#55: Thanks, hot dog man

This poem was written in 2011, the most depressing year ever in sports. And not depressing because my beloved Lakers fell in the playoffs to the Dallas Mavericks, I'm talking about depressing off the field stories. This was the year where Jerry Sandusky was exposed, Barry Bonds found guilty, Jim Tressell punished for unethical conduct, the Dodgers ownership filed for chapter 11, the Miami Hurricanes Ponzi Scheme scandal, the NFL Lockout, the NBA lockout and shortened season, and suicides of Wade Belak, Rick Rypian, and Derek Boorgard of the NHL. For me, these stories were tough to swallow. Whether they be about tragedy or about greed, it was a terrible year for sports. 

Those millionaire athletes with their mighty physiques

They do superhuman feats on the hardwood and green

And those billionaire owners who pay for their way

So we can cheer, on every game day

They make millions and billions, and we appreciate

But it’s not a feeling that they reciprocate

I went to the stadium so I could stand and cheer

For the players who fought hard and showed no fear

But I was remiss to find that they didn’t even care

About all of the people who came to see them there

They were playing for money, they were playing for fame

They were rich while merely playing a game

During halftime us fans would shuffle from our seats

In order to get hot dogs and other good eats

It was when I was in line that I noticed something cool

The hot dog man who was putting his kids through school

He was enthusiastic, though paid minimum wage

And he worked two separate jobs during the day

Then at night he would work for the richest of our kind

And served the people hot dogs, as they waited in line

No one would ever ask him for an autograph

If he were to go on strike, we all would just laugh

Sure he isn't in position to make any demands

Providing for his family are his primary plans

Financially he was on the fringes of societies bubble

But his love for his family enticed him to struggle

If I examined him closely, I know what I would find

And upstanding man, the best of our kind.

#54: Sink into the Setting Sun

So this poem came to me while driving home from work. It was a long day and I was merging on to the freeway heading towards the pacific ocean. As I looked out in to the darkness of night, I thought about what the sunset would look like as it sinks in to the ocean. Then I thought, that would make a great poem! During the rest of my drive I was just trying to remember the words in my head so I could write it down once I got home. Luckily, the words stayed with me so here it is!

On the beach under the sky so blue

The descending brilliant orange hue

That ball of heat, a flame so bright

Foretelling of the dark of night

The ocean calls the setting sun

Once it sinks, the day is done

The sea now inked like indigo

The clouds begin to lose their glow

As the sky transforms to black

The beauty of just moments back

Retained in mind and memory

But night is now reality

#53: Daughter Lost at Sea

I thought this week, I could go through my thought process for how this poem was written. Most of my poems begin with a spark of inspiration. Usually a theme or a story pops in to my head and then I begin to put it down on paper. One thing I have learned is that music can help me with writing in a specific iambic form. The music acts as a counting mechanism while I'm trying to put lines together. That allows my mind to focus on the words as the music provides the flow. 

For this poem, the melody from Jeff Mangum's, "Little Birds" provides the inspiration. You can watch him perform this brilliant song here. Now the lyrics of his song are phenomenal and my poem below isn't nearly as good as what he created, but the way hes sings the song resonated in my mind and caused me to write this poem in the manner in which he sings. 

Thematically, my poem is completely different from Jeff's song, but the form in which I wrote the poem is wholly derivative of his musical creation. Of course, it is likely that the melody he created is derived from someone else's melody, but I'm no music expert, so I don't really know. The beautiful thing though, is that creative work is always derived from something else. Jeff Mangum's work provided the melodic inspiration, some random creative spark provided the theme, and then the work for me personally was putting the words together.

Little girl on a boat, she fell into the water

Lost for half an hour I hope that one of us will spot her

I do not know but I can see the distress in her father

No one loves her more because she is his only daughter

I look out to sea, but only eye the big waves cresting

My eyes have been searching but they are in need of resting

All I hear are frantic yells, of all of us distressing

I hope she is not lost for long cause that would be depressing

Nightfall is approaching fast as the waves keep on coming

Her father is determined and he’ll keep this boat on running

To find her just as the sun sets, wouldn’t that be something

But if we don’t find her soon, this night will be our haunting

A little girl lost at sea, the place of her last visit

A day trip with her loving dad the food it was exquisite

Of all the trips they had gone on, this would have been her favorite

But now this is a nightmare that her father cannot forget

As he grieves, we all can see his pain

As night falls, we come to comfort him

She is gone, in the waves of the ocean

And now he is left here, to wait for heaven… to wait for heaven

#52: Better to be Broken

You see of me, so many things

But what of things unspoken?

What’s deep inside, I try to hide

Hoping it won’t be awoken

I act so odd with this façade,

Only my surface you see me flaunting

Down to the bone I feel alone

To conceal so much of me is daunting

As time attacks, my surface cracks

Exposed and out in the open

Why do I claim perfections name?

When it’s better to be broken

The stupid lies and fake disguise

It leaves so much of me in wanting

Beyond these clues are Holy truths

That can end this wicked haunting

#51: Fate and the Lion

Jealousy and hate, we all can relate

This is our state, but it’s not our fate

We are born liars, with sinful desires

Burning in fires, consumed by the flame

But God is not tame, he is a lion

Perfect to follow, only if we buy in

We look at life, we look at the goal

Only one man was pure

And only he makes us whole

So this is my role, I've found my new place

My life’s not a waste

This is one of the first poems I remember writing that I still have today. It was probably my sophomore year in college, maybe junior year. I learned a lot about God during this time period and had some of the closest friendships that I've ever had. Good times and fond memories.