subtext

My Poetry and Commentary on Life

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by

borders, communication, community, interpretation, language, poetry

how do words mean

            what process unfolds the sound

when do words mean

            before after or as we speak

where do words mean

            what context allows a space

why do words mean

            what desire pulls the ear

who do words mean

            each one together alone

what do words mean

            everything and nothing

(December 10, 2013)

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Look Up, Look Down

by

i ching, liminal, poetry, thinking

December 8, 1995

The lake reflects the sky

only along the still surface.

I tread water in the middle

of a lake, softly floating, watching

the clouds dance with their drifting

reflections across the sky.

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

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there

by

poetics, poetry, writing

too tired

to think even

if it fits into

the only time

to think more

than is possible

as you scribble

frantically to catch

the final breath

before hubris

slaps you sharply

and you wonder

why you cringe

beneath what you

say to hide what

you want to say

so you leave it

there unsaid

on the edge

of the margin

before the pen’s

wet nib sets

like a kiss

onto the accepting

surface of the page

(December 8, 2013)

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The Well

by

acceptance, early work, i ching, lonely, poetry

December 5, 1995

With no one to talk to – –

friends depart or lose interest.

I look down into a well.

The water remains clear;

fish swim happily.

I pick up my book and leave.

(from “My Book of Changes, 1994-1995)

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if everything is art, then nothing is art

by

audacity, hermenutics, lit theory, literature, poetics, poetry, ways of knowing, writing

“nothing comes from nothing”

William Shakespeare, King Lear, Act 1.1

an arrogant yet thoughtless

aesthetic with only elan

and a memory for names

to bastion his opinions

against irrelevance’s

mocking laughter

(December 7, 2013)

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after waking

by

dream, existential angst, life, poetry, traces

the dream drapes the air in discomfort

like an unwanted houseguest

who will not leave

long after the conversation has stalled

and everyone is left

staring at the floor

as if praying for absolution

(December 7, 2013)

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controlled breathing

by

control, conversation, fear, poetry, silence, writing

I write to

contain if even

for a moment

the slow breath

as the word

beneath the last

of the conversation

slips into this

world and shifts

slightly but

significantly

everything I see

to such a degree

that my bumbling

attempts at love

fall into mockery

and self-flagellation

and frighten you

away like a rabbit

into the brush

(December 7, 2013)

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Fuel

by

dissatisfaction, i ching, life, poetry, traces

November 28, 1995

The superfluous baroques

the surface. Motion casts off detritus.

Sated into a standstill, I feel

uncomfortable when content;

at ease in crisis.

The wood burns the fire brighter.

(from “My Book of Changes, 1994-1995)

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Bloody Tears

by

dissatisfaction, fear, i ching, life, metaphor, poetry

November 30, 1995

Through the storm’s tumult,

thunder’s crash,

lightning’s flash – – – I see

a darker vision: a wagon,

myself, the team, smashed

on the crags below this path.

(from “My Book of Changes, 1994-1995)

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Where are You Going?

by

acceptance, hope, hubris, identity formation, life, poetry

I’m not sure I trust people who know

who they will be years from now

as if one could gather up the possible

and lay it out like coins on a table

I trust I will arrive without knowing

I have since passed where I think I am

(December 5, 2013)

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fraudulent

by

borders, interrelationships, poetry, response

I stand before you

holding a mirror

in such a manner

that when you look

to me you see

yourself instead

then I become

what you want

the most not always

me but a ghost

in the guise

of your desire

a chameleon clings

to the color of a wall

(December 4, 2013)

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each night the same

by

anger, existential angst, hope, poetry

tired anger staggers about the house

like a drunk lashing out in frustration

I hide within the corners of language

and whisper words of solace to the dark

(December 3, 2013)

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Dread the Day

by

dissatisfaction, existential angst, fear, life, poetry

dread is more patient than fear

fear leaps from the dark while dread

dread takes his time as if strolling

through the park bringing dusk with him

lengthening shadows beneath the trees

and the next curve along the path

dread crawls like a worm into your chest

nestling in just below the rib cage

before sending tentacles out like threads

stitching all the tiny bits of worry

into a net trapping you with your

own sense of impotent immobility

(December 2, 2013)

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(borders)

by

communication, fragments, liminal, poetry

Down . . .

The . . .

Side . . .

Victorians . . .

Spoke . . .

Words . . .

Hidden . . .

Along . . .

Edges: . . .

Obscured . . .

Frontiers. . .

(from “primogenitive folly, August 2001-April 2003)

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Little Birds

by

fate, fear, life, poetry

Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!

–William Shakespeare, Macbeth, 3.3

away quick away like starlings

leaping into air and twisting

back upon each other hand to

arm to face to laughter fearing

whatever is after will finally capture

and all the delightful falderal of life

will be stripped bare bones exposed

to air until every step we trip upon

will clatter like crows laughing from

frozen branches tangled with hair

(December 1, 2013)

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