A List

Posted on January 1, 2013 by keithdsutton52

“A List”
of my life

“The Practice of Poetry”
an external hard drive of music
160 gig,
cds,
dvds.

a canister of salt and pepper
for food eaten in the Lazy Boy
where I sit.

“Poet’s Companion”
“The Random House Thesaurus College Edition”
necessary for clarity.

“The Bedford Introduction to Literature”
a collection of short stories and poems
taught to my recalcitrant students.

Faulkner, Hemingway, Ellison,
Zora Neal, Langston, Whitman,
Beckett

all for attention beckon.

Franklin Templeton Fund folded on my left.
a future?
perhaps
a future of futility.

a new satellite system
booklet (with Tevo)
sadly beckons
as confusion reigns.

life’s simplicity
so complex.

poetry
from the masters
from me
unchanging.

modern technology
from where?
changes .. changes
and changing again.

life.

complex.
computers.
metaphors
of meaning.

reference guide
to the dish
from the roof
finding positioned
satellites flickering
floating deep in the sky

spreading signals of destruction
from Beirut,
Baghdad,
to Beijing.

keithdsutton

“Daddy taught me”

Posted on December 21, 2012 by keithdsutton52

“Dad taught me”

My brother,
dad’s desire—
waiting
in anticipation
with bated breath.

Junior
he called him
Camel’s smoke
flowing freely from
his nose
his lungs.

My sister an added
piece of the puzzle.
Galveston
Miamu

twins
us
times hard then.
We never knew.

Money made by men
who understood
the how
the why
the when.

Dad caught in the whirlwind of without.

But he saw—
he knew and
hell-bent
we would know
that which had passed him by.

second grade hauling furniture
to Kansas City
his sidekick
long nights
lonely roads.

loading trucks at the factory
soldier’s pants for ‘Nam
mom sewed.
as the irony
escaped me.

The importance of work
sweat and toil
labor
my Dad
revealed
without a word.

He never understood
simple things.

of children
of life.

He never had the expectancy
the opportunity
the hope.

A Drunk

Posted on December 8, 2012 by keithdsutton52

I wrote this poem & it’s one part observation & one part autobiographical. It’s been a long road but the monkey is off my back and has even left the building. I titled it A Drunk with a subtitle.

A Drunk

“Searching”

It is easy to observe
to criticize
others.

Like my brother
who gets so loud
and stumble
with all family
ro witness—

and he doesn’t know.

It’s the secret life of the drunk—
such a true
but harsh word it seems.

Does it matter that you start
drinking at 10 pm?
like my father did.

It’s only subterfuge
where no phone calls
might reveal your position
like a breathalyzer would.

I share in this absurdity
with my brother.

Yes I drink
to probe the
innermost thoughts of my mind
I drink enough for them to flow
as I type.

But does it make me better?
It’s just an excuse

But neither of us think about it—
the absurdity of our slurred speech—
the irrationality of your stumbling walk—
and the love our wives share
daily
faithfully.

Did we not get the memo from above?

The one said
He loved all
and the ones that loved him.

We don’t deserve it.
Is life really that bad for us
that we find nightly refuge
in a bottle?

I doubt it.
It’s a hard
habit to break.

So God help us
find the way—
help us find your holy grail
in the deep darkness
the hopelessness
of our soul.

And we need to learn life;
and love it—the beloved—like

life may end tonight—
like there is no
tomorrow.

yet
there is always
hope