Where do the poets words go?

Where light meets the sky and
we hold our breath in
The words we hold so close
so that they do not spill which
allows poets to suck them up in giant straws
and leaving them then
strewn about like endless epics
battles we never fought with words we carelessly let
spill from our arms
like water over a river dam.
So we hold them tight less they spill, our words.
But what of poets
without words to pull through straws
where do the poems come from?
Whose words do they carry about
afraid to drop?

From here to there

I have twin sons, identical (which by the way people always ask). They are actually mirror twins (one is right handed the other is left handed).
People ask me, frequently are they identical, but they also ask me, Twins, how do you manage? First of all you manage, its part of paenting. But there are subtle differences in raising two children at the same time. My step-daughter, and my daughter are older then the boys. They are unique people who we love and cherish, but singles are different then multiples.
The boys are unique – first becuase they often process information in the same way, and yet often come up with entirely different results. That intrigues me – in that they have the same genetic makeup (only their fingerprints are different) and yet they can take information and create two answers.
They were born either years ago, ten minutes apart. That is the longest they have been separated since (or so it seems sometimes0. I suspect all children are like this, but you notice it more in twins. Perhaps its becuase there is a wider field of view with multiples (ie more kids to see). But to me it seems like the play with each other more thne with other kids at times.
They are also unique in that they have each adopted pieces of my wife’s and my personality. Its internesting to see the "me" or the "her" in them come out at times. They tend to align with one parent for a time period (one being more like me for a time, the other like my wife for a time).
All in all having twins is quite a ride.

April – strange month

Ever since I was a little kid April has been a strange month for me. When I was a school teacher is was the start of the longest part of the school yaer (no breaks until June!). In inidiana it has often been the month of the last snow of winter and the first thunderstorm of spring – a bit odd.
It just seems to me that it is a strange month.
May is always fun in Indiana becuase we have the big race. This March was cool becuase we had the final four for the Men’s College basketball championship.
But April sits in the middle – kind of a strange month…
May is only 20 days away.

And what will the rain bring

Rain clouds roll in like
soldiers marching in front of a grandstand
not pausing or looking left or right they roll
past the house in waves and waves and waves
what do I see?
Gray clouds in the sky
painting blank the sky so blue
and yet
unique in the various shades of gray that
present themselves as if
a story to be told.
But what story?
What is to be told?
Why can my dust filled ears not hear the story of the rain?
Am I blind to the sound that lies before me?
Am I deaf to the sight I cannot see?
And what will the rain bring?