subtext

My Poetry and Commentary on Life

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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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Flotsam

by

dissatisfaction, existential angst, liminal, poetry

The ocean pulverizes

the shore calmly

into submissive

waves of sand.

What resistance

do I have

to offer

beyond the fractal

pulse

of these words?

I wonder and wander

about and between

my head and heart,

surveying bits of love

with a gull’s cocked eye

as she hovers atop

her plunge

in an apogee

of commitment

before being engulfed

into the wave’s

watery dark.

(August 28, 2014)

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Thresholds

by

borders, definition, existential angst, poetry, sonnets

Yet another room to enter or not,

to take on the aspects of these walls

as my own concurrent edges.

A hermit crab scuttles about

the shore searching for a different shell

to transgress its tighter boundaries;

the similarities of space and place

belie the tangential differences

which skew the narrative away.

Such are the currents to the day:

I drift along the surface of my thought

while being pulled farther out to sea.

Each moment unfolds yet another

cloak to drape my emptiness within.

(August 27, 2014)

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Elective Surgery

by

erato, eros, loss, poetry, power

Without thought

he hands her the knife

knowing the lie

glistening in the dark;

the cold kiss

of each word’s

sharp demarcation

as it’s tongued

across his throat

cuts

a wet rose

from his heart.

(August 22, 2014)

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without cause

by

existential angst, fear, poetry

Anxiety claws

into my chest

as grass

sends runners

quickly across

the earth; root

tendrils thirst

between grains

of dirt like schools

of fish fleeing

the shark’s slash.

(August 21, 2014)

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double exposure

by

communication, erato, eros, poetry, response

shadow sifts upon shadow

transient bits of light

flicker between the two

like morse code taps

on prison house walls

are you there

listening in the dark

or do I hear

my echo’s emptiness

returning what

I wish to hear

come to me

with your song

a slow exhale

focused and clear

so I can play

my fingers

across your lips

like a blindman

reading braille

able to see

which words

are yours

and which

are mine

(August 21, 2014)

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