subtext

My Poetry and Commentary on Life

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Door

by

borders, doubt, poetry

inside I long to vanish

like ventriloquist’s lips

mouthing toward another

to loose the proprietary

shackles to my skull

crushing my last thought

outside I wander lost

from room to thought

beneath a waning moon

a semblance of a hunt

a straight line pursuit

of my troubled heart

at the door I pause

like a tired visitor

unsure of the welcome

to step inside or away

to call myself home

uncomfortable with both

(August 1, 2013)

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Reading the World

by

communication, conversation, language, literacy, poetry, sonnets

“It’s all a language you can learn to read”

–Pina Bausch

I struggle with my meaning each day

the grappling with the conversations

within the larger context of the past

coupled with my inarticulate illiteracy

compels me to return in silence alone

after the bodies have been cleared and blood

scraped from stone streets so I can read

what was written across the night to now

slowly sounding out each word like a child

bent over her first reader in wonder

at the world rising to life from the dead

phrases that have passed between us

and I worry these echoes nestled between gaps

to winnow what’s there from what I want to hear

(July 31, 2013)

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erasure

by

fragments, life, love, poetry, relationships, time

he lifted his head from work

when called cross the hall

and smiled halfway

at the jokes she told

she hid within

the shadow’s play

upon his walls

he longed for her laugh

took comfort in her

presence enough to

breathe in the world

she hid within

the shadow’s play

upon his walls

sirens wail serenely

as he sits alone

and thinks of her gone

singing her newer song

she hid within

the shadow’s play

upon his walls

(July 30, 2013)

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days spent awake

by

communication, language, life, paradigm shifts, poetry, sonnets

faces blur in memory

twist familiar skulls

like slow smoke

from a funeral pyre

who are you now

some forgotten line

in a melodrama’s

clichéd end

the cues are lost

the marks misplaced

why even try

to learn your part

speak into truth

time hears no excuse

(July 30, 2013)

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I should trust my instinct not to speak

by

anger, communication, life, poetry, trust

it’s not that you cannot keep a secret

it’s more you cannot stop talking

the words flow forth like ropes

uncoiling from a ship’s deck

hands quickly linking her to shore

you use words to tie people to you

you take strands and weave through

innuendo and guile what was confided

in confidence to you because I expected

a level of trust to be enough to seal

my words between us but you insist

on glibly dropping what to you must be

bon mots of someone in the know

throughout the conversation like small

barbs tossed after fish darting away

it is tiresome to listen to your misplaced

faith in what you have the need to say

and your belief that your smarmy words

resonate somehow with me other than

through distracted ire like a slow moving

cow contemplating her cud swatting a fly

(July 29,2013)

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from "primogenitive folly"

by

anger, early work, life, poetry

A steady patterned rhythm

provides an underlying tempo;

my heart beats unnoticed

and unremarked,

until, like a storm’s abatement,

the tumult of my life recedes,

and my self-centered stupidity

leaps out in sharp relief

like lightning

dancing.

(August 2001-April 2003)

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another part of "primogenitive folly"

by

communication, early work, language, poetics, poetry, social construction, storytelling

As I was saying, if not now, then in some other tendency of prattle: consciousness does not stream. I see it more as a swarm of honey bees migrating from one hive to another, floating across the field slowly like a child’s balloon following a current of air. A new queen flying amid the pulse of hundreds of drones, each intent, true courtiers, on her – – the universe’s center. Of course, at the same time, as it longs to stay close to the mode, each thought strives to spring forth, leaving its prescribed orbit – – much as electrons dance about the nucleus – –leaping excitedly from valence to valence. Or at least I like to think; yet, words do chase each other along the well-worn trail due to the nature of language’s traditions: letters, words, sentences, page after page of apparent sequence lulls us, like a baby to a roundel, into a false sense of causality: someone must be in charge – – command, reason, the hierarchy of being, mountain spring to delta’s mouth kissing the ocean – – instead of the collective focus of bees.

(August 2001-April 2003)

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image without metaphor

by

metaphor, poetry, writing

A wine glass

splinters across

stone;

my fingers

prickle blood

to their tips.

(July 26, 2013)

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Language Lesson

by

language, life, poetry

The fused verb

stops in stasis

to move the noun

into life, then

shatters itself
into time.

(July 26, 2013)

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a stranger on the road

by

life, poetry, social construction

Say there were

no antecedent,

what then?

From where

would you

find a base,

some story,

to build

a world

upon, or

a time

from which

our step

could fail

to continue

our descent?

But that call

does portend

too dark

a thought,

so, let us

turn here

from this chat

to see

your walk’s

night,

tonight.

(July 26, 2013)

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translate the metaphor

by

communication, conversation, language, life, liminal, love, poetry, relationships

The problem is always

the same: to describe

my life in a manner

even I can comprehend.

Translation begins in

movement from this

space toward an other,

to cross a stile into

a newer field, not

so different from the one

we left moments before;

but far enough away

that our accents color

our vowels into strange

grey pronunciations.

Our words can only

carry so much freight when

laden with misunderstandings;

assumption insists on a free

exchange of extra meanings

no one could ever expect,

nor anticipate fully.

Somewhere in time’s

icy crevasses, my heart’s

words lose momentum

as they falter toward

my veiled intent.

I think I understand

what I meant to say,

at least enough, to

venture an attempt

to speak again across

the voiceless divide

of language to you.

(July 26, 2013)

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and yet another from "primogenitive folly"

by

early work, poetry, ways of knowing

Who’s looking – -or even has time?

A quick glimpse through the spider’s web

to a deceptive blue masking infinity – –

not enough – – but it will do for now.

The ground beneath his chair crumbles

tumbling him into the river.

I watch each grain tremble

then break free – – look, there’s another

and another – – float off like butterflies.

Not a head lifts – –

another mark in their books

another keystroke

no ripple in the pond

I notice that also;

the placid calm grows my unease.

Not that I’m nervous

or a creature of conspiracies,

but patterns built of repeating patterns

engrave their textures on the eye

like the afterimage of the sun

blazes so brightly all else is lost.

It is better not to look – – –

to grub along

head close to the earth

fingernails crack against rock.

Focus on the task before us

and the horrors on the periphery

fade before the onslaught of the mundane.

(August 2001-April 2002)

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from, "Primogenitive Folly"

by

communication, community, family, language, poetry, social construction, ways of knowing

What clichés lock us into the lives we

live? The palimpsest laid down long ago:

the whispered fears of our grandparent’s tales

echo through our parent’s approbations

to niggle at the back of our own throats.

The words we speak are never wholly ours,

but form themselves like water around sand:

molding, yet molded; shaping, yet shaped.

Too quickly we accept the languages

of those we despise: vocabularies

coil, like briar rose, surreptitiously

entangling with their uninspired lies.

Yet we are complicit, acquiescing

within the unsought for definitions.

(August 2001-April 2003)

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specimen

by

communication, irony, language, metaphor, poetry, writing

as per your request

for clarity as a relief

from the apparent oblique

ramblings I create

I place within this space

before you to inspect

at your casual pace

my mind within a jar

please with ease take note

of how all the obvious

disguises the subtle folds

in what I say to you

how the decorative charm

leads the eye slyly away

from the simplistic grey

surface discourse to darker

matters hidden within

the unconscious crevices

teeming with a procreant

mass of living metaphor

how from the first

words spoken we lie

as the sounds differ

between the then and now

between my intent

and your ear clotted

with interpretations

too complex to be true

yet when straight forward

inside a contextualized glow

thoughts float like the dead

within an explicated jar

(July 23, 2013)

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my words

by

communication, hope, life, poetry

choke

what I desire

to say

to you

falters

into fits

and coughs

as if

a bone

caught

deep in

my throat

forces me

to my knees

spewing blood

onto the floor

patience

words

with any

solidity

form

slowly

like vines

weaving

through

themselves;

growing

overtime

through

the other,

each begins

to support

the other.

(July 21, 2013)

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