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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

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  • Quick Response to The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz 

    by

    books, literature, love, politics, reader response, reading, response

    I finished The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz,  the RFB book for February, just now. By the end I liked it better than I did while I was reading it. In other words, Diaz brought it to a close masterfully. It is a sweeping family drama story on a simple level. But more so how history-in-person, history-in-place, and how the stories you hear from your family’s history form a large part of your destiny, identity and “fuku” (curse, I believe). Ultimately it is a story of love, albeit a tragic story of love. A line from near the end of the book: “ She was the kind of girlfriend God gives you young, so you’ll know loss the rest of your life.” A line from the narrator, which I believe is the opposite of what was given to Oscar, which was more the kind of girl God gives you so that you will know the power of love to bring you happiness. Even if only for a brief wondrous moment of your life.

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  • to be

    by

    abstract, attention, awareness, dream, floating world, liminal, poetry, samsara

    to sleep

    we pretend

    first to sleep


    lay down

    close our eyes

    drift


    until we are

    no longer

    awake


    we dream

    as we sleep

    as if we are


    awake

    rather than

    dreaming

    (January 29, 2026)

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  • Shelter in Place

    by

    ambition, awareness, fear, floating world, life, objectivism, poetry, samsara

    Maise, our dog, lounges on the over-stuffed arm

    of the old leather chair which squats squarely

    next to a bare window in the front room.

    The late afternoon sun pours bright puddles

    of warmth on the floor for her to bathe in;

    and from which, if inclined, she may muster

    yips and growls at people slowly walking

    their sweatered dogs on the sidewalk outside.

    I fear falling on ice still lingering

    on neighborhood paths, so we stay inside.

    But that is just an excuse, I hate cold

    weather as much as I tolerate heat’s

    dominion during the long summer months.

    Even when I, like this poem, go nowhere.

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  • Weather Report

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    allegory, climate change, communication, despair, fear, lament, metaphor, poetry, politics, rage, response, sonnets

    Our two dogs don’t like the cold rain today;

    they huddle deeper into the blankets’

    warmth still tangled across the bed upstairs.

    I watch the neighbor’s small duck flock parade

    behind his fence squawking their displeasure 

    with the world’s cold misappropriations.

    Much farther north of here an ice hardens

    quickly into a fiery discontent.

    The TV weathermen predict winter storms

    will settle darkly across the country

    with dire warnings of icy roads to come. 

    We live out our lives in dangerous times:

    where we must brave the cold outside to live,

    but any warmth, like love, is hard to find.

    (January 24, 2026)

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  • Adult Content

    by

    aging, alone, life, liminal, objectivism, poetry, time

    no one is home

    no one sits in the dark

    alone


    no one waits for the key

    to slip in the lock

    and turn with a click


    no door opens

    with a repressed

    creak


    no one is left

    to ask for explanations

    but you


    no one but you

    and it is late

    and the house is dark

    (January 23, 2026)

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  • Reading a Map in an Unknown Foreign Language 

    by

    abstract, awareness, chance, change, life, lost, poetry

    In this dream,

    I unfold other maps

    between petulant winds.


    In this place, I am known,

    but not by this name,

    not in this direction.


    I have lost my way.

    It was a mistake

    to come here today.


    Ignorance always wins,

    because it does not know

    it lost long ago.


    Tracing a vein in my arm,

    I find a way home.

    (January 17, 2026)

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  • A Level of Concern has been Breached

    by

    anxiety, awareness, breach, death, despair, fear, lament, poetry, politics, power, rage, worry

    I want to worry

    about our dogs

    barking randomly

    along the back fence

    at shadows and leaves

    while the occasional squirrel 

    fusses at them 

    from the safety of a tree.


    Instead wolves roam the streets

    fur stiff with dried blood;

    and eviscerated prey

    muddy the snow,

    while neighborhood dogs

    howl through the night.

    (January 14, 2026)

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  • this world now

    by

    anxiety, awareness, broken, existential angst, fear, lament, poetry, politics, power, sonnets, tension, ways of knowing, worry

    “the world is too much with us”

    -W. Wordsworth

    no longer the getting and blind spending

    though that is still here teeming at our feet

    like low-level radiation leaking

    into the spongey ground we walk upon

    but the powerful’s thick drooling anger

    flailing curses wildly on everyone

    that does not resemble their idea

    of a pastoral past they never knew


    this is the time I have come to live in

    a time where the soft smell of hope lingers

    like a dusty corpse left alone at home

    when to be cloaked in ironic disdain

    is to disguise an intellectual

    self-revulsion that equivocates death

    (January 10, 2026)

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  • Quick Response to “If not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho” by  Anne Carson 

    by

    Anne Carson, fragments, language, literature, meaning, poetry, reader response, reading, sappho

    I finished “If not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho” by  Anne Carson last night. This is the second time I have gone through this book from start to finish. The last time was about 13-14 years ago. I have picked it up randomly over the years reading bits before putting it back on the shelf. When I read it through years ago, I was also reading Carson’s “Eros, the Bittersweet,” which has several essays about Sappho. It helped. Anne Carson, if you don’t know, is an Ancient Greek scholar, who is also (imho) one of the most interesting writers in English today. She is probably best known for “Autobiography of Red,” but NOX should be on everyone’s reading list.  As with the last time I read “If not, Winter,” I was reminded of Guy Davenport’s “7 Greeks,” because of the number of poem fragments which were translated with gaps in parentheses. The empty spaces made me think about two things: 1) the importance of silence and the use of space in creating meaning, and 2) how much meaning one word can carry without effort, and how placing simple words next to each other opens portals into other worlds which go beyond what is contained in the solitary words by themselves. 

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  • All Narrators are Unreliable

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    abstract, agency, anxiety, clarity, difference, meditation, poetry, ways of knowing


    What do I do

    with the I here,


    with the voice here,

    with an other


    who is just me;

    yet, not as well?


    For so long now,

    I have written


    into my life

    out of my life;


    I know myself

    as different,


    something other

    than what I write.


    Someone must breathe

    behind these words,


    must speak slowly

    to understand. 


    What is being

    sotto voce?

    Am I speaking?

    Or listening?


    What tight constraints

    must be applied


    in order to say

    that I am here?

    (January 7, 2026)

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  • Surety

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    attention, awareness, belief, clarity, haiku, poetry, sonnets, tanka, ways of knowing

    The full moon’s near Jupiter—

    as if I can know

    what someone else has told me.

    I believe and see

    the sky unfold around me,

    each star in its place

    fixed tightly with divine faith.

    I know only this:

    my truth is only my truth.

    The chihuahua knows

    he must go into the dark;

    I open the door.

    He barks at a Great-horned owl

    who stares into the cold night.

    (January 4, 2026)

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  • inevitable

    by

    acceptance, aging, floating world, haiku, hope, life, new year’s eve, paradigms, poetry, retirement, sonnets, tanka, time

    I make our dinner—

    noodles with snow peas and shrimp.

    She is not hungry.


    We have forgotten

    how many times we’ve been here.

    Decades of hope lost.


    Another year ends—

    Our pensions are still enough;

    the night darkly falls.


    We drink to forget—

    Tonight we dance a circle;

    again, we are here.


    Again, day falls into night.

    Life is inevitable.

    (New Year’s Eve, 2025)

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  • Six New Year’s Eve Poems Written Over the Last 5 Years

    by

    haiku, new year’s eve, poetry, sonnets, tanka, time

    New Year’s Eve (2020)

    All day the rain fell

    Soaking the cold winter ground

    The year ends tonight

    (December 31, 2020)

    New Year’s Eve

    It’s all too simple—

    to watch the clock strike midnight:

    Dust settles to earth.
    Nothing much ever changes:

    we laugh, we sing, then we don’t.

    (December 31, 2021)

    another year

    the dogs bark out back

    again the wind ignores them

    each to their nature


    a warm new year’s eve

    ends the hottest year ever

    our world is burning


    we live deluded

    without trust in what we see

    shadows form our wall


    of course old leaves fall

    as easy as the sun sets—

    another new year


    the wind is only the wind

    the sun will rise without us

    (December 31, 2024)

    The Mundane Patterns Along the Way

    another day ends

    the night swallows the last light

    a new year begins


    the old clock rings out

    ten minutes behind the time

    the night knows no time


    fireworks break the light

    across the darkest of skies

    rain falls to the sea


    the morning is cold

    leaves have fallen from the trees

    for now the wind waits


    ring out bells ring in ring out

    ring in bells ring out ring in

    (January 1, 2024)

    New Year’s Day

    Day breaks once again;

    its unrelenting hunger

    devours us all.


    My end is my beginning;

    my beginning is my end.


    (January 1, 2022)

    A Few Days Past New Year’s

    Searching for something else,

    a honey bee dances around my head,

    Once, I would have jumped up

    waving him away; now,

    I shake my head, 

    and he floats away,

    as I will eventually.  Now

    with less time than I’ve had,

    there are no new beginnings

    just a slow unraveling.

    (January 3, 2020)

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  • Quick Take on The Wonderful O by James Thurber

    by

    fable, hope, love, optimism, reader response, reading, silly, ways of knowing

    I finished The Wonderful O by James Thurber this afternoon. Thurber is so silly and delightful, while being deeply profound. The Wonderful O, like the other fables of Thurber is marketed as books for children, when they are far from sole audience. The Wonderful O is about two pirates who sail on the ship Aeiu, and hate the vowel O. They are searching for hidden treasure on the island of Ooroo. When they cannot find what they seek, they ban all words which contain the letter O. Cnfusin and Chas descend. The pirates become more and more oppressive with their hatred for O. The people resist, and eventually win out by holding on to four important words which contain O—Hope, Love, Valor, and what is seen as the most important word—Freedom. 

    It is obviously a fable for our own times although written 68 years ago.

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  • Family Rooms

    by

    acceptance, aging, awareness, change, communication, conversation, family, meaning, memory, poetry, present, sonnets, storytelling, ways of knowing

    Memory is all that we are,

    and all that we are is what

    we remember. These days

    I often forget why I enter

    a room as I enter. I’m forced

    to wait on the blurred past 

    with its dead possibilities 

    to catch up to my present.


    We sit comfortably couched

    about the room. We confess

    our stories again, shifting

    scenes to allow for shapes

    which differ, to be polite,

    from others in other rooms.

    (December 28, 2025)

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