christmas poem (sonnet?)

"Too tall," he skips along the barbed wire fence,
cheerfully falling out of his mud boots,
scanning the field for one that isn't bent,
twisted, bare, brown, withered, hunched, or knotted.
"There it is!" he exclaims, pointing, sprinting
towards the perfect cedar, branches soaring,
6 feet of needles, thick trunk cemented.
Trembling with ardor, he began swinging.
He chopped and sawed and flung his axe,
til Dad stepped in, with one vigorous swoop,
and fell the tree, trunk leaning on the fence.
"Time to drag it back," he said, and grabbed it,
handing off the heavy axe to the boy
who could hardly wait to share the story.

writer's block...obviously

something beautiful,
something brave,
something handsome in every way,
something to say that hasn't been said,
it's a loaded gun and dead end...
"Don't even think abaaaut it." 

The Memory of a Morning

a memory I lay out before me:

of sunlight slant
and bedroom morning air
accenting the syllables
of manifold beauties pronounced

oh how the delicate turnings
of phrase in a face's form
may suggest, may evince
untellable loveliest things
of the fount of the woman who spoke!

I read her all and studied with care
the execution! the eloquence!
well-said! well-said! I honored her motion
her rhyme
and pleased to so bring in the day

but alas! our days have nights
and our springs their inverdant winters
that we might love the days and springs the more
that by our missing we might gain them
better next we met

thus duty called her forth from our new home
and I sought shortly with intent
with gifts to bid my fluent darling part

but time withheld its favor from my design
and winter's night came harsh and early
to the sound of crashing worlds

and there stood I for a moment
mid-road
slack-jawed and bloodless
with a flower and a banana in my hand

the busy world of r. scary

heavy heavy heavy, hangs over your head
looms over your bed
enshrouds you with lead

tight tight tight, draws up your heart
pulls on your scarf
and squeezes your arm

round round round, my entangled mind
run shadows of times
love left behind

light light light, enters my eyes
simple words guide
and lay heartache aside:

on a solid rock I stand
all other ground
is sinking sand, sinking sand.
sinking sand that swallows.

Copiapo, Chile

I think of these men, alone in the dark,
feeling privileged that I can see the stars just by looking up,
that my water pours freely from a pewter faucet,
that my spiritual peace stems from the winner of "Project Runway."

And even unhinged jealousy swells,
that these workers never earned their celebrity;
they earn $1 an hour,
and Anderson Cooper praises them,
simply for living.

love

As I wander through my life,
I wonder if I'll find a wife!

Thought for Food

my mind is overpopulated
with thought bubbles which
launch,
stretch,
thin,
and pop
into perfection
into production
or obscurity,
becoming a thin film of
cognitive ability floating
to the floor in a sticky mess.
mopped up and run down the drain,
some become the pipe-dwellers' breakfast