Leftovers?

I went in the kitchen
And opened the fridge,
To find a bite to eat.

The sight was bewitchin’,
I saw a smidge
Of leftover luncheon meat.

My stomach growled.
I felt my mouth water,
As I reached in for my snack.

I jumped back and howled
Though, as my nose caught a
Stench that made me step back.

What I had thought
Was luncheon meat
Emitted a horrible smell.

The odor of rot
Was so complete,
I thought I’d entered Hell.

What I had mistaken
As roast beef or ham,
Or a slice of Boston butt,

Or old precooked bacon,
Or leftover spam,
I now thought of as leftover “what.”

I closed the door,
My appetite gone.
No way I was gonna try it!

The food was “to die for,”
And so I moved on...
I decided to start my diet.

©2008-Art Belliveau

Last Tanka of April 2008

thirty days of poems
imagination’s vault is
now nearly empty
there’s less than an hour to go
and I’ve just made the deadline

©2008-Art Belliveau

Who Am I? (4/29/08)

Who Am I?

I am...
Sarah’s hubby
Molly’s dada
Barbara’s son
Bob’s brother
Sarah, Sean, Jenny, and Kelli’s uncle

I am...
a teacher
a poet
a blogger
a reader

I am...
hairy
graying
large

I am...
perspicacious
show-offy

I am...
me

©2008-Art Belliveau

Can't Write Blues

sitting at the keyboard
and no words will come
sitting at the keyboard
and no words will come
its an awful lot like
my hands have been struck dumb

trying to squeeze some words out
but they don’t wanna go
yes, trying to squeeze some words out
but they don’t wanna go
words stuck in my head now
they trickle out too slow

wanna get a poem done
before the night is through
said I wanna get a poem done
before the night is through
cause when I get this poem done
I can crawl in bed next to you

looks like I got the words out
you sure inspired me
looks like I got these words out
you sure inspired me
please help me get my words out
until after the end of eternity

©2008-Art Belliveau

Off the Beaten Trail

I am given a
curriculum map
To guide me
and my students
through the wilderness
of knowledge and learning

I observe the map
look at the neat straight
paths through tangled thoughts

Can it really be this easy?
Will following this map
faithfully
lead me
and (more importantly)
my students
to the secret treasure
of understanding?

I've always preferred to
follow Frost rather than I-85
The little side trips
      The dead ends and
            turn arounds
                  the hidden treasures uncovered
                        along the way
have always seemed more
valuable

I have always appreciated
the trip
more than
the destination

And so I look again
at the map
at the safe way
the "sure" way
      figured out by "experts"
            who have never met my students
                  never even heard of them

I smile ruefully
quietly
fold it up
put it away

Knowledge
and its acquisition
is never safe
      nor sure
And getting it
And getting to it
is more
than 1/2 the fun

©2008-Art Belliveau

Foot in Mouth Disease

Too often before my brain can think
Of just the right word to say,
My mouth is going full speed ahead
With no thought to lead the way.

Thoughts rattle around my barrel head,
And out through a hole with no bung.
I've put my foot in my mouth so many times
I've developed athlete's tongue.

©2008-Art Belliveau

Speed

Rushing--always
hurrying--scurrying
from one second
to the next
from one chore
to the next
from one event
to the next

little time for
reflection
less time for
contemplation
none at all for
meditation

too busy doing
too busy reacting
too busy peering into the future
so busy living
that I am
too busy to
fully live

©2008-Art Belliveau

Time Traveler

I ride the tick of the clock
Moving on it forward through time
Never physically turning back
Only visiting the past in my mind

I ride the tock of the clock
Relentlessly toward the grave
Whether the ride will be short or long
Down the road that the seconds pave

Is out of my hands--I have no control
Of this creature bearing me on
Leaving only my words and my daughter behind
When I am finally gone

My words and my daughter--my legacy--
Will remain long after I’ve passed
Though they in turn will take entopy’s ride
Until we’re united at last


©2008-Art Belliveau

A Flawed Sestina

I’m trying to force the words out; it is very hard work
I am more the waiting-for-some-inspiration type
A dogged sense of self-discipline eludes me
At least, though, I have the decency to feel guilt
For the hours the I am not writing
For the days spent in unconscious contemplation

I find that after the contemplation
I can make myself pursue some work
I will myself, for a time, to sit at the computer, writing
Madly, frantically I type
Trying to outpace the sense of shame and guilt
That being unproductive so long has caused me

I wonder if there is something wrong with me
This thought invades my contemplation
Almost paralyzing me with guilt
Making it that much harder to do any work
Even of the simplest type
When I know I should be writing

Because part of my soul is in love with writing
Even when doing it is tough for me
Even when I have to force myself to sit and type
After being lost in contemplation
And the forcing out of words doesn’t want to work
Again I am left there, feeling the guilt

I hate the cycle of writing and guilt
I hate the cycle of guilt and writing
Sometimes I’d like to finish just one piece of work
Something that tells the world a little more about me
Something that will inspire them to contemplation
When they read the words I type

When I read these words I type
I can almost overcome the guilt
As I see what has come out of my contemplation
A new piece of writing
Born to the world through me
I am creating a new, if flawed, work

If I produce flawed work, I just continue to type
And let all flow out of me--good-bye shame, good-bye guilt
For if nothing else, I’m writing--which will lead to gentle contemplation

©2008-Art Belliveau

My Sister Married a Monkey

My Sister Married a Monkey

or

Everything's Relative

My sister married a monkey
Now that just isn’t right
My sister married that monkey last year
And she’s not the least contrite

My sister married a monkey
I think that I’ll get drunk—hell!
My sister and he just had a kid—
Now I’m a monkey’s uncle!



©2008-Art Belliveau