Until she gets coffee,/
I am all she has to get /
to get her going.

The body of goo/
needs a screw /
or a Frankenstein bolt/
to give it the jolt/
to carry it through.

Tight, screaming pain grips/
my calf and awakens me./
I need bananas!

As morning slumber/
lays on your eyes, let my words/
brightly dawn your day.

Sometimes the opportunity comes to self-evaluate. I think if you say something profound about yourself, you should capture and share it… where others can agree (or disagree!)
1) I’m not rich
2) I’m not overly handsome
3) I’m extremely generous with what I have, but I don’t have much.
4) What I have, including time, creativity, spirituality, romance, the ability to goo, poetry, humor, caring, charity, helping, a kind and generous heart, an uplifting and helpful spirit, I have given and will give with all my heart.

“Can I join you for lunch?”
It’s not really a request
To find something to munch.
Instead, something I like best:

Space Occupancy with you.
That’s what “Can I join?” means.
It’s not eating that I want to do.
It’s seeing you live, not just in dreams.

It’s occupying nearly the same space
As you are operating in.
It’s being in the same place
At the same time that makes me grin.

“Can I join you for lunch” is not an invitation to eat.
It’s a request to be near you, beside you, that makes me complete.

Today I faced a choice
of doing something I really wanted to,
but I listened to my inner voice
and elected to not see you.
>
Instead I’ll be with my folks,
probably watching a football game.
It’s really no joke;
It’s not really the same.
>
But my dad and grandpa
went to the NFL’s Ice Bowl.
The greatest game ever they saw;
16 below, in a Green Bay blizzard of snow.
>
The last football game my grandpa would attend.
Sometimes we don’t know how our choices will end.

As the morning light/
brings promises of things new,/
I’ll rejoice in you.

A friend asked me how my Christmas Eve was going. I shared what happened early on Christmas Morning (specifically, from about midnight to about 1:15 a.m.).
Some historical background: The Provo Tabernacle, owned by the LDS Church, was built as a meeting house in 1883. On the national register of historic places, it regularily had church meetings (including many my daughter went to), concerts, recitals, graduations and other similar events. The woodwork and interior were fantastic examples of pioneer craftsmanship.
On Dec. 17-18 2010, a 4-alarm fire gutted the historic building, destroying the interior and causing the roof to collapse.
As I was thinking about what to do Christmas Eve, I thought about the building, about how many Christmas concerts had been held there… and how sad it was that there wouldn’t be one this year.
So I decided to create my own. In the spirit of Art Everywhere, and the flash dance craze, I thought “I’ll go to the park next to the Tabernacle and sing Christmas carols … an improv Christmas concert.” This is what happened: It’s my Christmas story.

T’was the night before Christmas, and at 11:50 p.m. I went down to the corner of Center and University in Provo (by the Provo Tabernacle). I put the top down on my convertible, stood up on my seat, put some Christmas CDs in, and sang/caroled to the cars going by. A friend joined me; we sang loudly and not half bad. We had a lot of people smile, wave at us, and wish us a Merry Christmas. A few people even stopped and joined us. We ended with “Silent Night”, and then I receited the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke.
Then, as I was driving by the burnt-out Tabernacle, I felt prompted to stop, pull over to the side of the street in front of the Tabernacle (there being no “No Parking” signs there), stand up in my car, and tell the Christmas story, again, to the rafters and shattered windows and broken doors and blackened walls.
As the story reverberated through those walls one final time, where it had so often been heard before, I reached the part where shepherds kept watch over their flocks by night.
As I spoke how “…suddenly, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shown round about them…” a bright light shown in my own eyes.
It was the security guard with her flashlight.
I continued telling the story.
“And there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly hosts … ”
“That’s nice, but you can’t park there.”
“… praising God and saying:”
“Sir, you have to move, you can’t park your car there”
so I ended the story by looking at her, smiling, and quoting Luke:
“Glory to God on high, and on Earth, peace, good will toward men.”
And then I sat down in my car, smiled again, said “Merry Christmas!” and drove away.

When reality/
outshines dreams, it becomes soooooo/
hard to sleep at night.