To You

I should have done this before. In fact, it seems cliche to do it for Valentine's day, so I posted this on Friday the 13th - the day before the V-day.

I wanted to share with you and anyone else who may stumble across this that I am in love with you. I can't, no I don't, imagine a life without you. From the alarm at 5:00am to falling asleep on your lap watching the Colbert Report, I enjoy the rhythms of our life. Be it known that my love for you is stubborn, persistent, and unconditional. I thought I would share the times when my love for you spikes on the "that's-my-girl-o-meter":

when you call me hun,

when you laugh at my jokes,

when you wear high heels to cook

when you get frustrated on the volleyball court,

when your hit in the head on the dodgeball court,

when you second guess your best efforts,

when you help our daughters with math because I am so horribly bad at it,

when you watch the fights with me because it makes me happy,

when you scratch my back with painted nails,

when you worry for both of us,

when you sing and then apologize that you can't sing,

when you dance without reservation,

when you say you love me.

These are the times when my heart swells and swoons. These daily expressions fuel me - Thank you. Tammie, you make me smile; you make me happy; you make me stiff; you make me a better man. I love you with my entire being with everything I was, am and will be. It is because of you that I am who I am - so don't blame me any more:) I love you, and I will continue to love for the rest of my life.

Your Husband,

Marc

Back in the Blog

I've taken a break from the world of blogging for a while, but am back with new gadgets on the blog and new diggs on news.

I've started working at Hylton High School; I am now a proud Bulldog. The drive isn't too bad and the kids at Hylton are great. I am now teaching 12Ap and 9 pre Ap class in language arts. Even though it is early December, I am still trying to find my rhythm between work and home. Trying to balance these has kept me from working on this blog and the book.

So the Scratch is back and I hope to work on my poetry every week. Stay tuned.

Kings of Suburbia

This is our dominion.

Castles. Secured bastions skirted
by an infantry of concrete.
Sinewy sidewalks,
tandem curbs line neighborly boundaries.

Homogenous mailboxes, sentries,
standing at attention
guarding asphalt moats.
Stones and bricks, bulwarks
against encroaching enemies.

This is our WAR.

We are the masters of strategy planning
against the parasitic platoons
of nimblewills and foxtails.
Ever vigilant against the goose and quack.

We are the generals marshaling
militant mowers, whining weedwackers,
and spinning spreaders
preparing pristine battlefields.

We are the Kings of Suburbia standing
alone prideful of our victories in battle.
Greener days are the dreams of tomorrow.
For us, we soldier on – watchful.

Power Tools

My neighbor has every tool you ever need for any job; they're kept in pristine condition. I've been in his garage. Its like a museum. The sander has a shelf, the skill saw and the drill, like dead bodies on the sidewalk outlined in chalk, hang plumb to the floor. The irony is I have never seen him use them, but, I know he does. I've heard them at night behind the closed garage door. He doesn't talk about his projects, but I hear the screams of the tools and the clammer of the hammer. It makes me wonder . . .

Power Tools

cool electrical power

silent panthers - waiting

to tear in to

to slice a part

to div ide from



honed glistening metal

transient makos - stalking

to dev our greedily

to con sume eagerly

to des troy completely



piercing metallic screams

dervishes in the night - wailing

a requiem of destruction

tear ing,

slic ing,

div iding,

devourin g,

consumi ng,

destroy ing,

only to create a new.

Transitioning into something more poetic

As one door closes another opens. So as I end this cohort experience, this blog needs to shift gears from the thoughts about our cohort to the poetry of a budding writer.

Over the past four years, I have been toying with writing a book. In fact, I have been writing a book of poetry. The working title is called: A Deeper Understanding of the Scratch: Poetry for Men. Now before the walls of poetic injustice fly up, please know that this a bathroom book, a humorous attempt by me to make fun of the middle - mediocrity, my waistline, suburbia, fatherhood, and being a husband. So I thought I would share the opening poem entitled "Hold Me." The original title was more abrasive, "Literary Masterbations," but my wife thought it to garrish.

As I compose (weekly hopefully) further portions of this project, I look forward to your contributions and comments - good and bad. Any good writer worth his salt looks for a good editor, I hope you will be mine. So here is to the scratch . . .

Hold Me

For years
I've turned my phrases
I've twisted my verse
I've honed my prose
Discovering my-self.

For years
Behind closed doors
Between stained sheets
Under expecting shadows
Searching my - voice.

For years
Splattering intimacy
Thrusting emotion
Forcing existence
Blazing my - identity

For years
On spiral lined pages
On formalized parchment
On soaked cocktail napkins
Journaling my - world.

For this
intimacy,
expectation,
moment,
this now.