super powers

i know if i concentrate hard enough i will
start to see the fan blades move
then make it stop and glance out of the
corner of my eye to make sure it was unseen

i've known i could fly since i played
in sandboxes and jumped off of the split rail fence
the fact that i haven't tried from higher than
a ladder in many years makes no difference

something i can no longer do is become invisible
hiding behind a couch or under my blankets
now with my own children with better abilities than mine
like the power of being able to see invisible parents

my twin brother and i never knocked fists together
and yelled "wonder twin powers - activate"
we already knew the strength of the supernatural bond between us
and the world could not hold us

and our dreams coming true day after day
were enough that there was no need to pretend
or even ask for more
than what we already possess

what are the rules?

follow me home and make me aware
of a place that i dream all alone
people see more through rose colored lenses
than most people find from their throne

my daughter said poetry always should rhyme
the young and their blinders don't see
that open verse ramblings of thirty-something men
can be deep as a yet uncrossed sea

Do metrical patterns like iambic pentameter
Unleash words to the same boring song?
Maybe free verse will break these chains of arrangement
Because concrete acrostic's just wrong

If the Bard were alive i wonder if he
would take note of our lack of prim diction
and write less about death in structured quatrains
and more about spiritual conviction

balloon

suspended between the ceiling and the floor
eliciting squeals and smiles for a few days
tight and reflecting, almost bursting with exuberance
while shiny mylar frogs proclaim "Hoppy Birthday!"

now dragging its green ribbon across the carpet
swirling in circles of air from the floor register
like an old man leaking gas through seams
losing the battle of loft through diffusion

i kicked it this morning
lying in my path, not just physically but as mental clutter
i will kidnap it tonight after the children are in bed
rescuing it from punches and sharp objects

placing it atop black hefty trash bags
frogs still smiling, remembering the joy they once brought
to a now five year old who still remembers
and when morning comes asks where his dying balloon went