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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

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  • Quick Take on The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Leguin

    by

    books, literature, reader response, reading

    I finished May’s RFB book, The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Leguin, a few minutes ago. Great book. It was published 50 years ago, and it still reads as if it is commenting on the contemporary world. I good sign of it being a powerful work of art. The book is set on the two worlds of Annaris, and Urras; worlds which share a common people, but very divergent ideologies. Annaris’s  being anarchy, and Urras—capitalism. On Annaris the populace pursues their own interests as long as they do not harm others, each of the citizens taking turns with the tasks which benefit all by either volunteering or by lottery. Everybody is taken care of during hard times, and everyone works to help each other survive on a very hostile world. While on Urras people are caught up in the manipulative games, which help the individual get ahead. The planet is divided into competing countries which are often at war, while the countries are built upon a caste system where there are owners and workers. This is not to say that Leguin sees one as a paradise and the other as despicable. Annaris has over time lost much of its revolutionary drive and there are cliques of special interests who resist change and innovation, where on Urras, the governments have, through strict control, managed to create a world of beauty if not equality. In addition to the obvious political themes of communalism and capitalism, the book has strong currents of feminist thought, class, science and creativity; loyalty, love and friendship. It was a fun read full of ideas and possibilities which I like in Science Fiction. 

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  • woke

    by

    agency, awareness, frustration, oblivious, poetry, privilege, snarky

    if

    —as when each night

    i close my eyes and pretend

    to be asleep so that

    i will fall asleep—


    i pretend

    to close my mind

    to the injustice

    in the world

    will it cease to exist? 

    (May 5, 2026)

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  • Twins

    by

    aging, borders, liminal, poetry, sleepless, tired

    “How have you made division of yourself?”

    —W. Shakespeare, 12th Night, 5.1

    I lean over

    my sleeping body

    run my hand

    down my arm

    to wake myself—


    I feel my presence

    above me—

    -time to wake up-

    I stir reluctantly,

    but I am so tired.


    Still I wake enough

    to find myself

    -crawling back into bed-

    once again alone

    and return to sleep.

    (May 3, 2026)

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  • reading is difficult

    by

    books, hubris, Language and Literacy, literacy, poetry, process, reading

    to decipher with speed

    from repetitive marks

    in a collection of pages

    one clump of sounds

    and their relationship

    to another sequence

    centimeters apart

    then reconnecting

    them all with ease to other

    clusters arranged in similar

    fashion across hundreds

    and hundreds of pages

    and between hundreds

    and hundreds of books

    often returning to see

    again in unseen ways

    the meaning change

    in deeper and more 

    complex manners

    for the entirety 

    of one’s short life

    and even so one

    still feels as if 

    one knows nothing

    nothing at all

    (May 2, 2026)

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  • Elder Gods

    by

    attention, awareness, change, floating world, haiku, life, nature, poetry, samsara, tanka

    All day a thick rain

    thunders from the darkened sky;

    the dogs hide inside.


    Pigeons coo, “What’s up with you?”

    as the rain begins to wane.

    (April 30, 2026)

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  • Trying to Look Casual

    by

    acceptance, borders, control, difference, erasure, identity formation, paradigms, poetry, process, revision, transition, ways of knowing

    He stopped forgetting,

    and began again to see

    the shadows in the trees.


    No longer willing

    to hide in oblivion’s

    darker eddies,


    his questions turned

    to soft acceptance,

    and he felt free.


    Memory shifted

    and reshaped itself

    to a looser fit,


    more comfortable

    to the details

    he wished to deny.

    (April 30, 2026)

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  • Political Song

    by

    agency, attention, awareness, beauty, change, community, existential angst, fear, future, hope, life, love, poetry, politics, power, resistance

    my resistances arise

    through the day


    in the way 

    I see


    the trees leaf

    the roses bud


    and bloom only

    to let go


    their petals

    to the ground


    and here

    as well as there


    in the streets

    filled with anger


    is a beauty

    and a love


    which must be held

    with all our arms


    and named

    with all our voices


    no matter how small

    or fleeting


    we feel our hearts 

    to be


    no matter the terror

    slithering nearby


    laugh as well

    as mourn


    sing as well 

    as scream


    see more

    than is allowed


    see what we were

    see what we are


    and see what

    we can become

    (April 29, 2026)

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  • The Difference Between Hope and Desire

    by

    borders, definition, desire, difference, hope, interrelationships, meaning, poetry

    Both long for some other than exists now,

    and then vanish when consummated.


    Both, in their hearts, contain a tarnished shard

    of pessimism which gives them a meaning.


    Both are wrapped in a spongey optimism

    to protect them from dark life’s toxic barbs.


    Both are twin aspects of an endless hell:

    one leads you there, one absconds at the gate.

    (April 26, 2026)

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  • Forever – is composed of Nows –

    by

    agency, attention, awareness, choice, clarity, home, life, meditation, objectivism, poetry, present, spring, time

    —11:11am, 81 degrees

    After an interrupted sleep,

    I am slow to wake

    into a muggy spring morning.

    The dogs were restless

    and anxious all night

    disturbed by shadows

    shifting across the moonlit yard. 

    Both now curl at my feet,

    silently asleep. 

    I sip my second cup,

    stare out the window

    at the sycamore’s leaves 

    slowly stirring the still air,

    and try to start the day.

    (April 26, 2026)

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  • But Now I’m Found

    by

    abstract, acceptance, agency, aging, awareness, change, clarity, difference, fall, lost, meaning, poetry, sonnets

    If I understand

    correctly, then 

    I have stumbled

    on a rule,


    a pratfall,

    in my case,

    accidentally 

    into a truth.


    Not that rules

    or truths must

    ever exist

    necessarily:


    here, where I am lost, is

    where the first word falls. 

    (April 24, 2026)

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  • If Truth Be Told 

    by

    communication, conversation, difference, language, meaning, metaphor, poetics, poetry, sonnets, unspoken, ways of knowing, words

    The snow, the road,

    the woods, the town,

    the wild geese, the sleepy cat

    are not the snow, the

    road, the woods, the

    town, the wild geese, the

    sleepy cat; the words I use

    are not what I am saying.


    Like lovers’ conversations

    late at night after many years

    and a second bottle of wine

    are never about what they say:

    a metaphor is what is left;

    a metaphor is what you fear.

    (April 22, 2026)

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  • Offering

    by

    agency, aging, awareness, god, gratitude, happiness, life, offering, poetry, present, ritual


    “Oh, God said to Abraham, ‘Kill me a son.’

    —Bob Dylan

    I want to write

    something other

    than this poem;

    this trifle;

    this moment,

    but this is all

    I have to give

    after another

    eventless day.

    Another day

    which was enough

    for what I had

    to accomplish,

    as this poem

    is enough for

    it is all

    that I have

    left to offer.

    (April 20, 2026)

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  • Pandora

    by

    agency, change, hope, mythic, poetry, restraint

    I box them up—

    one as flat

    as another,

    as only our

    equivocations

    can be believed.


    I box them up—

    pack each tight

    into darker,

    smaller boxes,

    until I can

    no longer move.


    I box them up—

    so they cannot fly

    deeper and deeper

    into a stranger hell

    where all we fear

    festers with hope.

    (April 20, 2016)

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  • Waiting on a Null Point

    by

    aging, awareness, borders, change, patterns, poetry

    From lackadaisical shadows

    beneath a deep summer shade,

    Long afternoons stretch slowly

    into the lengthening night;

    and old conversations drift

    into comfortable silences.

    Bits begin to fall away.

    One idea contradicts

    another until only a shape

    of what’s not there remains

    like ash, from a low fire,

    maintains the shape of the wood

    before collapsing upon itself,

    and all that was there is not

    but shadows cast by the moon.

    (April 13, 2026)

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  • REM’s Stand

    by

    awareness, despair, education, essay, life, memoir, memory, music

    A few days ago, I heard Stand by R.E.M. It came out in 1988. It gave me a center-point to hold on to in a stupidly difficult year. 

    In 1988, Beeville ISD hired me to teach 7th grade English at Thomas Jefferson Junior High School. They had recently changed the mascot from the Devils to the Jets because of the “satanic” overtones of the Devils. It was my first teaching job. I had been unable to find an English position in the Austin area, despite multiple interviews. I figure now that I was a crappy interviewer due to my tendency to mumble, talk fast when nervous, over-intellectualize simple questions and to look everywhere but at the person asking the questions. Or maybe something completely different: I didn’t know then which was all that mattered. Beeville needed an English teacher and I got hired. We moved to Beeville, Texas and I had my first classroom. It was a mistake from the start. Within the first few weeks, I had lost control, even if I had not realized it yet then. Although I figured it out pretty fast, but by the time I did it was too late. The seventh graders ate me alive. For the rest of the year I felt completely lost and unbalanced. It was sad. REM’s Stand (as well as David Wagoneer’s poem Lost, which I had taped to my desk) helped by reminding me to think about where I was amidst the chaos of my life that year. We moved back to Austin at the end of the school year.

    This post has its origins in a “prompt” from a friend who asked that we write to memories elicited by various songs.

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