Sometimes it's all I hear.
Great loud booming
deep inside my ear.4/21/02010
Here's a poem about our mongrel, Sherman. When we first got him, he was as quiet as a mouse. I kept asking Beth what was wrong with him, convinced that his silence [and extreme passivity] were a symptom of something, a sure sign that death was near. Well, clearly I broke him. Now he is not passive at all, and he has a very loud and insistent bark. A decade on, he's not showing any signs that he's at all ready for death.
I always worry that you will stop loving me someday.
I often think that maybe I am always in your way.
I sometimes wonder if you'll love me when my teeth fall out.
I really hope you'll still remember what our love's about.4/11/02010
Swimming through the ocean,
flying through the sky,
walking through the wilderness,
though I don't know why.
Trying to be braver,
still ending up as shy,
much too confrontational…
still your favorite guy?4/10/02010
This was an exercise in rhyme more than anything else.
And the "confrontational" comment stems from a conversation about how my darling wife realized that sometimes I have conversations during which I seem inappropriately argumentative/confrontational/adversarial, though I don't necessarily mean to be.
I don't remember how to play
this silly game I'm in.
Nonetheless, I'll find my way
so someday I may win.4/9/02010
Beth brought me along that night as an interloper on a dungeon crawl. It had been years since I last played D&D, and I never really did quite get the hang of it. The reference to winning is a sly little joke, given the nature of the game.
Congratulations to you.
I'm so proud of what you've done.
Just to prove it's true,
a purse is what you've won!4/3/02010
I believe this was when my darling wife had lost 100 lbs. If I recall, she got an exercise bike as a reward for the first 50, a coveted purse as a reward for the second 50, and she's scheduled to get a real bicycle as a reward for the third 50. As of the time of this writing, she's about 3 lbs. from reaching that final goal.
You have an extraordinary talent
for voicing a
"meanwhile…back at the Hall of Justice".
It makes me sad
that you never exercise it
It is one thing I miss
about the you
you used to share
and no longer
A sad poem about longing for something my darling wife used to do to amuse me and has ceased to do.
In case you don't get the pop culture reference, there used to be a Saturday morning cartoon on the teevee about the DC superheroes. There was this narrator who used to say, "meanwhile…back at the Hall of Justice". Beth used to do a spot-on impersonation of said narrator.
I don't want a baby,
not even if it's small,
not even a quiet one
that knows how to crawl.
I don't want a baby
no matter how clever,
even if it's cute
and works a mean lever.
I don't want a baby,
no matter how smart,
talking in sentences
right from the start.3/19/02010
One of the things Beth and I have always been in agreement on is our desire to not have children. Babies can be amusing in their finest moments. But they're really hard to deal with on a long-term basis. Even the best baby in the world has more downside, in my view, than upside.
I forgot my contact lenses
and my glasses got foggy
but I could still picture your face.3/14/02010
My job requires that I spend time in walk-in freezers. When I wear my glasses, they fog up upon exiting. This is the whole reason why I got contact lenses. Some days I forget to wear them. This poem was composed on one such day.
Indian food for lunch
will be much better than a carrot.
Or at least that's my hunch.
I wish I could be there to share it.3/3/02010
This was on a day when Beth went with Jen to Concord. They went to lunch at an Indian restaurant, which made me a bit jealous. Lucky for me, my darling wife brought back some leftovers for my enjoyment.
A rabbit may be quick.
A pony may be pretty.
I'm glad you didn't pick
a home inside a city.2/26/02010
I am regularly thankful that we moved to the middle of nowhere, New Hampshire. The lack of crowds, the lack of traffic, the clean air. All of these things are wonderful! Beth found our house by shopping on the internet. We fell in love with the building and probably would have bought it even if it were in Concord or Manchester. But it isn't, and I am glad for that.
Your smallest part
is dear to my heart,
even if that part is shrinking.
Your funniest twitches
have had me in stitches,
so I'm glad you practised your winking.2/21/02010
My darling wife was in the process of losing lots of weight. As of now, she's down by a bit more than 140 lbs. and is very nearly at her goal. She's amazing! So that's what the reference to shrinking parts is about.
The winking reference has to do with her having learned to wink, through practice, since we met. It's not a natural act for her, so it's still awkward. She knows not to pretend that it's a natural act. So she's not prone to using it in public and accidentally creeping people out with it. That's a good thing.
I wish I could give you much more than I'm able…
a husband with all of the charm of Clark Gable,
a great fancy chair at a great fancy table,
your very own horse in its very own stable,
a heroic role in a wonderful fable.2/20/02010
Five rhyming words. I think this would be my record holder even if I hadn't resorted to using a celebrity's name. For those of you who are too young to know who Clark Gable is, you have the internet. Look him up!
I have noticed recently
that I have started
to laugh like you,
with no intention
of doing so.
I guess you influence
me in ways I never
would have anticipated.2/13/02010
A true story. And the thing is that if you asked me to consciously mimic Beth's laugh without having just heard it, I would be unable to do so. But when I hear it, I know it. Even when I hear it from myself.
This may sound corny and sappy
— as if I'm taking you for a ride —
when they ask me how to be happy,
the best response I can provide
— better than puppy breath —
has to do with my wife:
Be sure to marry Beth
— my trick for the happiest life.2/12/02010
A penguin will fly through the water;
a pelican flies through the air;
you've flown as far as Texas;
but an emu can't fly anywhere.2/11/02010
Beth was quick to point out that she has flown farther than to Texas. The flight to Las Vegas brought her even farther from home. Oh well! It wouldn't change the rhyme scheme or the meaning of the poem. Still, I feel as if I should present the original wording of the poem even if it's flawed.
with your history
of throwing games
of miniature golf
with the intention
of making me more confident
in my ability
to hold my own
with you, I sometimes wonder
whether you have chosen
to surrender anything
of your identity
to make yourself fit
into some notion
of what you think I am looking for.
I hope not.2/10/02010
On our first vacation together [when Beth was my boss; long before I had any idea that we would end up together romantically and long after she claims to have known that we would marry], we went miniature golfing. I got terribly upset at discovering that she wasn't competing to the best of her ability and was, instead, playing intentionally ineptly. This was some silly misguided ploy of hers. Something to do with believing that men can't be comfortable with losing in sporting competition to women. She wanted my ego to come away unbruised, as I understand it. Ridiculous!
I researched my condition.
Why consult a physician?
This is my diagnosis:
chilblains. Good is my prognosis!
I know this poem is not so romantic.
At least there's no reason to get frantic.
My toes will not fall off my feet!
Maybe you'll think that's sweet.2/7/02010
I'll be dead by morning,
with hardly any warning.
Sharing my final day
with you is the only way
I would go if I had my say.2/6/02010
This was when I had a mysterious ailment causing problems with my feet. Hence, the speculation about my impending death. Not to worry. I didn't die that night. For the diagnosis and prognosis, check out tomorrow's poem.
Remember that time you told me a joke?
I remember the time you gave me a poke.
Remember the time when you sang me a song?
I remember one time when I sang along.
Remember the time when you drove a car?
I remember hoping you wouldn't go far.
Remember that time when I wrote you a verse?
You might've thought it couldn't get worse.2/4/02010
When I wake up in the morning
and discover that I have been sleeping on my side
I take stock of my brain
to see which parts have not
leaked out through my ear.
I am always most pleased to discover
that the parts dedicated to loving you
are still firmly in place,
right where they belong.2/3/02010
The backstory: I have a horrible memory. This has long been a bit of a private joke with my darling wife. One day, years ago, I said something about how my brain must have leaked out of my head while I was sleeping on my side. I was very proud of myself for formulating such a clever idea. But Beth told me that it was not actually my own original idea. According to her, it was something she had said about me some time earlier. Though I have absolutely no recollection of her version of the idea's origin. Like I said, I have a horrible memory.
Your smile is the best part of my day.
Or maybe it's your touch.
Perhaps it's your kiss.
But I suppose it might be your laugh.
I guess it might be your voice.
You are the best part of my day.
Back to gushy. This one's sort of linked with #10. I'll let you decide which you think is better.
How, I wonder,
did you prove susceptible
to my charms — such as they are,
weak and ill-fitting.1/25/02010
Lookee here: a poem that doesn't rhyme!
This one holds special interest for me because of the final punctuation. I could have gone with a question mark, but I chose to go with a period. I take the view that the ", I wonder," brings it out of the interrogative realm and puts it into the declarative realm. Do you agree or disagree?
Friday is the day when I most wish I could spend my life with you.
Friday is the day when I am most thrilled that you married me.
Friday is the day when I am happiest to see your smiling face.
Friday is the day when I most want to hear your voice and to feel your hugging.
Friday is the day when I most desperately long for your kisses.
…Until Saturday arrives.01/22/02010
I'm pretty sure that January 22 was a Friday this year.
The farther you roam,
the farther you stray,
the farther from home
'long the rarely trod way;
the farther I'll chase,
the farther I'll follow,
the farther the place
where I'll meet you tomorrow.1/20/02010
I didn't realise just how many of these poems are gushy love poems until I started posting them to my blog. Eventually we'll get to some poems that do not fit into that category. I promise.
I live life afraid of attack from a pickle.
I don't understand why you're so hard to tickle.
I still wouldn't trade just a one of your pinches
for ball in my hand with third down and just inches.1/19/02010
I am disgusted by pickles. Beth has been known to chase me around with them, threatening to touch me with them. She's also extraordinarily resistant to tickling. She also used to pinch me quite a lot. Not so much recently. I kind of miss it, actually. The key to perfect harmony would be for her to pinch me, but not so hard that it hurts! The football reference was nothing but a stretch for a rhyme.
On January 13 of this year, for no particularly important reason, I sent the following poem to my darling wife via text message:
I love you.
I miss you.
I want to hug and kiss you.
The poem, simple as it was, was made up on the spur of the moment while I was at work.
I quickly followed it with another text message saying something along the lines of "that was your poem for the day". Having sent the followup message, it somehow seemed appropriate to send a second poem the next day. And so I did.
Then I kept going. For eight months [so far], I've been sending Beth a new poem on a [mostly] daily basis. I won't claim the resulting poems amount to high art. In fact, I will claim just the opposite. But I think that every once in a while there is a gem or a nugget that makes the exercise seem pretty worthwhile, from the standpoint of the practice of writing.
Often, the poems have been downright lousy. Still, for me, the point of the exercise has been a romantic notion. I thi…
As this ninth anniversary of September 11, 02001 approached, I spent a lot of time listening to "news" programming on the Sirius while I drove around for work. I have been deeply upset about the overt bigotry that's been dominating the discourse over the last several weeks. This past week, it occurred to me that it's been over a quarter of a year since I posted anything to my blog. That, in itself is a shame. In light of the mood that's overtaken the country, it seems especially a shame that my most recent post was about having participated in Everybody Draw Mohammed Day.
Don't get me wrong. I am proud to have participated in Everybody Draw Mohammed Day. I think it was a meaningful event, and I think that it was, at least in my case [and, frankly, in its origins], a properly directed protest. Its aim had something to do with saying "intolerance is not welcome", "bullying is not acceptable", "threats against freedom of expression are u…
I participated in Everybody Draw Mohammed Day on May 20, 02010 by drawing Mohammed thrice…not because I am ignorant, immature, or xenophobic; but because I believe that while there is a universal right to be offended by substantially harmless things that other people do, the acceptable options as regards recourse to any such offense DO NOT include violence or threats of violence!
"Stick Figure Mohammed"
"Mohammed, In From the Cold", or "Mohammed Ponders a Cup"
"Mohammed Basks in the Darkness"
In order, these are the three Mohammed drawings I did today. The first is a pencil sketch, which I basically did to ensure that I would have something to show even if the rest of my day was unproductive. The second is the first charcoal drawing I've done in probably 15 years. The third is the second charcoal drawing I've done in the same time span.
The established pattern of my thought processes is that I get funny notions into my head and sort of let them stew in there for a while, for no apparent reason and with no obvious trigger. Such has been the case with what I present today. This won't be structured and it likely won't be pretty. Think of it as a philosophical doodle—just a sloppy sketch that may or may not contain a kernel of something worth pursuing in a more formal structure at some point.
Based on what we generally know about physics [not including quantum mechanics, which very few of us have any reasonable conception of], it seems to me that a perfectly sane person might reasonably conclude the following: If we could accurately model the position, spin, direction, and velocity of every particle in the universe at any given moment, it would be theoretically possible to plug that data all into an imaginary supercomputer and predict with perfect accuracy the exact state of everything at any future point …
I've been playing a bit with my blog's design recently. I'm in the process of porting it over to a different host and I am using that as an excuse to alter the looks of the thing. The old version can still be found (for now) at http://www.repealofgravity.com/blog and the new version can be found at http://blog.repealofgravity.com.
If you have the old version bookmarked and want to keep current, please update your bookmark. The old location is not going to be updated any more. I expect that it will go away at some point also. I've been trying to figure out a way to set up a 301 Redirect, but so far with no success.
Anyway, if you have any comments about the changes in layout, I'd be interested in hearing them. The revamping is still very much in flux. I've changed the background about a half dozen times in about the last three days. At the moment, I'm pleased with what I've come up with. But there's absolutely no guarantee that I will not end up chan…
I went to see the doctor this morning to get my latest cholesterol test results. He said my numbers are all good! This is a big victory. [The only number he was at all concerned about was a slightly low CBC, but when I explained that I regularly donate blood products and had just donated two units of platelets and a unit of plasma a few days before my blood draw, that concern was completely dismissed.]
I read him a list of all the various things I have been doing to improve my health and he said at multiple times that what I've done is "huge". He said he would give me 4 gold stars if he had them. He was very encouraged and thinks that I seem to be on a path to long term and sustainable goodness. He said it's very rare for anybody to take his advice as I have done. And he said he doesn't need to see me again for a year.