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This poem will be my daily (or whenever I can get around to it) rant.
If you liked today's poem, no need to worry come tomorrow... there is
an archive file. Granted you may have to look for it, but aren't my 
poems worth it?

Poem Of The Day For April 25, 2001

               the cracked asphalt 
           splongiferous fleejorb
             running around my mind.
     I come upon a tree, 
                   with white blossoms in 
                          Stopping briefly
            , though I have little time,
                   I pick one.
              It is light in color
                       and weight.
                Ma' Nature's Meringue.
                        A short moment 
             passes with a

              Following this, 
                         the petals disjoin
   ("Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold")
                 and flitter
                         to the ground by my feet.
            Nothing    but
                  a stem and a stamen
              remain in my hand.
                      I place these
                 in my pocket,
                            full of
                    Tom Sawyerish
                          I continue on,
                after all,
                           I've got a class to make.

                 Asleep in class,
                          I dream.

                   An old man Jim,
       passes by the tree again,
                            to stare up
                 at its beauty
                         as he did
                      umpteen years ago.
            Approaching the tree,
                         he finds it bare-
                  with peeling bark,
                                 and severed boughs.
                        Dry branches 
                    are scattered
          around its circumference,
                    and cover
  a long disused
            that circles the tree.
                           He closes 
             his eyes and
                running and laughing
          ("A little lovers' race")
                    and then
            envisions dancing
          ("A lover's waltz around your base")
          Falling to his knees
                      he weeps
             and wails
                              and tears his shirt
      apart at the buttons.
                  Glancing down 
                         at his old man's chest
he stares at the kenji symbols
       (love and eternity) on his breast.
     And then
           at the top of 
               his vision
         he sees
               dried, yellowed petals.
            Reaching deep into his pockets
      he pulls out
            old, cracked
                      Tic-Tac container.
              Inside are a stem and stamen
                       from long in his
                     Summoning his strength
                to get to his feet,
                     a branch
                  nearly jabs his eye.
                      He bends it,
                               it springs back.
          He scrapes bark from it
                              with his thumbnail;
                                   the flesh is green!
                    The branch that fed
                    the picked flower
              still lived!
                     All of the blossoms
              had drained the tree of its life.
                           The old me
                                begins laughing hysterically.
                 he sits down,
            against the tree's trunk,
            and takes in
                    life's last few breaths.
                                      Beth .
                     The bustle of leaving
                               wakes me.
             I get up to leave
                       and walk past 
                  the tree again.
                          This time
                    I stop not.
                After all,
                   I've got a job to do.

Jim Cortina 4-25-2001

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