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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

  • This Writer’s Beginnings: EarlyYears
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  • Demands of the Time

    by

    i ching, life, meaning, poetry, process, ritual, thinking, writing

    February 2, 1995
    The pen’s nib scratches
    a black scar across paper.
    A larger world demands attention,
    but for now- – I write this poem.
    Like a bird repairing her nest,

    I must think about today.

    (from “My Book of Changes,” 1994-1995)

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  • Continuity

    by

    Arcana, borders, liminal, middle-age, poetry, tarot, time
    He sits near a pond.
    The pond is still
    in the calm
    summer night.
    His hand floats
    above the water,
    perpetually
    on the verge
    of the undisturbed
    moon-lit sheen.
    He is content.
    He is benefice.
    He is water.

    (from a work in progress: “Arcana,” Kingpentacles, February 4, 2014)

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  • Birth

    by

    Arcana, creativity, hope, life, mythic, paradigm shifts, poetry, process
    So it’s over;
    So it begins:
    The present—
    always, again
    within;
    without sin.

    (from a work in progress: “Arcana,” Xswords, February 4, 2014)

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  • messenger

    by

    Arcana, erato, hope, love, poetry, tarot
    see
    she said
    even here
    within this waste
    it can grow—
    hope is patient
    patience is not
    naïve

    (from a work in progress: “Arcana,” Pagewands, February 4, 2014)

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  • Look Back

    by

    family, i ching, meaning, memory, poetry
    December 30, 1995
    I gather my poems together.
    None of which mean much
    on their own, like a snapshot
    of other families.  Combined,
    they cohere like atoms swarming

    around a nucleus called me.

    (from “My Book of Changes” 1994-1995)

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  • not so foolish

    by

    Arcana, creativity, liminal, obsessions, poetry, tarot, trust
    “The sequence returns; one thing leads to another—the usual order.”

                                        –Virginia Woolf
    all’s so elementally repetitious
    through infinite waves’ pulse
    one hand lets fall
    like oxygen molecules
    into the other
    to bobble troubles
    all the while
    with all the wiles
    dancing an idiosyncratic
    dance along the shore

    (from a work in progress: “Arcana,” IIPentacles, February 2, 2014)

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  • Small Things

    by

    acceptance, audacity, i ching, poetry, time

    January 21, 1995
    A sparrow twitters on
    a bare birch branch.
    I laugh in wonder- –
    simplicity overwhelms me.
    I spend the day watching clouds;

    the mountain can wait for tomorrow.

    (from “My Book of Changes,” 1994-1995)

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  • Caritas

    by

    Arcana, borders, community, education, liminal, poetry, process, relationships, space, teaching, thinking
    the word for teaching is learning
                            –James Britton
    the scales’ swing’s never justified
    I learn from my students more
    than I could ever teach
    I dole out my talents
    with parsimonious guilt
    but balance manifests within
    the flow of the day to day exchanges
    one mind to one mind into another
    I offer what I have
    time to read and think
    time to write and reflect
    the arcana of teaching begs
    to disappear within the learning
    to find what must be taught

    (from a work in progress: “Arcana,” VIpentacles, January 31, 2014)

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  • A Year of Postings

    by

    audacity, community, essay, life, literacy, literature, obsessions, poetry, process, ways of knowing, writing
    On February 1, 2013 I decided I would try to post something on this blog everyday. I thought I would fail, because finding time to write has always been problematic.  I figured I could supplement new poems and musings with older poems, after all I have been consciously writing poetry since I was 15. Luckily I do not have much writing still extant prior to the age of 22.
                With this post I am making my goal a reality. I have posted 492 times since this time last year. Not only did I post at least once every day since last year, I sometimes managed to post multiple times in one day. The self-imposed quota has made me do what pretty much all advice to writers from writers boils down to: write every day. Many days I posted something from one of my longer projects from the past: “My Book of Changes”, “If This is A Comedy, Why Ain’t I Laughing”, “Primogenitive Folly,” “115 Missing Days, or “Sonnet, a Renga.” But the majority of the time what I posted were new poems. Even when I posted one of my older works, I still wrote everyday.
                I make no claims to the quality of my poems. But as Charles Bernstein wrote, if you call something a poem, then it is a poem. It might be a bad poem, but it is still a poem. I think I am writing some of the best poetry I have ever written. Yes, that is an arrogant statement, and easily mocked. I don’t have a problem with that; I write poetry.  I like what I write. I want others to read it. Like it, don’t like it; get it, don’t get it: It doesn’t change what I write or think about. I put thought and conscious effort into each poem. I try to write with skill and craft in each line I lay onto the page. I enjoy the hurdles of self-imposed structures, coupled with random chance and whim.
                Ultimately, writing everyday has given me a space to think about the world and my place within the life I have managed to carve out. It has made me more attentive to my thoughts and normally roiling emotions. If nothing else, this has been a positive influence, forcing me to examine the vicissitudes of my condition with a more contemplative eye.
                I will continue to post as I write. I am currently working on a project with my sister Donna Neal, the visual artist, based upon the tarot pack. So, the poems should still come on a fairly regular basis for a while. I am not going to worry too much if I miss a day or two along the way however.  I hope some of you have enjoyed the flood over the last year, and will continue to read what I write.

    (January 31, 2014)

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  • fighting the good fight

    by

    Arcana, critical theory, doubt, fear, life, mythic, obsessions, poetry, sonnets, tarot
    fear screeches fangs bare
    then flees to let her echoes
    like briar along a fence
    bend their discontents
    he stands amid barren fields
    sword drawn like Occam’s razor
    feeling foolish without reason
    for an argument to make
    outside his disquietude
    with raging all alone
    against the icy winds
    howling in his heart
    like hungry jackals
    against the dark

    (from a work in progress: “Arcana,” Knightswords, January 30, 2014)

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  • subtraction

    by

    dissatisfaction, life, lists, poetry, tension, traces
    tension forms an absence
                like clay
                            clawed
                from the ground
     tension forms an absence
                like a mold
                            tossed aside
                empty
                            the casting broken
                                        on the floor
    tension forms an absence
                like a hole
                            in the air
                where you
                            used to breathe
    tension forms an absence
                in my self
                            from the life
                which pulses
                            without me
    tension forms an absence
                from the love
                            around us all

    (January 28, 2014)

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  • disconnect

    by

    life, poetry, relationships
    bridges are like doors
    except a presence
    where doors are absence
    you
    are a door
    within my walls
    I
    am a bridge
    across your river
    I step outside
    you flow
    to the sea
    I cower
    at the absence
    between the stars
    (January 28, 2014)

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  • particle chamber

    by

    dream, fragments, interpretation, meaning, metaphor, poetics, poetry, traces
    “I’m coming to the age I am.”
                –Michael Palmer
    turn over and think
    drift along a narrative
    with an inarticulate end
    fading into another sleep
    an interrupted dream
    severing chains of posits
    and if then constraints
    assuming one follows
    along elemental plots
    where arcs become lines
    without connotations
    to deflect and disrupt
    meaning’s lackadaisical flow
    within time’s impositions
    (January 27, 2014)

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  • Restless

    by

    dissatisfaction, life, poety, tension
    Desire
    to be
    desire
    must be
    out of reach:
    another door
    at the top
    of a stair;
    another lock
    a key
    won’t fit;
    somewhere
    a peace
    exists.

    (January 26, 2014)

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  • Definitions

    by

    control, definition, life, poetry
    A naïve trust
    permeates all
    he encounters
    outside
    of books,
    which lend
    themselves
    like robes
    against other’s
    bony fingers
    prodding him
    like  a sacrificial
    swan.
    Tension ripples
    from him
    as he wades
    through water
    neck deep,
    his feet
    slogging
    through
    the sucking
    ooze.
    He pockets
    definitions’
    stones
    offered
    from others,
    until
    he disappears
    beneath the weight
    into the expectant
    waves.

    (January 26, 2014)

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