What I'm Not

I am not median, only mean.
I am not God and Country.
I am not friends and family.
I am not as seen on TV.

I am not opposed to alone.
I am not clinging
To any youthful longing
That Someday Someone
Special will come along,
Or that (s)he will understand,

and I am not giving up my Pen,
Who sure knows how to pretend.

What I Am

I am a patriot in an academic army.
I am arrayed against the forces
Of ignorance and anti-intellectualism.
I am in command of the scratch-paper and hoops.
I am a veteran of, on average,
About two more hoops than you.
I am less my knowledge than my experience,
and in the classroom,
I am only as credible as my volume of writing.

...Said Diogenes to Dilbert (with Apologies to Diogenes)

They say to stop choosing for looks; go with brains,
But which part?  Do I pick politics or religion?
Should she inspire me to do fun things or duties?
There's a maximum one way just one person can suit me.
It seems my life came with a salary cap,
Which once seemed like a trap, or even a slap,
Like my ex dating a slacker who plays guitar and sings,
(I guess unemployed musicians are her newest 'thing'.)
Or the crush who said literate guys make her purr,
Who's engaged now, to somebody dumber than her,

But what once raised a burn doesn't now raise concern.
It took too many times touching stovetops to learn
Not to be overwhelmed by what I hear or see,
Because I am the one perfect person for me.

Directed, Drifting, or Diogenes? (Doesn't Matter)

It's strange how much I don't care

If I'm home or not at home.

I could convince myself I'm comfortable

While in heaven, hell, or Nome.

If the language is a barrier,

It's tunneled underneath,

Those moments of near-frustration

Followed by near-relief.

Besides, how many people

Would I talk to in a day?

Any crowd I run with,

I'm alone there anyway.

To a Sportbike with Aftermarket Exhaust

The voice of a bulge where a bulge oughtn't be
Belies new, polished shine with a laugh so sickly,
A rattling, tasteless, and amoral burst
Like a two-fisted drinker out quenching his thirst,
But hawks make awful shrieks, and they manage to fly.
If I had some ear plugs, I might give it a try.

...Said the Teacher to the Time Capsule

I remember when I hated school,
But took it too seriously.
It was an ego trip for me.

I remember when I liked school,
But took it far too lightly,
Seeing how cool I could be.

I remember when I went to school
As to a social club: to meet,
and reconvene repeatedly.

I remember when I thought school
Was something best left behind me,
No more than scratch paper and memories.

Now, I am in charge of the scratch paper.

A Time to Part, A Time to Meet

That which rocks must always roll.
The clock, we watch but don't control.
The future racing in to meet us

Was always going to defeat us.

To each, the other will be gone.

We each ourselves will soon move on,
and yet, to end but not to leave
Will likely mean to someday see.