a couple poems

i go searching for poems
up to the tip of mt. scott
look out like mountain lion
scouring the oklahoma skyline
hungry for beauty.
down down down
and over into town
to the cafe
to the ol timers gathered around
taking coffee with no cream
mentioning ol bill walker
went in to the big city this morning
cataracts they think
or maybe hips
it was one of those anyways
i sit like gazelle
ears perched to capture wisdom.
belly full of eggs over easy
i go the way of bill walker
to the big city
hunting for poems
to the paseo, to woodward park, to 711 coffee refill
i am hunting, i am gathering
like sponge i soak the images the moments the feelings.
to nichols hills
to downtown
searching searching searching
wondering how ol bill walker is doing over at baptist.
to martin to hear the owls whooo whooo
to bookbeat to see how the real poets did it
to 711 one more coffee refill
fueling up for the finale
to the typewriter
to sitting and staring and sitting and staring
and trying forced lines that end up as wads of paper thrown violently
to the ever growing pile of discards
to frustrations and wondering where on earth have the poems seemed to go
to pouting and sulking
and wondering where in gods universe is the beauty
to emma crawling up on my lap
"whatcha doin daddy"
"tryin to write a poem"
"well i can help"
and i cant help but giggle at her cheerio breathed ambition
and i see where the beauty is
and it all makes perfect sense.







i drive 15 miles
for takeout chinese
cause its the best in town
and i listen to the blabber on NPR
about the economy
the economy
the economy

and i know that maybe
its a different world
in oklahoma
but there wasnt a dang thing
stopping me or the other five folks in line
from getting kungpao chicken
general tsao chicken
vegetable fried rice soy sauce on the side please
and some extra fortune cookies

and as i walked by the nailsalon next door
peeked in
there was a lady with 2 prosthetic legs
getting a pedicure
and a straight up gangsta
complete with LA dodger hat backwards
teardrop tattoo under mean left eye
white leather forrest gump running shoes
oversized dickie sweatpants
something in spanish up the whole forearm
and he is sitting there with his lady
and his hands are delicately placed
for the worker to file away

i jump in the car
flip on NPR
to hear steve martin
promoting his banjo cd

i cruise down hefner parkway
looking at seagulls
canada geese
joggers
all moving towards the sunset
while i listen to steve martin
pick a banjo

comforted
that the cosmic grinning panda
who oversees all small interconnected ironies
cannot be dimmed
by tough economic conditions