Category: Poems (Page 1 of 7)

My Inner Critic’s Dialects (on ridiculous dreams)

October 31, 2023 / dancallaway

I’ve got a thing for the Brits. ?? Melissa can tell you all about it.

“You wanna watch anything tonight? Comedy? Action?”

Dan searches the BritBox subscription channel for moody, atmospheric drama set near the Lake District.

Must be DNA. 23 and Me tells me 81% of my ancestry vibrates from the Isles.

Lately, I’ve been dreaming of doing theatre-y things in the UK — teaching West End performers, working with dancers who want to sing more, performing at The National Theatre.

When I was in London in 2000, I’d walk over Waterloo Bridge, look across at the South Bank, and dream about getting to perform in one of the 3 iconic spaces there. No idea how to work out the whole visa situation, but I’ve never been too concerned with details.

My London leanings resurfaced in my psyche again this week, and I laughed when I scrolled to today’s email subject suggestion on my Google sheet (I keep a list of things I want to email you about.)

It said —

Can you tell from the talk-to-text that I was all like, really? You sure?

22-year old Dan wanted to perform at The National, and so does 45-year-old Dan.

May never happen. Given my citizenship status, the probability lowers even more.

But still, I want that to happen.

I imagine an extended season near London where Melissa manages a cutting-edge research lab with unusually extraverted science colleagues, the boys wear uniforms to school, and I get to teach and perform in and around the West End. And we all ride our bikes to the National Gallery.

I even drew a pic and wrote a poem about it one time

“Boys and their fancies!” Mrs. Lovett says. “What will we think of next?”

(My inner critic talks like a machiavellian East Ender when it’s not a mean redneck.)

Thing is, though, your hypotheticals have important info.

The specifics of them may never happen, but letting yourself dream the dream does a couple of things.

If you can hold your fantasies with love and gentleness, it makes you expectant.

A few weeks back at church, there was a talk about the difference between expectation and expectancy.

It was a nuanced and important difference.

Expectations project a specific outcome. And often, as they say in the 12 Steps, they can be resentments waiting to happen.

Expectancy has an open heart that knows it can wish for a thing, AND something even more nourishing, satisfying, and purposeful may appear that it never could have imagined.

When my life was in a major disintegration stage, a phrase started bubbling up from my heart: I’d rather have God’s surprises than my plans.

And it’s a both-and project.

Just like I ask Noah, “What would you like to have for breakfast?” I think God wants us to share what it is we want.

As a dad, when Noah requests “Waffooooollllls” with the knowledge that I want to help him out, it makes my heart happy. I want him to know that I want to help him.

Goes back to Einstein’s “I think the most important question facing humanity is, ‘Is the universe a friendly place?’”

And if Enistein can ask that question in his historical context, then we can, too.

All that was about expectancy.

The second thing all this dreaming does is that it gets your wheels turning so that you discover possibilities you would have missed.

Maybe the first idea isn’t something you can control or take action on, but it points you in a direction.

Maybe you can’t call up the casting director at the National Theatre and say, “Heeeey! I can’t work legally in the UK (YET!), but you clearly need to get me on your radar. Um, you’re welcome.”

But, you could start researching avenues to get your body to the UK and collaborating with theatre artists there.

I often tell students, “Put your body in the place, and do the thing.” Folks will start to notice.

When I was 22, I had no idea that I wouldn’t be able to find some other way to stay in the UK after my 6-month work permit expired.

And I’m glad I didn’t know. I’m so grateful for the time I had there and the friends I’m blessed with as a result.

So, let your dreamer dream; let expectancy bloom, and write down all the things that feel immediately delightful.

Your noggin may say, “How ridiculous.” Then you can say, “Yes, you’re right,” and then write down the next thing that would be so terrific if it ever happened.

Because for real — there is only one you (with your particular dreams), and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS Here’s the SONNET I wrote about the Anglo-dreams I have for our family’s UK stint 🙂

Some days I dream about how we could
Move to London, find a flat or part
Of a house on a close close to an ancient wood
Or anywhere near a park. We’d explore art
Galleries and eat cake in the crypt
At St. Martin and tool around the town on bikes,
Cross the river and see a play with a script
That I wrote. We’d travel north and take long hikes
Along sea cliffs.Then we’d build a fire
And drink hot chocolate and whisky. Back in town
We’d go to work and school, sing in a choir,
And drink pints in the pub, the Something and Crown.
We’ll go to the market for bread and leeks and flowers
And have soup for supper and talk and laugh for hours.

This is why I’d suck at crime. So I wrote you these poems.

June 14, 2021 / dancallaway

Parenting toddlers means that Melissa and I are swear-word spelling bee ninjas.

We can cuss a blue streak letter by letter faster than Cookie Monster can devour chocolate-sprinkled carbs.

However, the thing about our system that fails is that when Melissa speaks in alphabet code, I’ll reply with,

“Oooooh, so you want to take the boys to the SCIENCE CENTER?”

We joke that I would suck at a life of crime.

I’d be the one by the getaway car asking the police officer how fast she thought I could get from zero to 90 because, after all, we’re going to need all the horsepower we can get once my accomplices roll out with the loot.

This is why I’m a musical theatre misfit toy. I wanna bring what’s inside to the outside and sing about it for three maybe four mins.

It’s also why I write poems.

Here are three that I wrote for you in the last couple weeks.

I hope you’ll let yourself have a moment of slowdown, read one whose title draws your eye, and have a smile or heart-hug moment you wouldn’t’ve had otherwise.

Sparrow in Manhattan

I always remember a story Ghana told me
At work in downtown Manhattan one morning.
She saw a sparrow on a railing. Free
And loud, she sang in celebration adorning
The horn-exhausted air with vibrant chirp-
Chirps! God’s eye was on this creature chanting
Significance into the tiny park. Usurp-
-ing her iron throne was impossible. Just planting
Her feet on another bench would establish her domain.
She sang because she was happy, and Ghana told
Me it made her feel liberated somehow–that hearing
The bird’s song cutting through the cold
Cacophony hugged her with God’s ceaseless nearing.
I heard a bird in Greensboro today and recalled
My friend’s story of this winged singer unwalled.

Low Hanging Fruit

When I watched A Star is Born with Lady
Gaga and Bradley Cooper, I thought that “Shallow”
Song was really good. During a shady
Walk pushing the stroller watching marshmallow
Clouds in the May sky, I texted an old
Student of mine: “Hey There! Do you know
That “Shallow” song from A Star is Born?” Bold
Choice, I thought, for a pop song in her book to show
Off that top belt range. She politely replied
That she knew it and would check it out. It was kind
Of like when I heard “Someone Like You” and tried
To add it to my rep–what a find!
It worked for comedy once, though–came in handy–
Overdone songs: more than just ear candy. 🙂

Today is Refrain from Terrorizing Yourself Day

Today is Refrain from Terrorizing Yourself Day.
You get to walk the unfamiliar road
Of kindness and gentleness toward your soul by way
Of fierce protective honor of the load
You’ve chosen to carry thus far. You
Can put the pack down now. All that weight
Was not your burden to haul. Walk through
This next stretch barefooted, and meditate
Into the sound of your voice singing a tune
With happy intervals. You believed that sack
You left behind contained supplies you’d soon
Need, not joyless stuff now behind your back.
Leave it there, and try a skip or leap.
Cartwheels’ll come soon, though not cheap.

That’s all for today, my fellow sharing what’s inside traveler.

I’ll abstain from secrecy-requiring crimes today if you will.

Always remember there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story that only you can sing.

ps if you just. need. more. poetry. in your life, today’s your lucky day. Can you say bonus sonnet???

Holy Paw Patrol Dance Moment

I park the boys in front of “Paw Patrol”
When I make their lunch. By the time the shells
Are al dente or the PB and J’s read’ to roll,
Jude runs into the kitchen, his toddler cells
Ready for action. His wide eyes telegraph
That it’s that time. “Dance please!” he calls and lifts
His sweet sausage-y arms. I have to laugh
And pick him up. This is one of life’s gifts.
When we enter the living room, Noah’s ready
To join the choreo, so I hoist each nugget on a hip
And wait for the pup dispatch jingle. Steady
We go, I step-touch and try to keep my grip.
These boys are always interrupting chores,
Injecting joy, and opening fantastical doors.

Tulips

April 2, 2021 / dancallaway

Grandmother grew tulips, and I learned
They were for outside admiring when I picked
A bouquet of them for her. When the days turned
Warmer, these red and yellow bells in strict
Rows played music inside my stomach. They looked
Like gelato on a stem, if I had known
What that was–like God had gleefully cooked
A pan of custard for a rainbow ice cream cone
Display. I still think they should be edible.
Have you ever felt that? Something so fully
Joy and carbonation that the only credible
Action was just to eat it? Just me?
“Look what I brung, Grandmother!” “Brought brought brought!”
It wasn’t just grammar, but springtime and pound cake you taught. ?

Badass Prime Driver

March 30, 2021 / dancallaway

You were kind to me when I was a frightened
Freshman gripping my backpack straps trying
To disappear into lockers. Your smile lightened
My textbook adolescent load. Lying
Ahead, you showed me, were possibilities such
As studying Mozart in places where other misfit
Toys could gather and make beauty–much
Aloneness relieved witnessing your musical grit.
Today, the Prime driver said, “Dan?”,
Removed his mask, and there was that smile
That made this scared kid feel like the man.
The symphony gig is on hold for a while.
In the meantime, you are being a badass
Making some bucks until you’re back with the brass.

Copenhagen

March 28, 2021 / dancallaway

Copenhagen made me want to buy
A pack of cigarettes, hold a cup
Of coffee and walk past palaces, flowers, and high-
Spired churches in a moody jacket sewn up
By smoke and caffeine vapor. I was a poor
Man’s Kierkegaard, existential
In museums and botanical gardens. Despite the lure
Of Duolingo’s proficiency promises, my credential
In Danish left me with the ability to say
“Sorry,” “thank you,” and “turtle.” Politely asking
My Nordic hosts, “Speak you English?” Would play
Out with perfunctory lingual multitasking.
It was beautiful, and people smiled when I tried.
And I reviewed the sensation of feeling outside.

Winner

March 26, 2021 / dancallaway

I’m taking a songwriting class on the internet —
Ryan Tedder from One Republic teaches
You how to write and produce hits–no sweat,
Except there’re all these software knobs, and each is
More confounding than the other. Pro Tools,
It’s called, and the tools are clearly meant for pros.
Today I got my mic to follow the rules
And talk to the recording intelligence. God knows
When I will establish effective communication
With my keyboard. Typing “connecting midi
Piano mixer clueless aggravation”
Into google hasn’t helped. Pity.
This self-okay I feel being a beginner–
It’s new and nice, like I’m a fumbling winner.

White American Male

March 23, 2021 / dancallaway

We wonder why White American men
Are split-off cardboard forts with our tin can
Transistor strings severed. Then again,
How could it be otherwise? “Be a man.”
What images does that command drag out?
Eyes like a mirror lake reflecting back
The image of one coming for a drink?
Ears like a wool blanket you can unpack
From the kitbag–scratchy but cozier than you’d think?
Those aren’t the pictures that emerge for me.
The man we mean is one who dams the lake
And stuffs the fleece down on the feel debris
Collected for years. March, and don’t bellyache.
No wonder we can’t hear you when you cry.
Tears might move that water. We’d drown. We’d die.

Underground

March 21, 2021 / dancallaway

When I stood on the escalator descending
To the Bakerloo Line platform, I studied
(As only someone brought up in the the befriending-
Required rural South could) the un-buddied
Faces ascending past posters of American B-list
Celebrities starring in the West End production
Of Chicago. My interest in a tight fist
on a briefcase or a brow furrow tripped a deduction
In my brain about where each person grew
Up or where they were going, whether they
We’re happy or not– The briefcase gripper I knew
Needed to quit his job and write a play.
Assigning a story to my fellow Undergrounder
Quelled the loneliness of this moving stairs expounder.

Thank You Accomplished

March 18, 2021 / dancallaway

Thank you for breathing, for feet that feel the floor,
For the register I stub my toe on that sends
Warm air into the kitchen this morning. More
Than that, thank you for a brain that blends
Appreciation for a pink cotton t-shirt
With a grateful hum for the heat and taste in my old
Coffee mug. My cold toes assert
Their gratitude for thick socks rolled
Up and available in my bedroom drawer,
And the cluttered filing cabinet in my noggin
Reminds me my unachievable chore
List means job, and Apple remembers my login.
Above all, let me say thank you with eyes
Open to gifts I forgot to recognize.

Learning Lines

March 13, 2021 / dancallaway

You begin rehearsing when you’re very young,
Testing tactics, gesture, and use of voice
To guage what actions elicit embrace. You clung
To the director’s words and based every choice
On a raised eyebrow or the cessation of speech–
Which way of performing will win the boss’s
Favor again? If nothing else, you teach
Yourself how to ignore your secret losses
While looking competent but exhausted. When
They see how hard you’re working, they’ll take note,
Right? They’ll smatter you with claps. Then
You’ll be significant, reciting lines by rote.
Soon, you won’t even need a script anymore.
You’re memorized, tight-costumed, half lit. Encore.