White Diamonds

A mean storm’s coming

Gonna plank the East

Freezing ice, then snow

Gonna be a beast

White diamonds falling

Might just fill a lake

The faster we scrape

The more that we make

Left a farm in Boone

In spring of 92

Nothing much till fall

Joined a highway crew

First winter came hard

But left a clear plan

A lot you can do

With a plow and sand

White diamonds falling

Gonna drown a lake

White diamonds falling

Make no mistake

White diamonds falling

Jusk ask us to scrape

Had a partner clean

The cash box one night

Guess she drove to Maine

A left at the light

No clue why she went

She didn’t go slow

Left us all waiting

For the next big snow

White diamonds falling

But none with a name

White diamonds falling

Make no mistake

White diamonds falling

Just ask us to scrape

Sake of the Scene

Do what you can.

Say what you mean.

Be sharp and true.
Keep your clothes clean.

Do it all for the

Sake of the scene.

Give without thinking;

Then take it right back.

The best defense

Is strong attack.

Take no prisoners;

Then fade to black.

Got to find the light

And go for the green.

Process craves pluck

There’s no between.

Do it all for the

Sake of the scene.

Circle and pounce

When you get the scent.

Everything’s straight

Unless it’s bent.

Kindly mutter

Female or gent.

They shimmy and dance

The king and queen;

Cavorting, preening

Juggling their schemes.

Always smiling for the

Sake of the scene.

So do what you do

Say what you must.

Some will appease;

Others will cuss.

Find each solution

In vials you trust.

Conflict requires

Opposing teams:

Heroes and villains,

Lovers and fiends,

Sharing space for

The sake of the scene.

Tough one

Such a strong performance by a UNC team that had not sustained that high level all season.

Free throws, obviously, the fly in the ointment. A big fly, at that.

Sucks to lose that way.

But there was a UNC victory in that for the first time this season, the Heels actually executed in the manner that most UNC teams have: strong rebounding, baskets in transition great passing decisions (for the most part).

Also, wonderful defense for most of the game.

I'm not hanging my head on this one. Dook got the lucky bounce at the right time.

UNC can either learn from this or take a step back.

We'll see soon enough.

Go Heels.

Triggers

Sometimes

Watching a film

Triggers the process.
A swirling cloud,

A barking dog,

A worried glance,

A tune in the background.

It’s like stepping 

On a land mine,

But the explosive

Is actually a muse.

Maybe not the muse,

Perhaps a cousin

Of the muse.

I met

The muse

A couple of times.

A he the first time,

She the second.
Likes to change

Its voice, its frame

And most of all

Loves to leave you hanging.

The muse

Has a bunch 

of assistants.
They can

only take you

so far.

They aren’t

Licensed

To do much more

Than, in essence

Put a band aid

On the feeling

That compelled

The urge 

To put

A few

Words

Together.

Sometimes

It’s easy

To sense

That a muse

Might be dropping by.

What you want

Is an actual

Visit.
But neither

A or THE muse

Do what you want.

They provide

A glimpse,

A tease 

Of a glimpse

Is more like it.

Fan dancing for the church crowd.

Just give me
A hint.
A clue.

One domino.
But where in

The long line

Does it stand?

Maybe

You just

Get tired

Of watching

Other people’s

Stories.

Maybe

You’d rather

Reach inside

The vast

And often

Locked trunk

Of thoughts

Hopes,

Dreams,

And fantasies

And pull one

Out of the hat.

Put on some coffee.

Brew some tea.
And just

Get with it.

Fleet of Souls

“Feels like

I know you.
That we’ve

Spoken many times.

Feels like

I’ve been here.
That what is

About to unfold

I’ve seen.”

Can’t tell

If it’s my mind

Recalling a movie,

Or my memory

Of what I'd done

Or wanted to do.

What was real?

I don’t know

All the answers.

Just a few.

There’s a hint of fresh basil

Lingering in the hall,
Mingling with garlic. 

Dinner?

I wondered.

Hoped is more like it.

Feels so 

Comfortable,

Almost rehearsed.

I felt so at ease

In her presence.

Raven black hair that 

Gently touched

Her shoulders.

Hazel eyes that 

Witnessed everything.
I wanted to hold her

Until we slept.

Have we met?”

When her eyes

Synced with mine, 

I could feel the heat.

“Yes, of course. 

Which century did you

have in mind?”

“You pick,” I said.

She turned away

Just for a second.

“I have my favorites.

But we outdid ourselves

In 1869.”

“Really?” 

“Don’t you believe me?”

“I want to.”

She took my hand.

“Look at this tiny scar 

On your palm.”

I opened my clenched fist

And found a strange mark.

I couldn’t recall

When that had happened.

“I put it there with a quill,”

She said. “I’ve been sorry

About it for a long time.
We had an argument about

One of the men who came

To my restaurant.”

“Where?”

“Bar Harbor.”

“I’ve never been

To Bar Harbor.”

She sighed.
“No, not this trip.
But I remember when

You got off the boat.

Couldn’t avert my eyes.
You were something.”

The sun found

My neck and face,

A different warmth.

Or maybe it was just me

Wanting to be

Alone with her.

Again,

I couldn’t tell

If it was my film

Or someone else’s.

She unlocked a trunk

And took out a thick

Dusty tome

With parchment pages.

“The answers are in here.

But this is the gist.

We are born. Sometimes

Everything works out.
We live that once.

Most of us have to keep at it.
We struggle, and if we don’t

Make it, we return to the fleet of souls,

Where we sail on the sea

Until we’re ready to try again.

That’s where we met the first time.
On deck at sunset.”

“When was that?”

“We were Vikings.”

“Awesome.”

She grinned.

“You want more pot?”

Notes From The Trail

A production (or workshop) is often

Akin to a cattle drive

That spans 

Months of doubt

and many miles.

Head 'em up,

Move 'em out!

A band of fresh strangers

In the beginning

Discovering the quirks

Of what works

And what doesn't.

Encountering habits 

That get in the way

And those

that provide beacons

To the path that

Defines shared purpose.

Old hands,

New hands,

Young hands …
Each with reasons

Of their own

For taking the journey.

At first the task
Seems almost overwhelming.
Step by step
Affirms the value of patience,

And gradually

A sense of community emerges.
That and the old saw about 

All for one
And one for all.
But there’s a reason

That old saw

Still cuts wood.
The biggest picture

Turns individuals

Into members of the ensemble

That moves 

And thinks 

As a unit.

And why?

Simply to share the story.

Each production has this lofty goal,

Whether it be a dog-eared classic

Or something fresh from a printer,
The story is king.

One of the challenges

Is staying present

While trusting others

Will do the same.

Reality whispers

That it takes time

To get everyone on the same page.
A lot of time.

But it does happen.

Often it

Is the residue of design,
But sometimes

It is magic that
Can’t be explained.

Perhaps a shade of cloud

That the wind beckoned

Just in the nick of time —
At the brink of the abyss,

With so much in doubt,

And yet as if Prospero

Winked and waved his wand,

Clarity takes command,

And eludes certain peril.

The collective sigh.
The “it’s all good” of all goods.

As you wander

Off the stage

Eager and relieved —

Heart and mind

In happy tandem —

You hope everyone else

Is as keen 

As you are 

To return.

Not to repeat.

But to discover.

Again. 

And again.

And again.

Whether it be

Eager child 

Or savvy adult:
Process is the reason

As well as the result.

They Say

They say

Dreams come and go

Like the tide

And all you do is ride.

Who are they anyway?

What do they know?
And why are they

Always saying something

In ways 

that bring to mind

The hubris of

Amateur critics

Who inhabit

A snarky realm

Of passive observation.

Fueled with massive envy

For those who dare

Do what we do.

If they loved theatre,

They would feel, 

Rather than dissect 

Each play like a high school frog

While a boom box moans

In the background:

“Don’t know much about history

Don’t know much biology.”

Obviously.

Theatre needs the help, too.
Not for what it is

Or how it is 

Or what it intends to be ..

But merely that it exists.

And continues … 

In essence a typewriter

Or a phone booth

Still finding purpose

In a laptop, smart device world.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it?
Theatre reminds us

Who we actually are

As much as it does

Who we want to be

And who we've been,

Particularly those 

Who took abrupt turns

Into madness and greed

That led to self-inflicted

Versions of hell.

Of course hell keeps changing

Its goal posts.

Each generation

Has its own definition
While blindly believing

The antidote is close at hand.

(Heaven is just a shot away,

An opioid away,

A bottle away,

A toke away.)

Theatre marches on,

But it also honors its past,

Reviving projects

That once breathed 

With cutting edge/avant garde

Surprise and insight.

The apps of our lives

Will always change,

Sometimes for the better

Mostly just for a fresh diversion.

But human nature?

What was true in the 16^thcentury

Is just as valid today

And as keen 

As it will be tomorrow, too.

It’s a question of need, actually.

We yearn to navigate 

A taut wire

Without a net;
To find life in each second

In full view,

As if alcove cloaked.

To be.
That’s the thing.
Some might say the rub

But what do they know?

All of this 

Circles back to
Gauntlets of judgment,

Self-absorbed epistles

That hai ku months of effort

With motives that tear down

Rather than enhance.

It’s widely known

That it is not wise

To let other people

Get your kicks for you.

And it is just as unwise

To allow they the final say.

It’s okay to read the review

But remain skeptical 

As to its intent.

They exist because

WE do, not vice versa.

Let's Make Monopoly Great Again

Some folks
Ride in style
From the first smile
To the last,
Sucking on a silver spoon
Till they get
The upgrade.

Some folks
Tire of living.
 “The things you wanted,
I bought them for you.”

Wild horses,
Gonna ride ‘em
Someday.
Or maybe not.

Hard to get up
For Christmas
When you already
Own the mall.

So what do ya do
When you’re so rich
That you own it all?

Bored games, anyone?

You might own
Michigan, for instance,
And have some strong ideas
On why some kids
Should never learn a damn thing.

Yo, it’s your turn, Betty.

The dice are loaded
As she darts ;round the corner.
Landing on CHANCE.
Ha!
As in shocker.
Banking error in your favor
Collect 2 million.

Takes a call from the president.
The she helped finance,
The one she scorned
Just a few years ago
When he tried to put his hand
Up her skirt.

Nah, that never happened.
Wait. Did it?
Bygones be bygones.
Besides judges do it.
Actors do it.
Even educated fleas do it.

So, what is freedom?
A credit card with no limit?
So much credit you don’t even use a card?
They just send you the bill.
Sometimes you pay.
Most times late.
But that’s okay.
She’s one of the chosen.
She has more money
Than she can spend.

So what does she do?

Bored games.

You might run
An oil company
And travel around the world
A nature rapist
Looking for a virgin.
You make gobs and gobs
Of money, and you have
Bank accounts that have bank accounts.
Sacks of gold stored in vaults
In many places.

Tired of living.
It’s easy to do.

Around the board
You go.
Park Place for free.
Though its now
Park Tower.
And Boardwalk?

No more.

It’s Empire Boardwalk.
And the rent just went up.

What does 3 grand a month get you in NYC?
A studio in Brooklyn.

Ya gotta have real money now.
Round and round and round
The board they go.
Paying dues
in brand new shoes.

Isn’t it time
To change things up?
Instead of jail,
Call it Woodstock
And when you land there
You have to spend time
In the woods with naked liberals.

Oh, the humanity.

Also, there’s no
Free lunch anymore.
Even Baltic and Mediterranean
Are gonna wear out your wallet.

Uber takes you on the journey.
Cell phones are free.
So are the herpes.
As for the Russian Tea Room,
Only the elite have keys.
They take you into a room
With vats of vodka,
Computers and launch codes.

Just who owns this country?

Who cares?

It’s fake news.

Americans would never sell out their country.

Assholes, however, will.

Wandering Ear

A friend left a ticket for his show.

“A Domino in Soho”

That was staged in a loft

Near Broadway on Grand.

Arrived early and

Found a soft chair

Where I snoozed …

Closer to sleep than dream.

Not quite anywhere

Not precisely clear

The perfect moment

For a wandering ear.

A vague foghorn in the distance.

A gentle, sighing chuckle.

A siren’s blare soft, then loud.

A radio voice diagnosing weather.

The clop-clop-clop of a horse-drawn carriage.

Steam hissing from a kettle.

Competing vehicle horns in traffic.

An urgent cough followed by sneeze.

Did I dream this

Or was it real?

My mind became

A kaleidoscope 

Of sonic surprise.

Each new source

A lantern in the hallway

Of my imagination.

Each new source

As tangible as touch.

Warming my heart

Cleansing my soul

Each new source

A domino in Soho.

Not quite anywhere

Not precisely clear

The perfect moment

For a wandering ear.

UNC basketball: Process vs Result

There will be some who appreciate the following thoughts. There will be many who don't.

Who am i to have the audacity to suggest these things? A fan, just like you. Read it or not. Up to you.

1. Too many fans are acting as if what has transpired this season has been a personal insult. That's  absurd. Everyone involved in this equation: players, staff and fans had strong expectations, some of which were based on the past. My own view continues to be that given time Roy and his staff will help the players evolve individually and as a team.

The fair-weather Tar Heel fans are usually the least informed, and the first to toss blame hand grenades.

At this point, with the situation as it is, one is either on the UNC bus or not. 

Quit whining. 

Support the team.

I have seen suggestions that UNC simply forfeit the season because that poster does not want to watch the carnage.

Grow a damn pair.

There are players on the current team who will be on the roster next season. They are going to get more experience than anyone imagined this year. If one looks only at the results, it will be a bleak season. BUT, if one pays attention to process, you will most assuredly see glimpses, some of them sustained longer than others, of what the future holds.

i would remind the UNC fanatics that Carolina Basketball is an element in your life, not at all your total life. It is a diversion more than anything. Too many fanatics base their existence on the physical efforts of kids who are not old enough to vote.

Get some perspective. 

Yes, the team is struggling. 

I would suggest the fanatics ask themselves, other than posting Pity Party Snark, how much effort they are PERSONALLY putting into the development of the team?

I already know that answer. So do you.

I have seen too many posts addressing one of UNC’s worst seasons and the beating Clemson at home streak, as if one was yet another personal insult, and that the Clemson streak was something they themselves had worked to maintain. And by posting this crap, even more pressure is put upon players who know they’re struggling. 

You don’t need to remind them.

2. We've seen injuries decimate the football program during Fedora's last two seasons, as well as do a pretty strong job on UNC's secondary this season. UNC basketball has been fortunate the past few seasons, but injuries happen. And they don't necessarily happen because of the workouts, the brand of shoe, the strength and conditioning coach, or angry gods. 

I have loved UNC basketball most of my life, having moved to Chapel Hill at a very young age. I did all of my schooling in Chapel Hill through graduate school. Woolen Gym, however, was where I “studied” the most.

I hate seeing the team struggle. Just like you.

But UNC has always been my team. That will not change.

The road ahead is uncertain. That is a fact. What we think and say as fans has zero influence on the outcome of the games. But that does not mean we should bicker and blame, rather than applaud the tiny successes that this team will struggle to attain.

Celebrate those moments with them in the moment.