i’m dreaming of a white christmas, first sung by bing crosby, 1941, only a few weeks after pearl harbor was attacked, listened to by millions, but only a large handful have ever had a real white christmas, like the ones i used to know in the late 1970’s & early 1980’s, snow stacked high, fireplace crackling, tins & tins of homemade cookies, ham baking in the oven, neighbors stopping by for eggnog, my grandfather’s organ playing all the songs, rudolph, jingle bells, deck the halls, the fir tree with gifts under every branch, dozens of christmas cards on the mantle, tinsel draped below, at night tucked into my father’s childhood bed, i peeked out past the wooden bedposts & waited for santa, this was christmas.
Category: Poetry
Humpty Dumpty & Row Your Boat
humpty dumpty sat on a wall, you know the rest, but what does it mean? when you were a kid did you think humpty was an egg? a fat greedy person? a king? where was the wall? how high was it? why was humpty precariously perched up there? and why did mother goose share such things? then there is row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, strive, work hard, but not too hard, be happy, life is but a dream, what do these nursery rhymes mean? in one, life is a risky disaster, the pieces will never fit back together again, the other demonstrates utopian optimism, combined they explain human existence.
My First Solo Apartment, 1996
throughout college i had roommates, later, i futon-surfed my way through the east & west village in the nyc, by the time i landed in san francisco during the fall of 1996 i was done with roommates for good, that is when 204a day street found me, a 3-minute walk from my job at the 30th street senior center where i was the bilingual (spanish) volunteer coordinator, $540 a month & it was mine, when i first moved in i had a cot to sleep on, 6 cds, & a plant, spartan, no question, apartment highlights included: getting up at 5am to admire comet hale-bopp from my roof, hosting thanksgiving & a paella dinner party, listening to sonny rollins on sundays while cooking pasta -my solo sf apartment adventure ended when i moved to paraguay in 1998, but there are moments when i daydream about studio-living, less really was more.
Nitzana: Israeli Archeological Site 1993
negev desert, judea, where jesus once was, at least the bible says so, how to know such things? i’m digging in the earth, sliding shovel across the surface, not chopping into sun-laden ground, that breaks plates, pottery, artifacts, i see richard in the distance, bandana around his neck, this is his club med, his happy place, last night he told me about his termite business back in anaheim, says he saves up all year to come out here, to be alone with god in the land of the new testament, & he’s not wrong, they were here, nabateans, romans, byzantines, arabs, persians, turks, jews, muslims, christians, they built, conquered, lived, loved, died, their shadows surround us as we labor.
When The Alpha Male Spoke
i tried hard to be a beta, with the deep breathing & walking meditation, soft steps, thoughts of love, be the buddha, what would jesus do, turn the other cheek, my religion is kindness, of course i believe all those things, but underneath i’m still the alpha, the guy who walks in a room & thinks, no, not thinks, knows, deep down, that death is nothing to fear, meaning, fear doesn’t exist, subterranean alpha, so hidden i hardly feel it lurking in my plasma, my dna, my surface is placid, but when push comes to shove i’m no piggy, closer to the lord of the flies, endless abyss of ego, or lack of ego, no self, not scared of losing self, alpha, it’s not a physical thing, no need for hulking muscle mass, it just is, bury me in mantras & i laugh, thanks for the peaceful sayings, but i’m still the alpha.
12/13: Poetry Reading in Burlingame, California
When The Hospice Bed Arrives
a metal bed frame rolls into the living room, & without wanting to, my mind goes there, are we the 20th room? the 200th? how much death has this bed frame held? the mattress starts to inflate, then i’m shown the oxygen machine, 7-foot plastic tube, with inserts for the nose, depending on the journey this might mix with morphine
the warriors play on the tv, microwave beeps, & the dogs eat their dinner, just another night at home waiting for the inevitable, passing of time, life leaving, of course there is much more, massaging of temples, feet, hands, kisses to cheeks, forehead, tears, lots of tears, for others it might be sudden, but our hospice bed slows it all down, minutes mean everything.
While You Are Watching Netflix
he is pondering the sound of crickets, he swims outside every night, listening to the rubbing of wings, chirps, we call them, mating sounds, darkness attraction, he has noticed the transition from october to december, dissipating insects, a little less with each cold night, moon fattens, sheds light, then gradually disappears, grows full again, & all the while you are indoors, scrolling through trending & top picks for you, top 10 movies, looking for answers, a way to kill time, exist, alone, or with ice cream, your screen escape, watching drama, violence, comedy, night after night, hoping for something good, something that matters, meanwhile, he’s outside contemplating dusk, counting stars as they appear in the sky, you ask, why? he pauses to reflect, each evening is different, is his reply.
Worker, Vagabond, Writer-All Three Are Me
and these things we do, over & over, wake up, turn off alarm, tuck sheets back in, look at face in mirror, shave on sundays, tuesdays, thursdays, cologne, two drops, deodorant, moisturizer, make black tea, you get the idea, routines, work week, commute, time spent just doing, not thinking, just doing, the opposite, no alarm, rise after the sun, brush teeth, or don’t, journey to fez, azrou, the atlas mountains, merzouga, listen to monkeys playing, wander into sahara, sandy sea, vast, empty, measure time in bus rides & adhan, watch others work, write about how busy everyone else is, take photos, try to understand, life is short, remember the dead, keep traveling from place to place, drink coffee, read a book, take a walk, meet a stranger, speak spanish, ride a moped, or sit in a room, write more & imagine, go nowhere except everywhere, pray to a god who listens, use your words, type, keep typing, life will end, but you were a witness, you were there.
Jerry Garcia’s Fingernails
when i was a kid i thought the grateful dead and iron maiden were related, both had skulls and were scary, i never listened to their music for fear, of what, i didn’t exactly know, freshman year touch of grey came out and the seniors were all about it, with their bandanas and tie dye t-shirts, i learned not to be afraid of their music, but i still never listened to the dead, ever, until college rolled around and they became unavoidable, every boarding school wannabe quasi-hippie trustafarian played the dead in their dorm room, and i still mostly hated their music, except for eyes of the world, friends tried to get me to attend concerts, but i always politely declined, there were enough burned out patchouli-smelling colby students without spending hours in a parking lot hoping for a “miracle,” so when i graduated i was glad to be rid of jerry and his band, a couple months went by and jerry died, a year later i’m living in california, my cousin is sharing an apartment with a mortician in kentfield (marin county), i’m at their place one day, dude proudly opens a drawer, finger and toenails are inside, those are jerry’s, he beams, i will never understand the obsession.
Daniel W. Polk 