she was a foreign student - Czech, I think - in one of my lit classes. I guess I sort of had a little crush on her for a while, though I never told her and nothing ever came of it. I think I wrote some very bad poetry in her honor, and I may even have it somewhere in the vault, I'm not sure. If I ever find it again, I might share it...if I don't think I'd die from shame by doing so. We'll have to see. Anyway, now you know a little about how my mind works, and for that, I humbly apologize. Let's have a poem.


Puppy Love

Up early. Damned ground is cold.
There was a frost last night,
and I'm out here, holding a leash.
Hurry up, dammit!
Why is she faster when she's inside than when she was out?
You started to go, and then, what - suddenly that spot's not good enough?

HURRY UP!

I can't feel my hands, and you're sniffing the grass.
You already sniffed there. It's the same scent it was three minutes ago.
Why is it so cold?
Just go already, please? Pretty please?
I'll do anything if you'll only do your business so I can get back inside the warm covers.

Oh, finally! There is a God!
Okay, are you good?
Yes, let's go inside.
Good girl.

No, I don't need kisses. It's too early.
No, I don't want to play. I want to sleep.
I need more sleep than you.
Because, if I don't sleep, I can't work.
If I don't work, I don't get paid and YOU don't eat.

So please LET ME SLEEP!!!

Thank you. now - just let me get comfy....

And the alarm rings.




Yep - today's Muse is the dog. She's a good dog, really...but there have been a lot of mornings like the one described above. Why not have some fun with poetry, huh? Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 18

Greetings, everyone! It's been a nice quiet simple weekend at home, with a few things done that really needed to be done. First and foremost: the Fat Kid's wife signed them up to do a ride - not terribly long, 15 miles round trip on flat paved trails. Today, I managed to get her bike fully up and running, new saddle and everything else included. We also managed to get her a helmet finally, so she's officially ready to ride!!! Now, this is not to say that she's going to stay with it enough to race or anything, but hey, one thing that you can share with your significant other is always when good, and when one partner willingly takes on something because the other likes the activity, then life is very good. This is the stuff we should celebrate about one another. And, it leads me to today's poem - kinda neat how life does that, yes?

Junk

Nothing compares to the junk drawer,
overflowing, barely opening, closing only by force,
afraid of looking in there, lest it explode,
everyone's junk in plain sight.

So organized, everything in its rightful place,
labeled, set just so -
you can see everything in the cabinet,
but the drawer remains a mystery.

No one wants to claim the responsibility of cleaning it,
to him it matters not,
to her, it matters, but she's too tired to do it anymore.

Until the junk mail comes on Tuesday,
she goes to put it in the drawer, with the rest of the junk, the mess, the hassle, the odds and ends of life,
and she finds that the drawer has been cleaned,
A simple note reminding her of pure and simple love,
his sacrifice never mentioned.


Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 17

Hah! You thought the Fat Kid was going away for the weekend again, didn't you?? SURPRISE!!!! Nope, I'm here, I've just been gathering my thoughts all day. Believe it or not, sometimes, poetry is hard work, and one doesn't know exactly what to write all the time. Sometimes, just letting things stew for a short period help out a lot. So that's what I've been trying to do all day today - just let thoughts stew see what the soup tastes like. Oh, Big Ol' props to my wife for making some excellent potato-leek soup tonight! It was completely awesome in every way - particularly since yesterday's storms left behind some kinda nasty chilly weather. Well, on to some poetry, huh???

Water

You stab at the water, and it flows,
unchecked, unhindered in almost every way,
fluidity its saving grace as onward it goes, ever down.
Constant motion, the stuff of life
and destruction.
Shapeless, formless, senseless, forgetful -
Shaping our lives,
forming our needs
sensing our fear,
forgetting we exist though we can never forget it.
Oh, to be the water, no memory, no future, no desire -
essential and caring not.
But, unable to love,
I am glad that I am not the woundless water.


Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 16

Ahhh, a lovely beginning to the annual season of storms here in beautiful SW Pennsylvania! Yep, the first of our summer storms hit today, breaking branches, shutting off power, etc, to who knows how many people. Lovely! Actually, storms we get are an interesting sort, and fun to watch, if you have the right vantage point. They are a lovely mix of beauty, power, and danger all rolled into one, and so, today's poem is meant to convey something at least a little similar. I hope you enjoy.


The Storm

Thunder in a low rumble
travels behind the flashing lightning,
the eye heralding hazel and green, itinerantly.
A foul temper of a crazed beginning,
its pattern indiscernable.
Devil-may-care.
It will bend and break all who stand before it,
its fury unmatched in strength and passion.
Right-wrong.
It does not matter, it does not care,
only existing for itself, by itself, feasting on itself
growing in power, strength, determination
finally unleashed in uncontrolable force,
a weapon of screams and earth-tears.

Behind, the placid sky follows,
solid yet foreboding,
reminding us of just how small we are.


Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 15

OK, it's time to throw a little party , being halfway throuigh this little adventure in wordsmithing!!!! Cool, huh? Oh, and let's all sing happy birthday to my mom - she's a cool lady, and is having a pretty neat day from what I can gather, having spoken to her earlier. Mega-props to my sister, who sent her a flower bouquet!! And if any of you know her and sent her an email because of this, I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Also, today is TAX day...yep, so for all who haven't filed yet, the post office is open late, JUST FOR YOU! But since the Man is taxin' everybody's money, I'm not going to tax you too much here. That's right, it's Haiku day here at Poetry Central, and so we'll experiment to day with at least one, hopefully about four of them. Why four?? Well, Adam can guess it, I know....and my mother and wife can get it if they think about it...the rest of you won;t have as much luck...sorry...


Springtime flowers bloom,
unending colors by day;
Rains make it all grey.


Moonbeams dance in fields,
"Fairies, skip hence!" says the Bard,
None believe in them.


Hinds dance in the fall,
as Autumn leaves turn orange;
Blood flows slowly down.


Cold and death prevail.
joy and merriment abound;
Winter's chill lasts not.


OK, OK, it followed a seasonal thing, yeah, yeah...I knew you;d get it. Nope. I will reveal the secret of the number four.....some other day and time. But for now, I shall leave you all a-wondering!!! What, I've gotta keep you coming back somehow!!

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 14

OK, so I'll officially have completed two weeks of the Poetry Project when this update is finished. Tomorrow will be the midway point, as well as my mother's birthday - so if you read this and you know how to get in touch with her, feel free to bombard her inbox with well-wishes! Oh, and tell her I said it was ok! Love you, Mom!!!

But more to the point - the local bike racing season has begun, and as I was watching the races last night, I began writing. Coach Suzanne asked if I was writing poetry (I was, go fig) and asked to read what I had down. When I didn;t post it later, she asked that it get posted today. So, Suzanne...thanks for reading along, showing some interest, and encouragement. This one's for you.

And, for those of you who might be looking for some athletic coaching, check out www.steelcityendurance.com, Suzanne runs the show there, and I can tell you from personal experience that you will not only find a path to better performance, but you will find many friends as well.


Gods Among Men

A strange religion,
devotees of metallic gears and chains,
always striving to be less, weigh less, minimize, reduce.
Less, less less.
All to become greater than you used to be.
The less you are, the greater your potential, the higher the output, the more Glory.
You become a god for your sacrifice.
Your obsession, your pain, the self-inflicted torture,
a masochistic ballet of numbers, data, hours, and untold dreams.
All for a brif moment that is yours to savor.
A victory.


Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, day 13!

Yep, almost two whole weeks into it already! And I have to take a moment here to say a humble "thanks". Yep, thanks to all of you who have offered words of encouragement, advice, thoughts on poetry, and just have come along on this journey thus far. Seriously, it's been fun for me, and knowing that some people are reading along really makes it special, so thanks to all of you!

But let's get on with it all, shall we?

Regret

Tired and old,
decrepit and weary,
a life spent wasted on the business of doing.
Bigger better strong faster upward onward never-look-back,
forgetting who got you there
in the hopes of erasing the past.
Until, in the deep moment, the dead of night,
clothed in the velvety blackness and quiet of the self,
we remember and take stock,

How quickly we put it behind us again when we wake and see
the neighbor has a new car.
Mine is rusty.

Poetry Project, Day 12

Whew! just under the gun here at poetry central! it's 11:21 PM as I sit to write today's update. Oh well, better late than never, and still, we're looking at trying to get 2 poems out to today's blog. OK, then, away we go!!

The Lovers

All is still.
Peaceful and quiet, the simple moments
where noe one cares for anything but the safety of a minimal touch.
To know the pulse and temperature of another,
so much nearer than than the other side of the marriage bed.

The love of another, more than a kiss, a touch,
more than than unbridled energy to be spent upon each other,
waiting for the flashing vision in the eye.
More than all this, is simplicity.
Peace, contentedness, grace: Love.


Cogs

A Man-machine,
drifting, drafting, spinning after another,
desperate to keep the wheel, not wanting to give in, trying to hold back one little bit,
Waiting for the man-machine ahead to crack,
Ever present, the drive, the sprint, the points, the presitge,
knowing that tomorrow, you'll wear a target,
a marked man,
legs of iron, and will of stronger stuff,
Faster and faster, the Man becomes the machine -
until there is nothing left
but the search for the next victory.


OK, these may come off a bit odd. Well, it's sort of a stream of consciousness thing I've got got going on right now. Meh. Not the best stuff I've ever put out, but certainly not the worst.

Oddly, I've found a resource that might help me out. A book on worshopping poetry!!! I happened across it as it came back into the library, and so, I just HAD to check it out and see where it leads/if there's anything interesting int it. We shall see, yes?

Hey, thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Day 11 of the Poetry Project

So, ummm...where did days 9 and 10 go? The Fat Kid was out of town again, this time to help some friends get their campground ready to open for the season. And, since these cool friends like to meet other cool people (and I know a LOT of cool people) please feel free to visit their website, and perhaps even the campground. Mention my name, and you'll start off on a good foot with Lindy and Jim, the owners. Visit them at www.campinpa.com!!!!! Yeah - I don't mind shameless plugs.

But you know what a few days away means, right?? It means we have to catch up! So, I have an option...a three-fer today, or a two-fer today and a two-fer tomorrow. I have no idea which I'll go with, but since the weekend was spent in the glory of an absolutely INSANE amount of leaves and other nature-ish things....guess what the theme of today is?

Forest Spring

Days of warmth and sunshine,
nights of snow and ice,
a desert in the midst of a desiduous landscape,
an oasis in reverse,
almost a perversion of the word,
until, as the silken night envelopes the weary,
A rebirth unto the next morning,
ready to face the labors of a new sunrise.



Echo

The forest echoes the morning Song,
piliated, tufted, red-headed - all ringing through the still naked trees.
Almost virginal, and yet, ancient at the same time.
For this - this readying, waiting, wanting, yearning, moment -
has all happened before.
Centuries of a perfection Man cannot repeat,
all continuing because it simply must.
A Song with no beginning, no end,
Alpha and Omega,
Creation.
Omega and Alpha,
A Song with no end, no beginning,
all continuing because it simply must,
centuries of a perfection man cannot repeat.
Has all happened before,
for this - this readying, waiting, wanting, yearning moment.
Almost virginal, and yet, ancient at the same time.
Piliated, tufted, red-headed - all ringing through the still naked trees.
The forest echoes the morning Song.


OK, I'm going to stop at two today, and do two tomorrow. Why? Because these two are spur-of-the-moment writings, and well, after "Echo" - I'm going to let it go for the night. See - the Fat Kid just had a strange moment: after reaching the "creation" line, I looked, and realized that with some minor puntuational changes, it actually worked. There are a scant few poetic works I want to put my name to. Usually, they all have a certain feeling attached to them, like I've reached a new plateau in training or something. I never know when they're coming, I only know after they've happened. I would put my name to "Echo".

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 8

And here we are again, kids! OK, well, I've not heard much from a lot of people, but I'm plugging on, with the realization that either a) nobody likes poetry, b) nobody cares to create it, and therefore thinks they don't understand it, c) too many lit teachers told you to read everything one line at a time, aloud in class, thereby spoiling what could have been the love of it into unabashed hatred, or d) I really suck at this, and nobody wants to tell me.

I'm praying there is no e) all of the above.

Regardless, I press on!!!!!!!

There's no "_"

Team.
A letter unseen, but oft spoken.
My word.
Thrown about casually, no one understands the grace,
the love, the need, the pressure, the joyful exhuberance.
What do we know about that?
No one has the answer,
and, even though we concentrate most on that unseen alphabet-dweller,
nowhere will he appear.
He has been lost.




OK, enigmatic at best, possibly confusing. Most who bother to read this will probably get it right off the bat, but really, this is just me being VERY silly. I don't claim this is good - in fact, I think it's kind of odd and haphazard, but I hope it leaves everyone with a smile. Just don't think too deeply. It doesn't go deep at all.

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Experiment day 7!!!

Holy Toledo - it's been a week already! It hardly seems like it. One thing I've noticed thus far: I am THINKING about writing more often. This is important. I cannot stress the importance enough, in fact. Particularly in fiction, I find that most of my writing takes place whan I am nowhere near a keyboard - it's when I'm simply thinking about my story, the various things that need to happen, why they need to happen, and of course, HOW to make them happen.

Poetry - particularly sensory stuff - is a LOT like that, I think. It's not enough to say "the sun is bright." You have to consider what to say, how to say it, WHO says it, and why, otherwise, it's just jibberish. Not that jibberish isn't important, either...in any case, here's today's take from my jumbled-up mind. Hope you enjoy!


Left Feet

A tuneless Song is sung in the waking of the day,
a melody which cannot be heard
to a rhythm that can only be felt
in the deep soul-pockets no one talks about.

The great Dance begins,
first a bow and an empty hand,
ritual movements of invitation and acceptance,
submission to the Composer's vision.

The Promenade first,
then the Song takes hold,
expression, form, each unique to the Company.

Here, one counts to be wary of steps,
another marks the turn,
lead and follow, lead and follow,
so the floor spins on its axis.

Except for the one standing in the corner.



Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, Day 6

The Brownlings' Day



The buds of Spring are opening-

unsure and virginal, a vibrant hue.

Plush carpets spread below broad skeletons of trees

as the breeze blows away the chaff of Winter.

Not much remains, now, of the season past,

as life returns to the Verdant Ones.

Theirs is the beauty of the sun -

theirs the briefest hour,

the colors loved by all.

Soon, again, they all become Brownlings,

but today, the Brownlings lay dying.



No preamble today. Many thanks for the comments thus far - almost a week gone in this little project, and thus far, I'm quite satisfied, and have a few ideas of things that I'm going to work on and try to perfect. Some nice workshopping ideas are coming to me.



Looking through much of the past writings, I've noticed that a lot - too many, I think - of my writing centers around "I". Not just the experiential part of the poem, but "I" actually appears in much of my past writing. I've never bothered to really look at most of what I've written.



Today's was written last week, anticipating this month of writing. I hope you all enjoy.



Thanks for reading.



The Fat Kid

Poetry Project: Day 5

Hey, thanks for the comments thus far! Not that I've had many, but the ones I do get are positive, and you have my thanks. You know who you are.

What a fine day in Pittsburgh. 74 with a slight chance of rain for the opening the MLB season here. 1:35 game time. Well, it's bright and sunny, with a nice spring breeze blowing, and I'm hoping for a Pirate win! It's hard to not be a baseball fan on a day like today!! Anyway, on to today's offering!!

I had a suggestion that I should do something with form. Normally, I am not a fan of doing this - as it always seems contrived to me. But, when I read the following words, I thought I could set them down in a decent enough way.

Tatters

Threads beat in the wind
Hanging upon one another
none could stand

Alone.

Each a seperate wire,
a patchwork of simple lines
woven together,
a simple idea their only common dye.

Freedom.

Allegiance to it is not mandatory,
but without it,

The Flag

unravels.




Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poem Project, Days 3 & 4

Everyone makes mistakes, including the Fat Kid. See, I forgot that we were headed out of town for the Easter holiday, and would have no internet access for the weekend. So, today, you get a two-fer!!!! Yep, two poems, one for yesterday, one for today. Happy Easter to one and all. I hope your day was joyous, and you got to spend it doing whatever it is you like to do. Whether Christian, Jew, Agnostic, Kabalist, or even atheist - I hope you spent the day and or weekend becoming closer to whatever moves you.

Morning Prayer

I hear the morning-song of Spring;
The waking of birds to the glow
of a not-yet risen sun.
Cold clouds of life - mist shooting from flaring nostrils

I see the silver-blue sky through the canopy above.
Hues unimaginable in the spectrum we know,
Cloudless, still, and perfect.

And in all, I feel the breath of the Creator;
the breeze through the leaves,
life teeming in wild abundance.

And I am grateful to You, O God,
that I have been here to bear witness
to this, Your Majesty.



Tears

Tears are hot and first,
cooling rapidly on the cheek
as they roll to water the the ground.

How many tears must fall
until the fertile earth springs
forth anew?
until the plants grow again?

When will she no longer need to cry?



Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

Poem Project, Day 2

Kinda hard to have a blog about biking and whatever and not actually ever talk about biking, huh?? Yeah - seems stupid. So, a brief tale:

Yesterday, I had off work and my car needed to be inspected. For those of you who may not be in PA, we need to have this done every year, not once every 2 like NJ or NY. Oh, and by living in a PA city, we have emiisions tests, too. If I lived in the country, that wouldn't be a problem. Such is life. So I have my car at the shop. Incidentally, for those on the east side of Pittsburgh, Bob at MD Autoworks in Wilkinsburg will treat you well - you can trust him. Bob declares my vehicle fit and calls me with the total.

So, I have to get over the hill and into Wilkinsburg to get the car. Fair enough - I have a bike, and the bike rack is on the car. Life is good. So I head off. Now, I'm no good at climbing hills - never have been. I know, I know, it's practice that I need, and the cure to the problem is to keep persisting in conquering it. I make it up the hill eventually, and start down the other side. On my way, I pass through a rough patch of road and POP....a flat tire. I carry a spare tube with me, but I don't have my tools - they are in the car that I'm on my way to get. Usually, I ride on a track, not the road, and I drive to the track...so my tools are kept there.

As luck would have it, I popped in front of a construction supplier warehouse. These guys supply things like industrial generators and small equipment like jackhammers, tampers...things like that. They have a maintenance garage to service the equipment. I need an air compressor and a wrench. It's 15 minutes before they close. Thankfully, the guys working are really nice, and they let me use their tools to change the flat and be on my way. 7 minute change. Not too shabby.

Anyway, on to today's poem. This one is for all those biking friends of mine. Shout-outs to L-A, Mike, Jay, Mayhew, Ben, Suzanne, The Clydesdales, and Patty (Duke sucks.) And I just can't name them all - so if I missed your name, please feel free to insert it here: ____________.

Breathe

Back is hunched, legs sore, air burning through my lungs,
hot and sweaty confines of shackles on my feet,
the mountain in front of me my terror,
for the pain is about to double.
Out of the saddle, a strange dance,
looking as if at any moment, I will simply fall over,
the effort of putting another foot down is so great,
legs are screaming.
The mountain gets steeper in front of me,
the road is straight and narrow,
the only obstacle is pain,
is me.
I only have to remember to breathe.


Meh. It's not my favorite, but it's not bad for 20 minutes of thinking. Most of my poems are hand-written - rarely are any "born-digital."

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid

The Poem Project, Day 1

OK, how to kick off this thing, this experiment, this - my own little Poetry Slam. I'll reach into the vault, and pull out something from a few years ago! Before we begin, though, I'd like to simply say a brief thanks. Thanks to you, whomever you are, for taking this journey with me. By all means, if something I write seems appropriate for you to share with others, please feel free to do so. I'm not suggesting I'm that great, but every once in a while I happen upon something good. Above all, though, I hope you enjoy this ride - I'm looking forward to it.

Something in Common

One sat, book upon his lap, head bowed,
silently letting his mind get lost in
the whiteness of the pages.
Sat another, eyes awake, simply looking
at the passing of people the other couldn't see.
No words were said, no great thoughts uttered.
And yet, in the peaceful quiet, both realized
they shared a common bond.
One stood and walked away - the other left, too.
Opposite paths they strode, but each was changed,
for sometimes, when words are silent, the heart is
able to speak and yet be heard.


I wrote this back in 2000 - I think I was walking outside and saw a couple of people on a bench...or something like that. I know I kind of like this one. No, it's not anything grand or awe-inspiring. It does not take my breath away. But whenever I read it, I am reminded that life can sometimes be simple and quiet, and that those are the moments that sometimes mean the most.

Thoughts are appreciated, comments encouraged, responses are welcome.

Thanks for reading!

The Fat Kid

counting down....

OK, who's ready?? April is National Poetry Month, but it's also National Jazz Appreciation Month!!! It's like the gods have spoken and declared April to be the month of AWESOME. I know, tax day is in there, too, but that's just to balance out April Fool's Day, and keep the attention where it belongs: on Poetry and Jazz.

So, I've had almost no suggestions as to what people want to have me write about, so you're all going to be left with whatever I can come up with. I'm not claiming it's going to be GOOD, just that it will be. But just to get us in the spirit, I'm going to share with you one of my favorites.

In the spring of 1999, I had a wonderful opportunity to hear a lecture given by then Poet Laureate of the U.S. Robert Pinsky. Mr. Pinsky illustrated poetry for me in a way I'd never heard, and ever since, I have found myself with a new appreciation for the art. He simply stated that poems are about sound. Even if you're reading to yourself, the voice you read with is letting a poem's sound ring in your ear. Each letter, syllable, punctuation mark and meter are heard internally, projected by the Voice. I never understood that principle until - oddly enough - hearing it said. And it made sense to me.

So, here is a work of Mr. Pinsky's that I hope you all enjoy. For those in the business of analyzing literature, I'm sure you'll find a lot in here to think on.

The Want Bone

The tongue of the waves tolled in the earth's bell.
Blue rippled and soaked in the fire of blue.
The dried mouthbones of a shark in the hot swale
Gaped on nothing but sand on either side.

The bone tasted of nothing and smelled of nothing,
A scalded toothless harp, uncrushed, unstrung.
The joined arcs made the shape of birth and craving
And the welded‑open shape kept mouthing O.

Ossified cords held the corners together
In groined spirals pleated like a summer dress.
But where was the limber grin, the gash of pleasure?
Infinitesimal mouths bore it away,

The beach scrubbed and etched and pickled it clean.
But O I love you it sings, my little my country
My food my parent my child I want you my own
My flower my fin my life my lightness my O.

"Nature's First Green is Gold..."

Ha! That line should have gotten all of my lit-geek friends' attention!! OK, so I wrote at the beginning of the month that I was gearing up for national Poetry Month and the "Poem-a-Day" challenge. Well, since April is just around the bend, I think it's time to lay down the rules of the Challenge.

1) Submit an original poem per day for the month of April.

2) Comments are appreciated, but not necessary.

3) If you HAVE to leave a comment, please don't let it be a "YAY!", or a smiley, or anything like that. If you like it, great, if you don't, fine...but if you're going to say that you do or don't like it, please tell me where/what it is that clicks or doesn't click with you. I know what I think of each work and why. Let's keep in mind, this is an exercise for ME. Sorry, but it's my blog, and I get to be a little selfish here.

4) If you feel so inclined to post something you've written, by all means, feel free to do so. If you want an opinion, tell me, and I'll be glad to furnish you with one (along with whys or why-nots) but you will otherwise probably just get a "hey, thanks for posting." Just, please, keep it PG-13...it's art, but this is a family show for the most part, ok? Remember, I have deleting power here. Oh - submitting once or twice does NOT require you to take up the same challenge. So don't feel like you're obligated. I am, but you're not. YES - it's that simple.

5) Topics are largely unlimited, but, as I said before, keep it reasonably clean. For all I care, you can write about a can of tomato soup - or just the label - or some verdant pasture somewhere...it matters not to me. There are no grades here, and no points off for spelling. Free verse, rhyme scheme, iambic pentameter (if you must)...that stuff doesn't matter.

6) This is supposed to be fun. It's poetry, and we're playing with sound and words here. So if somebody (me or someone else) decides to write something and it offends you, keep in mind that you're 1) probably not the target and 2) on my blog, so my paranoid/narcissistic tendencies always win here. If you want yours to win, you will just have to get your own blog. Its free and easy.

OK, with the rules stated fully, the timeframe set, you may consider yourself invited to come with me on this little venture. Participate as you will. Above all, I hope you enjoy the trip. I am excited and looking forward to it. I do not know what it will yield - perhaps something great, perhaps the knowledge that I should never try to make a living as a poet (assuming there are poets who make a good living simply by being poets) - I don't know. That's the point of the experiment.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

The Fat Kid.

Upcoming Project: National Poetry Month

OK, so the Fat Kid considers himself to be just slightly gifted with words. Not overly gifted, but slightly. With that note, there's an idea that came into my sphere not that long ago that I'd like to share with the estimated 4 readers that I might have. April is National Poetry Month. The folks at Writer's Digest - even though it appears they didn't think my submission to their pop culture fiction competition worth a winning nod (bastards) - have a cool poetry guy who does this challenge thingy - a poem a day for a month. The idea intrigues me. Of course, it's not just picking a poem you like, it's writing a poem each day.

Now, I don't consider my poetry to be my best arena. Oh, it's there, and there are one or two I like, but it's not my strongest suit. Why? I honestly don't know. If I had to guess, it's because I'm a sensual poet - meaning that I write by what my senses guide me to: smell, touch, taste, sight, sound. The poems that I believe are my best center around the senses. So, this project will be interesting. Thirty days and thirty poems. What kind of poems? I dunno...probably whatever strikes me at the time, and I may go back and use some old stuff if I get in a jam. but I'll leave it to anyone who reads this...what do you want to read/hear?

Customer Relations faux pas....

OK, so the Fat Kid likes junk food. I know, I know, big surprise. Well, I had to get fat somehow. Part of my method for "svelt-inizing" myself, then, has been to cut out most of the junk food. Of course, that does not stop me from stopping by the occasional fast-food joint for a once-in-a-while treat. Last week, I stopped by a favorite guilty pleasure: Taco Bell.

Yes, call it "Toxic Hell", or whatever other nickname you want - it hits the spot when I want cheesy-melty-crunchy-fatty-loaded-with-crap-my-body-doesn't-need goodness. And usually makes me remember why I never ate there often anyway. But, I'd been saving a George Washington for just this occasion, and so I stopped. Why? because they'd been hitting the airwaves with their 89-cent 5-layer beefy-whatever-burrito, and that sounded like the perfect price to get something to tide me over for about 6 months.

So, I pulled into the drive-through, and the young lady on the other end asks me to wait just a moment. Naturally, I have no problem with this, as I have to actually read the 1,000 choice (all under $5) on the menu to make sure they're still offering the 89-cent deal I'm looking for. I find it, and am ready to order, but the lady doesn't come back on the loudspeaker. I wait. I problably only waited for about 2 minutes, but in the strange time-warp that is the drive-through lane, this is an eternity. Galaxies have been created, destroyed, and begun anew in this time span while sitting at the drive-through.

"Hello?" I ask.
"Just a moment, please" said the mysterious disembodied voice of the young lady. "Ok, what can I get for you?"
This is when I realize that I am about to look really stupid, for I know that I have now been rushing the poor lass just to order my precious 89-cent arterial nightmare. And that's ALL I'm getting. Yes, I am now THAT GUY WHO COULDN'T WAIT TWO MINUTES TO KILL MY ARTERIES!!! No, that's not fast enough for me. I proceed to order this tasty morsel.
"Is that it?"
"Yes." Great. Now I am not the only one who knows what a complete schmuck I've just been.
"Please pull ahead."

The window is answered by a young woman who asks me if I've been waited on. Clearly, something is awry inside the Taco Bell (as if you didn't already know that just from the fact that I am at a drive-through). The woman finally gets my order straight, and disappears into the magical kitchen that is built by the same people who designed the Keebler Elves' magical cookie tree interior. She is replaced by the owner of the disembodied voice, who seems your average, normal late teen/early 20-something. Which probably means she was 12, in reality.

Trying to make up for the fact that I have now taken up her precious time by ordering my 89-cent bundle of joy, I decide to be a nice guy, and say casually, "Are you short-staffed today?" This could account for the length of time I was waiting, and makes perfect sense. These things happen. I can understand this, as a semi-reasonable adult. Now, this is where it gets...uncomfortable.

"No," she says as I hand her my dollar. "I was just in the bathroom."

If I had been drinking anything, I believe I would have made my first "spit-take" ever. Seriously? Did I just hear this? Of the million excuses she could have handed me that I WOULD HAVE WILLINGLY BELIEVED, she utters this. Heck, I even GAVE her the best excuse - "Yeah, we're stretched pretty thin" would have sufficed. The following list would also have met with my approval:

"I'm new here."
"I'm training a new person."
"We had a delivery earlier, and I was finishing putting things away."
"We had a difficult order."
"My manager was telling me something."

Any of the above, or anything remotely resembling these would have been acceptable, and I would have thought nothing of it.

No, she broke rule #1 of working the drive-through: Drive-through workers only exist from the navel up. There is nothing below that, because I, the driver sitting at the window awaiting my 89-cent 2:30 AM wake-up reminder of why I shouldn't eat there cannot see anything below the navel of the worker. Therefore, it does not exist. Ergo, bodily functions, even though I KNOW they exist, do not exist on this half-bodied individual!

So, I sit there dumbly as she hands me my change. Thankfully, I notice her nails. They are about an inch and a half long, and painted with some intricate design which probably cost her more than she should have paid. However, it's my experience that women who take such pride in their nails would wash their hands well. If I'm mistaken, please, do not tell me. I do not wish to know. As luck would have it, a small plastic bag containing my 89-cent-er appears, and she hands it out the window to me, wishing me a nice day.

Well, I WAS having a nice day until you decided to ruin it!!! Now, I'm not so sure that I want my prize.

As I left the parking lot, I was debating whether to eat this object just handed to me by a woman coming fresh from the bathroom or to throw it out. Of course, I ate it, realizing that she didn't make it and using my current believe system about a woman with fancy nails.

There are two things I took from this experience:
1) Ignorance is bliss, indeed.
2) Shit happens.

Of films and literature...and films of literature.

The Fat Kid likes movies. No, wait - that's not quite right. If you ask my wife, there is NEVER a day that goes by that I do not quote a movie. She has likened me to the CBS Television character Anthony DiNozzo (NCIS, Tuesday nights - can I get paid for this shameless plug?) wherein I make a LOT of movie references. I don't know why, but movie quotes stick with me. And they're all kinds of quotes, too, even some from really bad movies, and some "guilty pleasure" movies, too.

One such guilty pleasure film is a childhood favorite, 'The Neverending Story" - you know, with the flying puppy-dragon-fuzzy-scaley-white thing named Falkor (called a "luckdragon," for those in the know) where the boy reading the book ends up being IN the book by the end?? Yeah, that one. LOVE the film, and I can't say why - because in truth, I don't even know. So, imagine my joy when I found the text from which the movie gets its title on the bookshelves where I work!!! I checked it out with a wide grin on my face, just waiting to go on an adventure with Falkor and his buddies. Of course, I expected there to be differences between the film and the text - a few name changes, some minor characters dropped or combined into one part - the usual stuff that simply doesn't translate to film all that easily. That stuff, I can deal with.

What I got when opening the book, though, was a lesson in why Hollywood screenwriters suck, and that a great writer in one culture can often appear as complete and utter moron in another. Or that I watch way too many movies. Anyway, I found that I disliked the book. For those who know me, the Fat Kid LOVES books. Even if I'm not a superfan of the author or the style, I can generally find some quality about the book that I like. (And if you're reading this, Becky, YES - there are even things about Martin's tome that I adore.) This book on the other hand, felt, as its title suggested, like it would never end!!!

I was merrily reading along, enjoying the story I knew and loved so well. I came to the end of the story, and realized something: I was only halfway done with the book! Those damned Hollywood producers/screenwriters forgot half of it!!!! I pushed on, awaiting the further adventures of all my beloved friends/characters. And something happened. The pace of the book slowed, idled, and seemingly came to a halt from which there was no waking. I was stunned. Not only were my fond memories falling from their pedestal, but they were being replaced by something even worse: The fear that I was a grown-up!!!!!

Oh, I pressed on, and read the further adventures. I saw a pattern emerge. The Hollywood choosers-of-movie-scripts made two errors, and one incredibly astute judgment:

Error 1) They failed to make the rest of the movie.

Wise decision 1)They knowingly failed to make the rest of the movie.

Error 2)They made a sequal instead. And a third installment, which, if you've seen it, I highly recommend a stay in the nearest psychiatric ward and or visit to a hypnotist to block it forever from your mind.

The Hollywood-ers KNEW that they couldn't sell this movie to the public if they left the second half of the book in, that's why they didn't do it! A few changes, some changed dialog, a little more here, and less there, and they discovered they had TWO movies instead of one!!!! I think this is where cocaine usage was at its highest popular level, incidentally, because it was a horrible, horrible, very bad film, more resembling a pile of dung than anything else. Yes, it's true: not everything out of Hollywood should be remembered, especially if it highlights Ben Afleck's acting "ability", a George Lucas script, or anything ever done by Jonathan Brandis, whose eyebrows do more acting than the rest of him combined. Although - to Bradis' credit, he was still young in this picture...I can only hope he's improved with age and experience.

So there you have it. My childhood fantasies are smashed, I've dredged up memories of very bad films, and my faith in Hollywood is yet again crushed by the overwhelming idiocy that reigns supreme in the front offices of movie studios. One of these days I will remind myself to not tempt fate and read the books from whence movies come. Well, unless it's a Michael Chrichton (RIP) novel.