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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

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Love’s Location

by

communication, erato, eros, happiness, love, offering, poetry, relationships, sonnets

where you are matters

less and less over time

if one attends closely

to the unfolding rose

I hold out a hand

open unassuming

a gesture as simple

as the words I write

we read too much

into momentary phrases

veiling our complexities

from joy’s simplicity

truth lives within you

open your heart to me

(April 5, 2015)

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Prison House

by

control, definition, identity formation, poetry, power, response

Shutdown in belief made from brick,

I scratch upon the walls like skin.

My face is clear, but bloodied from constant

self-abuse; the scars pulse like veins

of silver traced throughout the rock.

I could escape, but want for fear

to justify my roiling discontent.

Each word becomes a condemnation,

a sentence written along my bones,

defining in tight lines the boundaries

of what I cannot be, more than

what dust remains arrayed in crevices.

This much certainty I hold close,

I do not believe I believe as you do.

(April 2, 2015)

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mea culpa

by

blame, existential angst, fear, lost, poetry

I was lost

alone afraid

afraid I’d fail

fail you and I

could not say

any of this

to you

because

I had failed

to listen

to you

and I was

afraid

I would lose

you

and be alone

and lost

without you

my love

(March 30, 2015)

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Standing Still

by

aging, change, dissatisfaction, fate, life, poetry, transition

“If I had wings and I could fly

I know where I would go”

–Bob Dylan

I tend to move along an edge watching

the river’s slow meander to the sea.

Before, I liked to float while pondering,

in my plodding fashion, deeper matters.

But now as I wander along these banks,

my thoughts tangled like the trees’ exposed roots,

not sure of the beginnings nor the ends

of one or the other as they all grasp

for a small bit of ground to hold on to,

I wonder at the leaves, like some people,

caught in an eddy’s backwash until it

becomes impossible to continue,

and I simply hang back watching the flow

of my life as it drifts slowly away.

(March 29, 2015)

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Circuitous

by

change, life, poetry

1.

As my paranoia grows,

like moss

across a forest floor,

I return again

to this flagging vision.

2.

Blood flows,

unlike a river,

back into itself,

no exhausted push

through silt

as it filters

into the sea.

3.

I fear I am lost

between a crab-like

exchange of shells

of who and where

I am now and before;

just a quick rattle

of bones in a cup

before clattering

into air.

4.

Oh, Absence,

do not deny

love’s collapse

into the dark.

5.

I take a step

away from who

I am, a step

back to find

who I just was;

and then again,

another turn

finds me gone.

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Justify

by

communication, conversation, identity formation, life, poetry

“by my words

will I be Justified”

–Susan Howe

It matters, though

it shouldn’t, what

words people use;

we define ourselves

multitudinous,

against each other,

mouth to hand,

hand to mouth,

quietly whispering.

The tales told

echo in our own

like bat’s soundings,

finding the edges

of something other

than ourselves;

each life expands

our darkness

like a newborn’s cry.

(March 24, 2015)

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While Erato Muses

by

erato, hope, lament, mythic, poetics, poetry

We wait on words

which will never

be said to us,

soft affirmations

dropped, like rose

petals, in passing.

(March 25, 2015)

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An Absence

by

change, erato, loss, poetry, process

Too tired to scream,

my voice lies open

to a hollow wind.

Where did you go?

Where did I go?

Each moment claws

the crevices, searching

for a last flesh

to render from bone.

As a simple charm,

I hoarsely whisper

your name to the dark.

I can no longer translate

these words into love.

Nothing remains:

a lie I tell myself,

as comfort against

an immanent rain.

(March 23, 2015)

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Dream Journal #21: Past’s Possibilities Linger

by

dream, erato, eros, fate, love, poetry, traces

It was all a jumble of hotel rooms

and fragmented conversations:

large leather chairs near open windows,

late night walks along a river.

But I was there,

and you were there,

and something

passed between us.

Such scraps I cannot patch

as I wake into this night.

Unable to return again

to sleep, I watch the street

lights flicker like fireflies

outside these curtained

windows; and I listen

to her quietly breathing

here in this bed, instead.

(March 23, 2015)

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Today, I’m Broken

by

dissatisfaction, fate, life, poetry, tension, unstable, ways of knowing

“Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang!” —Arthur Miller

In the space

where foolishness

counters sense

rests the rub of trust.

I cannot speak:

my name’s

an aggregate

of shattered

bones and blood,

pulp in a thin

skin bag

sags against

a closed door.

My name’s

wrong; it echoes

its mistake

along empty halls.

For decades,

I’ve learned

it’s wrong

to trust

my uttered

name;

a red stain

seeps across

the floor.

(March 21, 2015)

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Grace

by

aging, change, dissatisfaction, loss, poetry, traces, unstable

“something keeps going away; it is as if desire were nothing but this hemorrhage.”

–Roland Barthes

I want

always a way away

to disappear through the trees

drift like mist

across an open field

into something other

until the traces of memory

are erased and the niggling

recriminations vanish into air

as if I were never here

I want

always something beyond now

this constant discontent

with what I have

with who I am

as if I could escape this skin

momentarily and float free

like a satin ribbon falls

from her hand to the floor

with a grace I do not possess

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the transitory nature of love

by

communication, erato, eros, love, poetry, traces

Our words telegraphed

along this mannered code,

as if what I say

could be interpreted

in any other way:

listen close, knife

to throat, lip to ear,

and you might hear

your own voice

gasping for air.

So many ways to say:

who I am, what you

want, too much falls

by the side, too much

left unresolved.

Despite our trust

we harbor doubt

that what we say

together has a hope

to last beyond today.

We’re both left alone:

wondering where we are,

drunk in a bar, or soulless

in suburban bliss, longing

for a last transient caress.

(March 18, 2015)

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I Breathe in Her Absence

by

erato, eros, love, poetry, traces

Although

there’s no trace

no scent, no hope,

she’s still there,

lingering as if

in the air.

(March 18, 2015)

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Yet Another Door

by

hope, poetry, transition

a doubling

in one absence

defined solely

in not being

here nor there

(March 18, 2015)

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dream journal #20: polyamorous translations

by

dream, erato, eros, interpretation, interrelationships, love, obsessions, poetry, response, traces

“a whole scene through the keyhole of language”

–Roland Barthes

he woke from dreams of her

to dream of her again

he wandered room to room

looking for the space

of light and laughter

she moved within

not his own tired

darkness obviously

but familiar enough

to be comfortable

as skin on skin

he searched for her

within her words

some simple sign

he could read

his life within

without another

explanation waiting

in an empty corner

like a mad grammarian

to delicately parse

another definition

in which to find

a trace of a trace

of yet another word

she could have meant

for him to hear

like a soft kiss

upon his ear

so he returned again

in sleep to her

like an old dog

curling at her feet

then opened up

his skull peeling

back his skin past bone

holding out his mind to hers

in desperate desire

without translation’s

constant need they

would hold the one word

between the other as true

and what he said

and what she said

could entwine

like lust through love

as if the physical could

be unraveled

from the emotional

like single threads

from a frayed gown

and they would hold

each other together in love

instead of falling again

into a silent dream

upon the vanishing ground

(March 16, 2015)

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