quelling the desire to be ever efficacious
stopping to smell the air around me
letting the now infiltrate the what might be
experiencing the world instead of sliding through it
dwelling on the delicious pleasure of inactivity
living life in a balance

©2008-Art Belliveau

Another American Day

I just found this. I wrote it in response to the Virginia Tech massacre.

Another American Day

Here we are, another American day
in the cruelest month of the year
a month that holds a festering wound
beneath a dirty scab
that is periodically ripped off again
as on this, another American day

The aftermath is predictable
on the news he is now a posterboy
for the most current round of spring insanity
a nobody elevated to demon status
a product of years falling through cracks
landing hard and making others suffer for him
on this, another American day

It is a replay every time
only the names and numbers change
only the location of the pain
Waco, Texas
Oklahoma City
Littleton, Colorado
Blacksburg, Virginia
Each a bloody April day
another American day

We didn’t learn before
and we won’t learn now
the same mistakes are made again and again
the same questions asked each time
the same answers given
the same debates argued
and in the end they’ll all lead
to another bloody American day

©2008-Art Belliveau

Poetry like Jazz

Poetry like jazz
riffing words in the coolness
of the Mickey D's
The outside heat a
momentary memory
Slinging my solo out
to unseen ears

©2008-Art Belliveau

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