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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

  • This Writer’s Beginnings: EarlyYears
  • Bread Loaf Influence
  • Rock and Roll High School
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  • after the moment passes

    by

    life, poetry, sonnets
    to begin is often too difficult
    my love’s true origin spits and sputters
    as a fire fails to devour wet wood
    teeth gnaw and gnash upon all of the words
    I cannot say when I am around you
    I am a shadow a ghost a vacuum
    the moment a bubble stretches then pops
    splattering into the wet winter grass
    I desire so much more than what I am
    without any knowledge of where to start
    so we part as if ever together
    into divergent exchanges of time
    I am where I am despite my desire
    like damp kindling scattered across the ground

    (April 15, 2016)

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  • as if Sisyphus

    by

    abstract, broken, control, existential angst, metaphor, mythic
    parables become
    you inside enfold
    each hesitant step
    as dust rises in
    a swirl to create
    an aura of earth
    as guardian beneath
    a waxing moon
    your stomach’s full
    the fire’s warm
    sporadic experiences
    transform along lines
    of thought as if grace
    will find a way to saddle
    wisdom upon your back
    until you’re broken
    to the bit and smiling
    (April 12, 2016)

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  • kiss your mind

    by

    conversation, erato, language, poetry, traces
    drafts drams and dribbles
    of a conversation I sip
    and savor as if a bit
    of bourbon lingers upon
    your lips I longed to kiss
    before once more we
    slip to silence

    (April 7, 2016)

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  • in vino veritas

    by

    communication, life, poetry, truth
    effusive truths roll
    off your tongue until
    another too speaks true
    then oh no you take
    offense meaning
    defense to protect
    what you know as true
    to be as false as the truth
    you do not wish to hear
    (April 7, 2016)

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  • cracks

    by

    broken, control, existential angst, fear, poetry, tension
    here I am
    off meds
    and troubled
    within the fear that fear
    will crawl into each
    moment’s crevice
    like blood
    slipping to the floor
    until there is not
    a difference between
    myself and the wall

    (April 5, 2016)

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  • We Find Meaning Where We Look

    by

    abstract, identity formation, interpretation, lists, poetry, social construction, sonnets
    “reanimated by appropriation”
                –Susan Howe
    I put on other’s clothes
    friends lovers conspirators
    guises to disguise
    myself to myself
    random increments
    casual in their sediment
    like laughter in the dark
    somewhere not here
    lists compiled then
    disaggregated in detail
    still lack a cohesion
    just words juxtaposed
    we whisper together
    as if we knew more

    (March 321, 2016)

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  • After the Story Ends

    by

    erato, memory, patterns, poetry, silence, sonnets
    memory’s a curse
    for not forgetting
    I remember with clarity
    conversations and causes
    stumbled apologies
    for unnoticed slights
    for I noticed you
    with detailed exposition
    and  framed narrative
    and  I remember you
    across the crowded room
    your laughter and passion
    as you spoke to everyone
    before speaking to me
    (March 29, 2016)

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  • Hope

    by

    change, happiness, hope, poetry, sonnets
    “When I awoke it was noon.”
                            –Arthur Rimbaud
    each morning before the alarm
    before the sun before I am
    fully awake I rise as if
    I could somehow steal
    time from the day before
    it begins as if I could hold
    for a moment the moment
    like a bird within my hand
    and feel life’s pulse flutter
    through me like waves
    along a calmer shore
    less fraught with worry’s
    wreckage less cluttered
    with my mistaken regret

    (March 27, 2016)

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  • exegesis on the way home

    by

    abstract, charm, community, control, dance, interpretation, metaphor, poetry, tension, ways of knowing

    “on the edge of the sand they danced by the light of the moon”
                the owl and the pussycat
    an old story allows
    for improvisation
    key moments open doors
    to thought of course
    must not be omitted           
    they provide anchors
    to hold a mountain’s face
    as wind buffets throughout
    our tangled vision’s hair
    between those moments
    of unremarked repose
    unfold the thousand days
    within a thousand moments
    where one must attend
    within a softer light
    to follow each shuffled step
    to move along again without
    a singular momentous fall
    a dancer’s grace’s required
    to negotiate a toe turn
    with smoke’s dexterity
    to leap each rubbled crevasse
    and land in a hard lurch
    with enough of a balance
    to stumble down our path
    with but a hint of surety
    flowing at our unstable feet

    (March 25, 2016)

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  • Dream Journal #28: Shaped by the Landscape We Inhabit

    by

    desire, dream, erato, eros, identity formation, meaning, obsessions, poetry, relationships, traces
    again he’s there in the past
    but not his past as if time
    exists in fragments rearranged
    at will or through happenstance
    he separates from himself
    a mitosis where he watches
    himself watching himself
    another other than himself
    she was there in her past
    as was he who was not
    a part of this past then
    although a part of another
    *
    he floated on the blue black
    depth of his memory’s lake
    she sat on the shore later
    as in a photograph with friends
    she looked up toward the camera
    her bikini strap coming unloose
    he caught his breath and sank
    slowly below the lake’s surface
    *
    another time within a shared
    past a shared place she came
    to his door wearing his coat
    he had left behind that day
    it enwrapped her as he
    wanted to enwrap her
    with a casual looseness
    filled with love and laughter
    too shy and honest to risk
    consequence he accepted
    his coat she said smelled
    as she hoped he would smell
    hugging the now empty coat
    to her face before leaving
    him as now lost and wondering
    what had passed between them
    *
    and then as time and dreams do
    a memory not a memory
    had them in conversation
    as another waited nearby
    he wondered if writer’s wrote
    by gender more of lovers
    or love then spoke a line
    from Sexton never written
    her friend from memory
    recited the non-existent anne
    entire and lovely in all
    he felt ashamed and excluded
    stunned by his presumption
    they left to study for exams
    he left and found  bottles
    of bourbon and pear brandy
    later she returned bashful
    and beautiful as he touched
    her hair she smiled and asked
    if he would share a drink
    *
    filled with too much nothing
    he spoke as mere decoration
    wanting to talk to someone
    who would answer back with love

    (March 24, 2016)

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  • Lenten moon

    by

    change, haiku, liminal, moon series, poetry, transition
    worms rise from the dead
    earth after winter’s slow thaw
    crow bathes in moonlight

    (March 22, 2016)

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  • Two Poems for Spring

    by

    change, haiku, hope, poetry, transition
    Ends and Beginnings
    What now my love,
    with winter gone?
    Where to my love,
    now spring has come?
    (March 21, 2016)

    First Day of Spring
    A cool breezy day,
    after a short mild winter:
    work begins again.
    (March 21, 2016)

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  • self-report

    by

    attention, dissatisfaction, fate, life, poetry, time, transition
    living as much within my thoughts
    I am surprised to find myself
    where I have become this man
    not happy as much as not unhappy
    without the simmering anger
    to provide a catalyst to tears
    within a medicated miasma
    the days and work elide
    discontent’s white noise
    as ubiquitous as air

    (March 20, 2016)

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  • etude in silence and desire

    by

    abstract, communication, desire, obsessions, poetry, relationships

    Are you listening?
    You meaning me —
    Am I listening?
    The you are me,
    until is is something
     always other than I:
    a reduction until nothing’s
    left, but burned bits to hint
    at more than what could
    have been, rather than
    this result, this culmination,
    as if desire has consequence.

    (March 18, 2016)

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  • mole

    by

    charm, conversation, dance, erato, life, love, muse, narrative, poetry, relationships, storytelling

    Some conversations are not about what they’re about.

    –Anne Carson

    he does not do well

    along conversation’s surface
    preferring to drift
    in small talk’s eddies
    watching her eyes
    like fireflies in the dark
    a light breeze wafts
     between them occasionally
    as she smokes a cigarette
    talking between idle pulls
    filling the night’s silence
    in twirls of conversation
    then as a gambit
    to shift the play
    she asks a question
    simple small not coy
    to let him take a turn
    to coax him into talk
    slow mute minutes
    expand before he begins
    to talk toward her
    inquiry in earnest
    even in the dark
    with slow rhythms
    he waves his hands
    through the air
    as if conducting thoughts
    between his words
    every effect requires
    a causal explanation
    every story unfolds
    into yet another
    patiently he laces events
    together into patterns
    tracing trail after trail
    like a bird sliding through trees
    to finally alight upon a branch
    at forest’s distant edge
    “wow, that went deep really fast”
    she said
    he laughs “that is
     where I live”
    (March 17, 2016)

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