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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

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Two Sides, Same Coin

by

anger, dissatisfaction, hope, i ching, life, love, poetry

December 13, 1995

The conflict, my only true conflict,

flares again tonight. I take

sides – – – both are my own.

I am the obstacle, I am motion.

If conflict does not mean love,

I hate myself at times.

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

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Checking the Map

by

i ching, poetry

December 11, 1995

And yet here I am:

not much farther than

where I was when I left:

only the distance was great.

It’s never an easy matter

to stand still, listening close.

(from”My Book of Changes,” 1994-1995)

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collapse

by

identity formation, life, paradigm shifts, poetry

my feet made of dust

disperse into corners of the house

comfortable in inconsequence

my knees crack against the stone floor

into puddles of dice

clattering their way toward silence

my face encased with masks

crumbles one word at a time

back into the liquid earth

(December 14, 2013)

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Step By Step

by

acceptance, fragments, i ching, life, poetry, process, traces

November 29, 1995

Each drop traces a path

from puddle to river.

Water runs deep.

Gradually, I turn toward home.

I become angry, more at myself . . .

Only I can take me where I need to be.

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

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Hubris Waits in This Illusion

by

audacity, borders, critical theory, life, poetry, response

so self-assured you know

what everyone must do

so easy to dictate other’s actions

when you have nothing to lose

so simple to be idealistically clean

when living within an abstraction

so trapped in your tacit vision

that all must see for redemption

so sure your way is the way

for everyone to blindly crave

so oblivious to your echoes

of those you claim to fight

(December 13, 2013)

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Matter of Fact

by

audacity, doubt, life, poetry, response

still I pretend

that what I love

and dream

matters

still I pretend

despite

the disdain

that I matter

still I pretend

because it does
matter

to me

(December 13, 2013)

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Unrelenting

by

i ching, life, poetry, traces, writing

November 27, 1995

It never stops:

the relentless purging,

sloughing of dead skin.

Blindered, I forge ahead,

constant in change,

seeing only my first desire.

(from “My Book of Changes” 1994-1995)

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regret

by

audacity, dissatisfaction, life, memory, poetry

I wrote laments last year

as if I had actually lost

something instead of never

having the audacity to ask

my hand on the gate’s latch

hesitated and did not open

I turned to pace the confines

of my familiar rose garden

(December 12, 2013)

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to sleep perchance

by

desire, dissatisfaction, poetry

if I could sleep

even a little

instead of waking

through the night

to listen like now

to the dark

without a pen

to answer back

then the day’s

distractions

might pull away

and not intrude

domineering

what I say

(December 11, 2013)

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trees and shadows

by

poetry, ways of knowing, writing

somewhere no

rainbows yet

somewhere yes

other than here

we tussle so

much we become

something no

one can know

without becoming

as well what

we abhor so

instead desire

occults our mind

to avoid full

discharge beneath

an unforgiving moon

(December 11, 2013)

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Ditty

by

desire, erato, poetics, poetry, traces

Memory plays a song on her guitar;

It resonates darkly within the air.

Each breath I take ignites a desire

for what should be played upon her lyre.

Her melody teases throughout my day,

leaving me, finally, with nothing to say.

(December 10, 2013)

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parsing

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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