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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

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the moon shines on us all wherever we are

by

alone, erato, eros, love, muse, patterns, poetry, sonnets

the crescent moon calls through the afternoon

and part of the night as if you were a flower

reaching toward a translucent black sky

toward something just beyond your reach

beyond something other than who you are

perhaps the moon is just the moon and you

are just you not some romantic other

just you drowning in your third glass

of wine or bourbon or whatever

excuse you can find to not be you

and here I am tonight watching the moon

again not that thrilled with the jug wine

I bought and wondering where you are

and why I still want to but can’t love you

(June 12, 2016)

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Stars Hide Your Fires

by

definition, life, paradigm shifts, paradigms, poetry, social construction, sonnets, storytelling

Easy to construct a pattern from stars,

as for conspiracies to clot the mind

with their inarticulate minutia.

When confronted with the nascent red surge

and pulse of the chaotic universe,

Greek caves are an ideal place to cower,

a safer space to redefine our walls

in a slightly shifted iteration

of a tale we tell to become ourselves.

It does not matter if we have been wrong.

It does not matter so long as the song

can intercede against night’s denouements,

and the stars rewoven with broken string,

puppets to our constellated desires.

(June 9, 2016)

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reasons to be happy: a sonnet

by

erato, eros, happiness, life, lists, love, poetry, sonnets

garlic

red wine

bourbon

chocolate

poetry

music

morning

the bottom

curve of flesh

beneath

her gown

her kiss

her eyes

her lips

(June 8, 2016)

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The Before and After

by

abstract, critical theory, interrelationships, liminal, perspective, poetry, relationships, ways of knowing

The you, like most pronouns, is me,

of course, except when it’s not.

Although my voice, self-reflective,

embedded in parentheticals, laughs

at you, meaning me, or perhaps you

depending upon the misdirection

intended, or stumbled across like

a rock on a random trail traveled

once in dark humidity, then again in

my head, as darkly before, metaphorically.

Who’s to know? not you – – certainly

not me: which is the true vision,

and which what we see? I am, like

you, shattered light within a prism.

At once fragments scattered, and

a mosaic pieced together as well

as can be, considering the difficulty

any of us have maintaining a strict

point of view, when we cannot even fix

on what antecedent takes precedence.

(June 7, 2016)

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passion

by

desire, erato, eros, love, lust, poetry, relationships

you call my name as if

I had some answer

to your desire – –

(June 6, 2016)

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where from where to

by

change, education, happiness, life, poetry, teaching, transition

I cannot bear it anymore

the constant need, like puppies

scrabbling at the door,

eyes pleading for affirmation

with the urgency of desire.

I am not interested anymore,

despite “one can learn anywhere,”

in the struggles of the young.

I must look elsewhere, somewhere

other than now, or then, for happiness.

(June 6, 2016)

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poetry’s raison d’etre

by

charm, erato, eros, poetics, poetry, traces

are you here

with a whisper

where

no one

can hear

even

now how

the lisp in a line

shifts a hobbled

step dip

to the dance

with grace

enough to seduce

her into your bed

(June 6, 2016)

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What is poetry?

by

attention, belief, creativity, life, poetics, poetry, writing

Thought. The drips and dribbles

of disconnection noticed briefly during

the day’s encounters. The beginning

of time as the vole bends a difference

between one grass blade and the next.

An epiphany caught along a pattern’s

cusp: the sun rises again; the new

moon returns; a wolf howls against

the dark; we eat and are eaten.

We lift wheat’s ova to our mouths;

Steam lifts from the hard crust.

One image rubs upon another, like

the infinite unfolding of the horizon

as one walks distracted into the west.

An edge opens to another, and

is seen – – if only for the moment – –

as not us, not you, not me, but

an existence – – a separate thought.

(June 4, 2016)

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The Writing Teacher

by

education, poetry, response, teaching, ways of knowing, writing

She spends time writing

lists of words to use

instead of words she knows.

She writes admonitions

of what not to do, instead

of writing, which is hard.

When one has no voice,

one must parrot rules

like a good pedant should.

(June 4, 2016)

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Erosion

by

dissatisfaction, poetry, sonnets

I can’t swim

because of riptides

pounding the shore – –

Disappointment wears me:

disappointment

with being disappointed.

I know value

and meaning arise

from myself;

yet, affirmation

is always

out of reach,

as if I am a man

without arms.

(June 4, 2016)

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Around the Next Corner

by

doubt, life, poetry, sonnets

He waits watching the grey undulant hills

to the west. He waits for a happier

life, one he imagines others live now

nearby. Yet in his waiting and watching,

he never sees any look to the west

to see beyond themselves something other

than the horizon which contains their world.

He sees slowly over time his vision

blinds – – blinds even as he looks outward to

what he thinks will bring him a happier

way to live: his desire fooled him with ease.

No revelation is at hand, no dream

to come to fruition in salvation,

no reason to wait beyond the living.

(June 1, 2016)

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Love’s Delusions

by

desire, erato, eros, memory, patterns, poetry, sonnets

Memory lies, using blind desire

as a straight man before a punch

line bends time into cold laughter.

She was there. You know. But when

you look again, she’s not. Even now

you sniff about after scraps, like

an old dog caught in a pattern –

one more turn about, then again,

before circling to the ground

to chase rabbits across dreams.

Were you even there? Was she?

Did it matter? So many frayed

threads, so many trails wandering

off blind into the night’s bramble.

(May 31, 2016)

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Divisions

by

alone, communication, erato, eros, love, poetry, sonnets

I am a simple degree of difference

from the next man on the bus, a cough

from an allergy not yet in season.

The wind bears in equanimity the change

from one to the next. I matter only

as a random number generator,

an algorithm which beats a time

faster than we can imagine alone.

We hold to the nuance to identify

who we are to ourselves. I am alone

in this colony: as if bacteria in a dish

can differentiate the glass walls;

as if the language I speak to you

can convey an understanding of love.

(May 30, 2016)

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could

by

communication, erato, poetry, ways of knowing

“the clot of what I could not understand rising in my throat”

–Tristan Tzara

He spoke with an ontic grace, she

very rarely heard. Most words fill

silence like ash drifting from

a fire; his words expanded catching

her attention days later as she thought

of other things. They filled her

periphery; until claustrophobic,

she would quickly rise from her desk

step out into the street and breathe

in large panicked gasps as if a fish

desperate to escape the air writhed

on unfamiliar ground. She knew

that was not what he said, but she knew,

too, there was nothing else it could be;

and if he could speak of what he could

not, but what she wished he could,

then what could not have passed

between them, if only she could

have understood what he said

as he spoke, rather than now.

Memory cynically betrays us.

Now is all that matters; the then – –

what could have been, the question

as to what passes between any of us,

becomes the soul in its interpretation

of itself. The minute vision and revision,

as it were, which echoes into the empty

room – – such waste – – no one can hear.

(May 30, 2016)

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Change Your Mind?

by

assignment, belief, change, chant, life, poetry, ways of knowing

“the bells ring for no reason and we too”

–tristan tzara

resolve to revolve

such urgent ardency

such fervid sincerity

to change this world

turn away again

not you until you

make us all you

push the shovel hard

to turn the compost in

easier to explain than work

calluses tear and bleed

turn back again

earth becomes earth

justified in the end

a counter to what end

flesh rubbed raw

sore and bloodied

falls fresh to the floor

so hold to your truism

as I hold my icon close

un-shattered by the other

this is who I am

framed and patterned

chains upon chains clang

you too are thus defined

chains upon chains clang

our definitions ring true

at least to each other

chains upon chains clang

you are not the other

the other is not you

it’s not the other

who must turn

it’s not the other

who must change

Blake knew this

Marx knew this

Buddha and Jesus

and countless others

knew this too

even I know this

as do you

resolve to revolve

change the world

change the word

chains upon chains

change your mind

chains upon chains

change your mind

(May 25, 2016)

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