WORD SPILL | Murderati

by Stephen Jay Schwartz

Sometimes I have no room for blog-thought.

Sometimes I just let the words spill…

In this little beach town

on any given morning

and especially in the morning

the world is good

The sun shines

and enough people are unemployed or retired

to enjoy the day

Even the bums

on their benches

in their madness

seem content

In the morning

before the bars and restaurants open

(their owners sweeping sand off the steps)

the cafes sell their coffee and

croissants and wi-fi

and the rare business man walks by

in a suit

drawing stares

from the rest of us

in jeans and shorts and wetsuits

driving bicycles and rollerblades and surf boards

The old and young

sporting tattoos

walking their dogs and

grandchildren

It’s a different sound

in the morning

No drunken brawls over

women

Just the parrots

overhead

and the Coast Guard helicopter

and

in the morning

women dancing in the

streets

with babies in their arms.

I have to remind myself

sometimes

that I want to write

that I do it because it’s what I want

to do

that it’s not a means to an end

that it’s not the

work

the deadline

the career

In those times I’ll pick up a pen

and a notebook

and write

what might be mistaken for

poetry

Because I know it won’t be sold or,

likely,

published

it’s just for me.

Because sometimes

I just want to write

I’m never so happy as when I’m

petting a dog

The child in me erupts

I roll, laughing,

an idiot on the

sidewalk

wrestling the dog that only has eyes for me

“I’ve never seen him play like that”

“He usually doesn’t like men”

“Okay, I think it’s time we say goodbye”

The dog usually tires before I do

I’m never so happy as when I’m watching

the pelicans

fall

like Olympic divers

into the waves

their silly shapes and dangling legs

I’m never so happy as when children

catch my eye

And wave

and peek

and hide

and laugh

The laughter is the best

And when parents say

“She’s usually so shy”

“He’s really taken with you”

The kids

usually tire

before I do

I’m never so happy as when I watch

my own children

sleep

In quiet warm dreams

Eyes moving under the lids

Feet twitching

The dog curled between them

On occasion

I’ll have a day

like today

and know happiness

21 thoughts on “WORD SPILL”

Lisa Alber May 18, 2012 at 2:10 pm

Oh Stephen. This was lovely. I've had such a horrible week–the ramifications of my mom's dementia hit a critical mass this week–I'm so exhausted and stressed. This poem brought tears to my eyes. It's good to remember the happiness. The little moments are what count.

I, too, have to remember that I want to write…Haven't written much lately. I'm not the better for it, for sure…

Have a wonderful weekend.

Sarah W May 18, 2012 at 2:18 pm

If this is the way you spill words, it's no wonder you carry them the way you do.

Carole May 18, 2012 at 3:34 pm

That was beautiful, Stephen.

Blair May 18, 2012 at 3:42 pm

Very nice. Quite the picture of contentment.

I'm gonna go to the beach today. ; )

David Corbett May 18, 2012 at 3:52 pm

Stephano: I'm walking into a meeting in NY with your California sunshine filling my mind. Thanks, wee brother. smiles should not be squandered.

Alexandra Sokoloff May 18, 2012 at 5:26 pm

II made me cry., too. Wish I could be free form about poetry – mine always turn into epic satires.

Lisa, I'm sorry to hear about your mother. That's rough. I know.

Schwartz, Stephen Jay May 18, 2012 at 5:48 pm

Lisa – I'm so sorry about your mother. I have nightmares about what you're going through. I hope you can take a break from the troubles and get some time for yourself.

lil Gluckstern May 18, 2012 at 6:26 pm

For just a moment, I was transported to the beach in Santa Monica and smiled. You can be a magician with words. And other beings apparently. Don't stop.