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Fievel Crane Posts

POEM: Yoda was usually wrong, but not always

Yoda was usually wrong, but not always

In that one bit of Empire
he chastises Luke for not
staying in the present,
for not keeping his mind
on where he is,
what he is doing.

And look,
Yoda missed a Sith lord
working in an office
down the hall,
and he gave the
green light
to training Vader,

but on this one
he was right.
(Tell your sister.)
So was the Buddha,
who said pretty much
the same thing
with better syntax.

But it sure ain’t easy
to Be Here Now,
as the t-shirts say.
Especially when you’d
rather be somewhere else,
somewhere
very specifically
else.

In fact I can
point to it on a map.
To the town,
to the street,
even,
if I had my way,
to the specific floor
of the specific building.

I do try,
really I do,
to enjoy where I am.
The people,
the fun things,
the battles won,
or at least fought.

It’s just that
the map I own
has had the same X
marked on it since
I was six years old,

and I have reached
what even a charitable
observer
would have to call
the later innings,

and so the pull,
which has always
been strong,
is becoming
unbearable.

Like the guy said,
though,
do or do not,
there is no try.
Get busy living
or get busy dying.
Hey, I’m walking here.

/ / /

26 October 2026
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Thursday

Thursday

one leaf
one leaf
one leaf

sparrow
through
treetop

branch
hints at
breeze

“blue”
fills in
the gaps

truck
cuts the
silence

/ / /

22 October 2026
Charlottesville VA

I recently started reading poems by Robert Lax, and this is the first result.

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POEM: Heidi’s Psychic Octopus

Heidi’s Psychic Octopus

lives down the hall from me.
I don’t know where Heidi lives.
The octopus mostly keeps to itself.
Occasionally it goes out for groceries.
And once I saw it at the movies.
It was the 50th anniversary re-release
of Jaws, which felt a little on the nose.
On the beak? I’ve never gotten
close enough to check.
Anyway I don’t think much
about Heidi’s friend. Or I didn’t.
Until the other day I was at
our local pub, The Confused Griffin,
and in walked Heidi’s psychic octopus.
Chat in the pub quieted immediately,
as you’d imagine. Stunned looks
were the order of the evening.
The octopus schlorped up to the bar,
holding out a deck of cards
in one tentacle toward a punter
drinking a Guiness. I’ll give him credit,
the man didn’t hesitate, just pulled a card,
looked at it, and put it back in the deck.
Using another tentacle, the octopus
gently touched the man’s temple.
You could have heard a pin drop.
The man looked down.
He started to cry.
He covered his face with his hands.
We all watched him sob
for what seemed like hours.
After a while the tears stopped.
He looked up at the octopus,
whispered “Thank you,”
and left the Griffin.
As he got to the door,
the octopus got his attention
one last time by slapping a tentacle
on top of the bar.
The man turned around to see
the octopus pull out the seven of clubs.
“That’s my card,” the man said, and smiled.

/ / /

20 October 2026
Charlottesville VA

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The Past

Today I’m thinking about the past. At this point in my life I have a lot of past, and most of it doesn’t give me all that much pleasure to think about. I know that it made me, but also that returning to it is impossible and the attempt is often harmful.

While I was looking for something I came across a negative comment about myself. It doesn’t matter what it was. The point is more that those tend to be the things that stick with me. (I know I’m not alone in this.) For example if 10 people say “that was good” and one person says “that was bad,” I’ll focus on the latter. The same is true for me most of the time when I think of the past. I have some rosy memories, but more bad ones.

I was thinking of that Faulkner quote: “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” And then contrasting that with the Buddhist idea that the past is finished, the future is not real, and only the present can really be experienced and dealt with.

I’m a little bit lucky in that depression impacts the memory retention centers of the brain, so I’ve actually forgotten the majority of my life. A weird kind of luck, but still. I don’t have regular communication with most of my family, or with almost anyone from previous eras of my life. Perhaps this is normal for most folks who’ve moved a lot, like I have. It tends to mean that the majority of people I talk to regularly know very little about me. This makes my current self … maybe a bit shallow or two-dimensional? But also it means they’re not usually a dragging a ton of old baggage into our interactions.

It’s an interesting tightrope to walk – a thin line strung between the things that created me and the person I might yet become. The rope itself is all that exists, and I just balance.

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haiku: 10 July 2026

rain on my toes
bluebird dips and dives
no flowers on the tomato plants

/ / /

10 July 2026
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Laughter

Laughter

They held signs and banners.
They wore cute hats and shirts.
The state laughed and looked away.

They shouted slogans and mottoes.
They sang songs of protest.
The state laughed and looked away.

They held photos of their missing loved ones.
They created memorials in the town square.
The state laughed and looked away.

They visited the offices of politicians.
They assembled on the capital steps.
The state laughed and looked away.

They wrote strongly worded letters.
They called the offices of the powerful.
The state laughed and looked away.

They voted with their wallets.
They only bought local.
The state laughed and looked away.

They recycled their cans and bottles.
They used their own shopping bags.
The state laughed and looked away.

They filled glass bottles with gasoline.
They learned to shoot guns.
The state’s laughter faltered.

They chose their targets carefully.
They sowed fear in the hearts of the rich.
The smile left the face of the state.

They fought fire with fire.
They built a new world in the ashes of the old.
The state? What state?

/ / /

17 June 2026
Charlottesville VA

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haiku: 14 June 2026

backs turned on the railroad
the towns don’t look
as I pass by

/ / /

14 June 2026
on a train in Virginia

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POEM: some of my dad

some of my dad

we hugged and he said
“you’re getting so big”

at first I thought it was a fat jab
a not uncommon topic there

but then he looked at the top of my head
and I realized he meant “all grown up”

he’d already been forgetting things:
words, events, people’s names, movies he’d seen

but everybody forgets those things
from time to time

this time he looked at a thing
(a person … ME)

and saw something else
someone else, somewhen else

that’s when I knew
nothing would ever be the same again

/ / /

29 May 2026
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Cliff Diver

Cliff Diver

It’s hard to write a poem
while the songs are playing,
but I wanted you to know
how much it means to me
that you see me as me,
as the person I am
but also as the person
I want to be, can be.
There’s a lot of fog
in the area this morning
and I get it. I often feel
as though I’m walking
through a thick mist,
unsure of my destination
or even my current location.
But then I catch a glimpse of you
and I know where I am, who I am.
An exchange student once told me
that the people who love you
are a net so you know you’re safe
and can’t fall too far.
I’ve taken some real plunges
over years, fallen off cliffs
and into crevasses,
but my people always find me.
Thank you for finding me
and for reminding me
that a better world is possible.

/ / /

12 May 2026
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Freedom Fighter

Freedom Fighter

I am hunkered down
in the hills of my life,
cold hands holding
a machine gun
I 3-D printed using
plans I got off Reddit.

I am in open rebellion
against myself.
I wage war
on the limitations
I have set.
I topple my government.

I am waiting
for my critic to appear,
to put their head
above the parapet
of the fortress
they’ve built inside me.

From this distance (zero inches)
it will be difficult to miss,
or at least that’s how
it seems to me.
I’ve never shot
a figment before.

/ / /

Charlottesville VA
7 May 2026

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