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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

  • This Writer’s Beginnings: EarlyYears
  • Bread Loaf Influence
  • Rock and Roll High School
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  • from "Sonnet," (work in progress, third line)

    by

    communication, hope, identity formation, language, life, liminal, love, meaning, paradigm shifts, poetry, renga, romance, social construction, ways of knowing

    memory is creative
    filling in between
    the shadow and the light
    something new between
    what is thought
    and what is seen
    – –
    now
    exists
    on the cusp
    of when
    – –
    such naïve terms:
    still I wake
    into a new sun
    to wrestle my crystalline fears
    with love and hope
    for they shield
    my metaphorical heart
    as I naively long
    to see
    her eyes come
    for me
    – –
    so many unspoken words
    (like limits of secret pacts
    these borders we cannot cross
    without learning  new language)
    to speak to one another
    – –
    To find water at a stop in the alps
    I jumped off the train
    going from Vienna to Venice.
    Lisa called to hurry,
    flakes sparkled the night like stars;
    I danced with snow for the second time.
    – –
    then there
    you are
    already
    within
    the familiar
    – –
    the air forms to your body
    without effort
    I breathe you in
    – –
    not so much a matter of will,
    as it’s a matter of will not.
    – –
    a rose unfolds despite its beauty;
    the weed despite our disdain:
    he longs and obsesses
    as easily as she coyly
    plays with her hair
    while laughing at him
    – –
    intent
    (December 2011)

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  • Three Poems

    by

    acceptance, liminal, poetry, renga

    the world exists
    in front of you
    with luck
    a peripheral sight 
    expands you
    enough to bend 
    back upon your vision
    to create a new sense 
    of self that can see
    how great a fool you are
    –
    Work
    sing
    shuffle your feet
    another day is done
    –
    another dance
    before the night is through
    circle slowly
    around the room
    think again
    what might have been
    (from “Sonnet,” a work in progress: syllables 8, 9 and 10: line 2)
    (December 2011)

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  • Me and Lisa, 1979

    by

    life, love, paradigm shifts, poetry, romance

    among the crepe myrtle

    and spring flowers
    of austin’s japanese garden
    we would feast
    on canned smoked oysters
    cheap wine and each other
    from “Sonnet” (work in progress, 2nd line, syllable 7)


    (December 2011)

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  • the oyster

    by

    acceptance, community, liminal, poetry, social construction

    the world pulses
    whispers about me
    a cocoon
    my thought layered
    in thin sheets
    with the detritus
    of all the others
    who have ever touched me
    from “sonnet” ( work in progress, third syllable, second line)

    (December 2011)

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  • The Day Before Ezra Was Born

    by

    family, identity formation, liminal, paradigm shifts, poetry


    i held my breath
    then sank
    into lake pleiad
    the summer heat
    the deer flies
    the  long hike
    the short swim
    to the lake’s center
    everything else
    vanished
    in
    ice cold water

    from “sonnet” (work in progress, third syllable)

    (December 2011)

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  • The Year Mom Died

    by

    acceptance, liminal, love, poetry

    i sat in silence
    as she slept
    her breathing so low
    I would bend my ear
    down to listen
    to air
    from “Sonnet” (work in progress, sixth syllable)
    (December 2011)

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  • Seine

    by

    communication, conversation, life, liminal, poetry, romance, ways of knowing


    the question on his part
    seemed casual, conversational
    innocent in the interplay
    of the day’s end and drink
    the question on her part
    was a net, multi-purposed
    catching minnows, as well as
    an answer from the sea’s swell
    (December 2011)

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  • Threshold

    by

    existential angst, life, liminal, paradigms, poetry

    the meniscus trembles
    at the cup’s rim
    a hesitation
    before a first kiss
    a choice
    I’m unable to make
    dice fall
    from her finger tips
    (December 2011)

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  • Always a Rationale

    by

    communication, conversation, hermenutics, language, meaning, poetry, sonnets

    how does one tell the truth
    to oneself when the wolves
    of doubt slaver at each word
    waiting for any sliver of emotional
    slither to drop from one’s lips
    before leaping forward to feed
    how does one tell the truth
    to others when each word
    one speaks bends back to obscure
    the one word unspoken behind
    them all which would unlock
    the tightly sealed box of one’s life
    to speak within a simple honesty
    is to sit alone in silent dread
    (December 2011)

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  • High School Crush

    by

    communication, conversation, existential angst, hope, language, love, meaning, poetry, romance

    she comes into his class
    and sits near by
    it doesn’t matter
    how hard he tries
    to pretend a cool
    nonchalance
    what he wants to say
    falls away
    again into memory
    yet even now repeats
    as her brown eyes
    befuddle his speech
    the complexity
    of simple words
    troubles each step
    he takes
    not being a dancer
    he worries
    the least shift
    in the rhythm
    as if meaning
    can be deciphered
    from the day
    to day inflections
    or her intent
    without a context
    (December 2011)

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  • Then I Knew Now I Know

    by

    communication, conversation, existential angst, identity formation, life, liminal, meaning, poetics, poetry, reading, thinking, ways of knowing

    there was an answer to the questions I found
    along the way always nearby around
    the next bend of yet another conversation
    on the next page of the next text
    the question I found could be answered
    early on I had to learn to listen
    too impatient to unfold the speech
    tucked tightly into other conversations
    I attempted to speak but words fell
    from my hands like wet rocks into sand
    then when I felt I could follow the flow
    the multi-valent and kaleidoscopic words diverged
    holding one strand level became an endless quest
    side stories pursued closely only looped
    loosely into larger conspiratorial patterns
    I ranted to anyone polite enough to nod
    their head so caught in what I read
    I failed to hear the sedimentary grit
    in the words I spit forth my ears clotted
    like Odysseus’ sailors oblivious to sirens
    I find it hard now not to hear the whispers
    beneath the constant chatter between books
    scattered across the floor friends met
    while shopping at the store and my thoughts
    incessantly shouting be quiet listen listen
    (November 2011)

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  • Confession

    by

    existential angst, hope, poetry


    I say your name
    as if I had power
    to call you to me
    my words curl
    like burled oak
    or smoke
    rising in wisps
    toward the lips
    of a smiling moon
    a blaspheme
    against my state
    much more to you
    who sings forth
    delight in innocence
    of the strength you wield
    there lies the fault
    the moral cowardice
    the fracture in me
    I cannot become
    the person I would
    by invoking you
    (November 2011)

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  • Making Time for What’s Important

    by

    curriculum, education, essay, literacy, teaching, work, writing

    In a class on the Essay at Bread Loaf, Shirley Brice-Heath said that reading and writing are leisure activities.  She said this in explanation of why so many writers in the 19th century, or any other time period, were upper middle class and/or wealthy.  It takes time to read and time to write, one can’t be working all hours on the factory floor if one is going to read and write.  Over time I have hacked away at the “stuff” I teach that takes up the time of the classroom; I have abandoned entire beloved lesson plans and units because they ate into the time my students have to read and write.  My students live busy complex lives.  They work at their jobs, often more than one, they have many classes in addition to mine and some of them have babies that they have to take care of as well.  So I schedule huge blocks of time to read and write in class everyday.  It is not a “Read-in” Friday, or “let’s write an in-class essay today”, but every day we are reading and writing together and alone.  It is what is expected in my class.  Over time the students come to expect the time they have to read and write and become irritable when they don’t get that time because of scheduled and unscheduled administrative dictates.  The time to read and write is important, because it is time the students don’t normally get.  It is ironic, as Randy Bomer pointed out, that we banish students committing acts of literacy from the classroom in order to provide time for state test prep, drill and bundle tests; activities which teach the students to hate reading and writing.  Maybe not so ironic as criminal.
    (November 2011)

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  • And Thanks for all the Poetry

    by

    identity formation, life, literacy, poetry, thinking, ways of knowing, writing

    Inspired by a post on Checkoutmygrill
    As we go into Thanksgiving I would like to thank some people and places for making poetry such an integral part of my life for the majority of my life. Poetry has made my life richer, so thanks to all of you for making me happy.
    List of people, places, and organizations that have caused me, helped me and/or kept me writing throughout my life:
    Public school teachers:  Ms. Buffalo (first grade), Ms. Nugent (third grade), Cliff Berkman and Ann Lockstedt Jones (high school). 
    College teachers:  Albert Goldbarth and Kurt Heinzelman (the University of Texas), Carol Oles, Courtney Cazden and Shirley Brice-Heath (The Bread Loaf School of English).
    Relatives and friends:  Lisa, Donna Neal, Ezra Neal, Quinn Neal, Lilith Neal, Steve Adams, Hope Burwell, Christine Derbyshire, Nathan Smith, Carol and Carl Trovall.
    Places:  Poetry Workshops at The University of Texas and The Breadloaf School of English, The Open Door Writer’s workshop in Victoria (1977-1978).
    Organizations: Memorabilia (Art and Writing Club in high school), The National Writing Project, the Heart of Texas Writing Project, The Bread Loaf School of English
    And of course the hundreds and hundreds of books of poetry I have scattered all over my house.

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  • A Precarious Dance

    by

    communication, conversation, dream, erato, life, liminal, poetry, romance

    never quite falling nor ever quite balanced

    I stumble along catching the horizon
    of my world in the parabola of a bird’s flight
    until shattered across the shifting floor
    like tufts of frozen feathers the mosaic
    of my day fails to form a coherent web
    to safely cocoon my troubled thoughts away
    I focus down into the minutia of our conversations
    worry each splintered reaction and half-word
    as if the past could be rebuilt from simple wisps
    of my memory or salvaged from a dry hope
    for some transformation into an exotic other
    so I return into myself before the words
    let loose like butterflies lifting at once
    from the nearby rosemary dazzling
    the air with the delight of this dance
    in the silent spaces spoken between us
    (November 2011)

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