subtext

My Poetry and Commentary on Life

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control interrupts

by

communication, control, poetry

maybe I’m not

interrupting

maybe I have something

to say something

to share

maybe just maybe

my voice’s something

to hear to rejoice

maybe just maybe

your manners

(your manner)

mean(s)

hush hush

child

don’t interrupt

the hand

which holds

each scrap

you’re fed

(September 12, 2014)

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against the light

by

anger, clarity, poetry, ways of knowing

after thomas

hard

on the concrete

street

the eye unfocuses

in rage

truth draws

along an edge

of an opened iris

like a last echo

heard

in the reflective

ear

a wave

expanding

into the dark

measured precisely

to this point

where beyond

is simple

rage

(September 12, 2014)

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lost

by

doubt, life, lost, poetry, sonnets, tension, traces, unstable

Like an iconic creature boiling

off the bottom of the sea,

dense ripples cross my shoulder

blades clawing the sky for air:

I don’t know where I am.

Fog entombs the shore

along a frothing sea;

I am not a part of either

the land, the air, or ocean.

There is no fire to tend,

no wood, or kindling to gather,

only a vast grey mist

with no source of light.

I say my name.

No echo answers.

(September 12, 2014)

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abstraction like love needs no fear

by

borders, erato, love, metaphor, poetics, poetry, ways of knowing

“Love is the mystery inside this walking. It runs ahead like a dog, out of the photograph.”

–Anne Carson, The Anthropology of Water

nearby yet far enough not

to be seen when close-

more of the frame than

the portrait – acknowledged

yet not considered

when confronted in

experience’s exchange

the studied museum piece

familiar in its wide acceptance

unknown in its presence

before an innocent eye

naïve to desire’s complicities

after the manner of verbs

fused infinitely to a noun

(September 11, 2014)

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A Constant Resistance to Control

by

acceptance, anger, clarity, control, irony, life, poetry, resolve, sonnets

only through the work will I be redeemed

not some petty happenstance confession

for something I may be sincere about

then who are you to make that decision

when even I who am here in my life

am unsure how honest is clean truth

when all falls out truth is not an excuse

for your god and self-righteousness

anymore than your god and self-righteousness

excuses my reaction to the cold chains

I permit my submission to sustain

under the pretense it’s done at your will

creation is what lies before me now

a space to exist with my life my work

(September 10, 2014)

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Handwriting

by

erato, eros, love, metaphor, poetry, traces, writing

“and the least

loop of the letters”

–Jean Cocteau

as he writes

again of her

and the air

between them

close against skin

like slow waves

sliding over sand

his hand traces

the words’ curves

down to the last

calligraphic swath

trembling in her

delicate curls

(September 9, 2014)

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Five Haiku for a Harvest Moon

by

haiku, life, memory, poetry

What must I reap now?

The full moon rises tonight.

Tomorrow I’ll work.

*

They swim in the dark;

the full moon peeks between leaves.

Her breast’s still damp.

*

A full harvest moon:

In my youth, I danced all night;

too tired to look now.

*

A full moon rises.

So many have passed before:

What time is it now?

*

What? A new full moon?

They were brighter in my day;

I must rest my eyes.

(September 8, 2014)

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evidence

by

control, fate, fear, life, poetry

it will not

go away

this tight fear

clotted below

my breast bone

like stones

sewn into

suit pockets

of a corpse

before thrown

casually

into the sea

(September 8, 2014)

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within his obsessions truth bends

by

erato, eros, obsessions, poetry, response

each letter he wrote he meant her to read

yet could not tell her each one was for her

like now as he fashions this new response

to an overture she did not intend

he fancies her holding these lines to her

mind and knowing the true conversation

he imagined had gone on between them

so entangled in his troubles of love

he cannot discern a separation

between one skein of yarn and another

in order to knit a coherent tale

where the nothing which flows between them both

solidifies into a mutual

understanding of truth and his desire

(September 6, 2014)

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Listening to Desire

by

erato, poetry, relationships, ways of knowing

“Tis not so sweet as it was before.”

–William Shakespeare

How, he wonders, is the manipulative

hand at work on the rosined strings?

She says one thing to another who knows

nothing, yet says the right thing to him,

but not what she intended. He laughs

at his paranoia, yet worries the truth,

one bead between his tangled fingers,

as if each tense fret sounded one

note through infinite manifestations.

It’s a proper fit she says to the other,

a jibe at him she only hints toward

in a snide attempt to convince herself.

Such are the turnings I have fallen to,

broken strains of a discarded love.

(September 5, 2014)

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No Other Whole

by

borders, definition, life, liminal, poetry

“How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow?”

–Carl Jung

He takes another step and slips

into shadow, absorbed into air

as if inhaled by the darkness.

One side refracts the other?

Just because a line is drawn

creates a definition of two?

Somewhere he read Picasso said

in answer to a query: the first

line on the page is the hardest

to draw. He imagines himself

in the demarcation he creates

like dust furred among crevices

in a wall, particulate traces

of an inarticulate breath.

(September 4, 2104)

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Worn

by

definition, dissatisfaction, life, poetry, sonnets

Dead grass defines

the shades’ edge;

afternoon stretches

shadows across lawns;

down wooden halls

slow footsteps clack

as sunlight sifts

through screen doors

and faded sheers.

With exhausted rage

summer ends:

I’m tired, so tired;

and so much

still to be done.

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without end

by

acceptance, life, poetry

“The eye is the first circle; the horizon which it forms is the second; and throughout

nature this primary figure is repeated without end.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I see

within

the trapped

circumference

of an eye

a vision

circumscribed

upon

a watchful

ever-present

optical illusion

which shadows

still clarity

like a hand

lightly tapping

one time

and no more

the cold surface

of a pond

each of us

awaits

the executioner’s

rough

circle

to pull

our life

tighter

upon a

center

like an iris

opening

to light

paralleling

the pattern

of the earth

planets

sun

and stars

if only

in the slow

moment

it takes

to exhale

(September 2, 2014)

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prudence

by

communication, erato, eros, poetry, sonnets

“The carefulness was wearing us out.”
— Jeannette Winterson, Written on the Body

always careful he watches

along the margins his emotions

as he dances about a direct

confession where he might

stumble exposed into the abyss

of his long-unvoiced intentions

yes he writes again of her

along a poem’s soft ledges

where he’s free to claim her

as love’s figured abstraction

translated to a faceless pronoun

rather than warm lust’s perfection

so much safer to stand in shadows

reflecting dreams on empty walls

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fade

by

borders, definition, interrelationships, liminal, love, paradigm shifts, poetry, relationships

my edges blur

like street lights

in a cold drizzle

late at night

auras fade from

a fractured

center of light

until I’m unsure

where I leave off

or our image begins

each compromise

slices layered bits

of my periphery

in long swathes

like a plane sliding

along the length

of an oak plank

the thin wooden curls

falling through arabesques

to the uncertain ground

until what I wanted

and your desires

obfuscate beyond ourselves

into something other

than the shape

I still hold as true

(August 31, 2014)

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