Zach DIETRICH - Poetry - Recommended by Heather - Poetry - http://maxpages.com/nichola/Zach

Lament in a minor confessional key

I put a pen in my hand tonight,
And it feels I could write all night
without a cause or affecting relations.
Missing my different families,
near at heart and far in proximity.
See, its been birthdays, theirs, not mine.

If you see what I mean, it can be hard to stay in touch-
and I know that a phone call isn't too much,
but oh my family, I love you so, I hope you know.
Lately the distances have begun to grow
with one hip world traveler deep in the know.
So wise, like so many women in my life.

Am I a fool by design, and does anyone make that choice?
I miss my mother as well, and my grandmother, too.
I feel less than strong as a child of the Schaefers and Rughs.
I haven't stayed in touch well, I think I'm lazy like that,
though its been many long years since I got any fat,
you know what I'm saying?

Is hard living some game of youth that I'm playing?
Father's day coming up, and I love them both,
the fathers of my life, near each American coast.
Dennis in the east and Ed D. in the west...
respected figures in the middle lands make up the rest.

I have so many loves to respect, and although
communication is subject to neglect, the roots stay strong-
what did you expect? Live positive.

Zach Dietrich/Scottsdale,Arizona/USA

A Failure to Communicate

Dreams come first, but a dream is just a vision.
Thought without action can become a diversion.
Music is born like a goddess from godhead,
sweet like a week in a hotel bed.
Now with the words, last but first in effect.
Special delivery-sign the forms and collect.

Now, I'm not Jack the Ripper or Gilgamesh,
another one of a kind however, in the flesh.
I can sit in the audience, and also perform,
my sense of humor, perhaps is just outside of the norm.
It seems rhymes swarm like pirhana
when I cut up like Bennie Hanna,
then descend like some kind of cascade-
kicking it out like Riverdance on parade.

I've followed my dreams all across this nation,
and some others as well,
wearing Old Spice to improve my smell.
've seen a piece of the action (felt both large and small),
driven highways and back alleys, seen Niagara fall,
lived in the city and the country and I've loved it all,
except feeling small.

I used to think I had a clue and would know what to do,
but I can never escape the way the beat keeps nicking through.
I love to cut through the air like some kind of a weapon,
its just a small self deception... can you enjoy that Perception?
Like Paul Neuman's silent onscreen communcation,
I see a need for a clarification, because what we have here-
what we have here is...

Zach Dietrich/Scottsdale,Arizona/USA

(Lynach's pub, Lex.Ky)

I sift through the bubbles of my Guiness,
there's a small comfort hidden within it.
Stuck for an hour in a pub at the heart of the bourbon/
horse country, I feel an Irish funk creep over me.
Like a monk in Appalachia, there are mountains to climb,
and I'm a napkin poet with a scheme sublime
like the blackest of stout you can find,
wandering through past football games and my mind.

My pen wanders like some kind of a beatnik;
childhood was where we all lost our innocence,
got on with it...the words may be obtuse
but the meaning's not dense if you relax
and let the patterns shift until they make sense...
Mike got into distribution just to pay some bills,
and he quit what he refers to as unaffordable thrills.
He is raising his sons with the best intentions...

hold the mayonnaise, pile on the situation.

Zach Dietrich/Scottsdale,Arizona/USA

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Page Updated Thu Apr 29, 1999 6:39am EDT