Category: irony
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OTD 2022
by
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It happens right here
in front of us:
close enough to feel
the blood splatter;
close enough to hear
her lungs wheeze;
close enough to smell
the rusty wet iron.
We shrug and move on.What’s there to do?
But scream,
and point fingers;
then wake up to start
another day in America.
(December 25, 2025)
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“We had a hedge back home in the suburbs
Over which I never could see:
—The Clash
Sporting my “Howl” facsimile t-shirt
after working out at the gym, I stop
by the local grocery store for a few things.
David Bowie plays on the store’s music track,
followed by the Clash’s “Lost in the Supermarket.”
How ironic and fun! as I move down the aisle.
I quickly grab the gluten-free bread we like,
a pre-prepared sushi meal for lunch,
and a bag of ice since our fridge crapped out.
Down the road ICE maintains a detention center.
While on the other side of the world, jets bomb
Palestinians in Gaza, and the people in Tehran.
(June 18, 2025)
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fuck my life I say
as I go about my day—
ritual defines
(January 10, 2025)
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On a sunny day in mid-November
in a newly gentrified part of Austin,
the restaurant is full of the young and educated
who chat at tables beneath the large oaks.
Waitresses bring armfuls of food and drink,
then easily sweep away the empty trays
in an all consuming dance of plenty.
Conversation at our table stays light
with talk of work and dogs and nothing,
nothing at all, of the coming darkness.
(November 10, 2024)
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i fear i’ve used time
as an excuse to fail
telling myself for years
if i only had time
then i would be enough
yet now that i have time
i fear it is too late
to take time to write
today for exampleinstead i took a nap
read watched tv
then finally felt guilty
because i had failed
to walk the dogs
(June 3, 2024)
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if i move too fast then details
which get lost in the blur
tumble away from me as I fall
grasping desperately at roots
protruding from the rock
or seizing bits of grass
that rim the edge of the whole
yet if I move too slowthen the larger view decays
into each profound curvature
of stone I step upon
until i clinch my teeth
in anticipation of intercepting
the wall with my jaw, then
watch my blood follow in slow arcs
behind my shattered teeth
so i stand stillrisking nothing
(March 18, 2024)
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“Props and other disinherited
paraphernalia are never enough.”
—Susan Howe
My hands cradle my face,
covering my dead eyes.
Worn thin like ragged cloth,
I am tired of my life:
Before sunrise I wake,
slowly move down the stairs,
and start again. Morning
rituals of coffee
keep the old dramas near,
private. I want to wail,
long howls into the dark.
Instead, I feed the dog,
whose tail wags happily
as she eats her kibble.
(August 9, 2021) -
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (74)
It is hard to hear
what must be said
easy to fall
into cliche
a pair of shoes
softly worn old
they know the way
to take you home
as cows wear down
a simple path
between one place
and another
no difference
really matters
our thoughts carve out
the same channels
and run like rats
trapped in a maze
never pausing
to look for more
than what was there
the last time here
repetition
a common thread
comforts us all
with old ideas
and traps us too
with such fools as I
(July 11, 2020)
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In downtown Baltimore
Years after he died
Lou Reed sings from the sound system
Of this corporate hotel lobby.
This is funnier
Than it should be.
I am almost sixty years old,
Attending an English teacher convention.
Back in Austin, hours later,
I casually toss herbs into the mortar,
And without thought, begin to grind:
“I don’t want to know…
All the streets you’ve crossed
Not so long ago”
(November 24, 2019)
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Since I do understand the importance
Of narrative, I tell stories without
Telling stories, like now, as I write this
Poem. I’ve created a fiction of me,
Truthfully, yet still a grounded fiction,
Who is speaking to you, someone absent,
As if we were strangers ordered to share
A rough table in a pub. But instead
of talking about the local football
team, or rudely about the government,
I talk to you as if you are in love,
Listening, as I speak, rather than write,
These simplistic thoughts upon this blank page,
And pretend you did not leave years ago.
(January 11, 2019)
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It was a place to go.
It promised us more.
The past had nothing,
but anger and fear.
The witch smiled,
because we knew
she was a witch,
but entered freely.
Compliance, not cages,
held us to her.
It was easier to
submit, than not.
We live in fear
of a better world.
(June 2, 2018)
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I take off my glasses
and cannot see
with any clarity
more than a little way
my vision’s weak
but sufficient
to navigate within
these blurred horizons
as with any truth
only what’s near
coheres enough
to provide shape
even so few know
the heart close by
(February 13, 2018)
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No words tonight to push back
Against the dark lurking close,
Nor books, with their comforting
Runes, to solidify the chaos
Which prowls about the house
Like wolves on the edge of a fire.
I desire affirmation—
A coherence to believe
Beyond the tremors which buck
And warp my life’s lassitude.
Yet, there is nothing beyond
My own shallow thoughts
To assuage the vacuous
Profundity of my days.
(January 10, 2018)
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