Poetry

More and more of mine, but most are poems by better writers that I’ve found essential. Fun Fact: All poems prefer being read aloud.

Why you need to have one 
is not much more mysterious than 
why you don’t say what you think 
at the birth of an ugly baby. 
Or, you’ve just made love 
and feel you’d rather have been
in a dark booth where your partner
was nodding, whispering yes, yes,
you’re brilliant. The secret life
begins early, is kept alive
by all that’s unpopular
in you, all that you know
a Baptist, say, or some other
accountant would object to.
It becomes what you’d most protect
if the government said you can protect
one thing, all else is ours.
When you write late at night
it’s like a small fire
in a clearing, it’s what
radiates and what can hurt
if you get too close to it.
It’s why your silence is a kind of truth.
Even when you speak to your best friend,
the one who’ll never betray you,
you always leave out one thing;
a secret life is that important.

 

– by Steven Dunn

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  1. Mrs. Jackson is traveling west by train to visit her sister. The distance of the trip is 417 miles and the
    train is averaging 37 MPH. For a distance of 30 miles the train slows to an average speed of 14 MPH. Is
    there a God?
  2. A rock falling at 32 feet/second/second for 16 seconds bounces off a trampoline which gives it an
    upward velocity of 16 feet/second. What is the difference between having lived and then died and
    simply never having lived?
  3. Water is dripping into a 2 gallon container at a rate of two ounces per/hour. With what units can we
    measure justice?
  4. The speed of light is 186,000 MPS. If a woman looks at a sunflower 30 feet away in a mirror she is
    holding 2 feet away from her body, where does love go when it’s gone?
  5. A person is walking down the street breathing with an average tidal air volume of 500 Mls each at a rate
    of 16 breaths per minute. How many do they have left?
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Hugh Miller

 

If everyone drove like me, every car would flow seamlessly through welcoming gaps of opportunity like the teeth of perfectly machined gears.

If everyone drove like me we would put away the cell phones and makeup, hamburgers, and Nintendos because when I was a child I drove like a child but when I became a man I drove away from childish things.

If everyone drove like me, the Tao would be present in every yield and in every pass. The Me listening to Bach would merge in harmony with the Me listening to death metal in a mashup but never a smash-up.

If everyone drove like me, a magic carpet race would replace the crunch at lunch or the drive at five. We would float together in harmony like leaves on the river, like blood cells in an artery.

If everyone drove like me, politeness and speed would blend in a pas de deux of platonic perfection where all are fast and none are rude: Behind every wheel, a philosopher king.

Beautiful justice would be metered out the perfect number of car lengths fore and aft, with order achieved innately as the orbits of the planets.

If everyone drove like me.

 

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