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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

  • This Writer’s Beginnings: EarlyYears
  • Bread Loaf Influence
  • Rock and Roll High School
  • About

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  • Blind Faith

    by

    attention, awareness, control, life, poetry

    I try to see

    what’s in front of me—

    but most of the time,

    it’s hard to pay attention.

    Too often, I’m blinded

    just stepping toward a door 

    which then causes the day 

    to shimmer inside a memory

    like sunlight on the surface 

    of a creek as it meanders 

    through the trees. So, I stop

    mid-way on my path

    to regather myself,

    and wait for the moment

    to arrive fully formed.

    Much as a poem folds

    the pretense of meaning

    within images which echo

    across each other like bats

    swerving through the night

    searching for food.

    (April 4, 2026)

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  • Time Enough for Now

    by

    aging, awareness, contentment, haiku, life, poetry, retirement, spring, time, zen

    The dogs sleep in balls

    tightly curled next to my chair.

    Roses bloom outside.

    (April 3, 2026)

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  • The Boredom of Fate

    by

    chance, fate, memory, past, patterns, poetry, present, time, ways of knowing

    I’m bored

    as I write

    this poem—

    Not too much here

    that is not mine

    to ruminate:

    the mistakes,

    and broken desires

    left behind

    in memory

    clot the way

    with the pretense 

    of fate. Only fate 

    is just the past:

    I’m here reading

    what I write,

    because I’m here,

    not somewhere else

    reading something

    else I wrote today.

    Somedays are destined

    to be something else

    which could have

    happened somehow

    on a warm afternoon 

    after a yawn or two,

    but then didn’t.

    (April 2, 2026)

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  • No Time at the Present

    by

    acceptance, awareness, past, patterns, poetry, present, ritual, time

    The dogs are disturbed;

    their morning routine 

    has changed. They know it.

    They follow closely

    as I do not follow

    their daily pattern.

    They are anxious

    for the future

    to be the past,

    for their bowls to be

    filled with kibble

    on time,  now.

    They know the past

    is not prologue; the past

    is the future; the past is 

    now. They know it.

    Their dark eyes full

    of soul follow me

    through the house

    wondering why

    I do not know anything,

    so simple,

    about time.

    (April 1, 2026)

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  • Poem

    by

    acceptance, aging, ambition, clarity, creativity, life, meditation, poetry, samsara, spring, ways of knowing

    A rose requires

    no one to notice

    it bloom; come spring,

    it just blooms.

    (March 27, 2026)

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  • Sancho Panza

    by

    acceptance, agency, aging, books, delusion, literature, poetry, reading, sonnets, ways of knowing

    Nine books lie

    on my bedside

    table, unread:

    six poetry,

    two non-fiction,

    and Don Quixote.

    I should finish

    Cervantes—


    or at least

    start— once

    again, now

    that I’m older,

    and his windmills

    have turned to giants.

    (March 24, 2026)

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  • Art’s a Process

    by

    agency, art, creativity, poetry, process, sonnets, truth

    “and there is only the dance”

    —T.S.Eliot

    each step in this dance

    trembles the body

    like little orgasmic ripples

    across an expansive  lake

    a small tenuous call

    for a redemptive love

    in a fragile universe

    fleeing from itself

    I believe in the tedium

    of individual self-expression

    as if it truly matters

    truth is a smooth pebble 

    in an ocean alive with

    mundane mendacities

    (March 21, 2026)

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  • I’m Okay Now

    by

    aging, change, gratitude, happiness, life, perspective, poetry, present, retirement, teaching, time, transition, writing

    three years ago

    at sixty-three

    after thirty-four years

    I stopped teaching


    I stopped taking

    anti-depressants 

    stopped drinking 

    as much 


    the night terrors

    though not stopped

    are less frequent 

    and less frantic


    I am not somebody

    out of a capra film

    nor a famous nobody

    listening to frogs sing


    I am me— an old man

    who still loves lisa

    and writes little poems

    few people will read

    (March 16, 2026)

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  • Hegemony

    by

    agency, borders, breach, change, hope, poetry

    When what I see is not

    making sense even in jest,

    there is where the hinge bends

    one plane into the veneer

    of another, and I fall away

    afloat in a delicate chaos

    of dust through afternoon light.

    I live along a distant periphery,

    where change happens 

    like one season to another;

    a slow edge of soft magma,

    where tectonic plates patiently

    grind their jagged stones

    into a field of dominant debris.

    (March 15, 2026)

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  • Quick Response to James S. A. Corey’s Leviathan Wakes

    by

    books, reader response, reading

    It has been awhile since I read a sweeping epic of a sci-fi novel. I guess it is still awhile to go, since there are like nine more volumes of the series which are collected under the name The Expanse. I probably will not read the rest of the series. This is not to say I did not enjoy Leviathan Wakes, because I did have a good time. I read the book over the last few days. While it is over 500 pages long, it is a fast read uncluttered as it is with the subtleties of an analysis of the human condition. This is not to say it lacks depth, although the book is focused on the narrative more than sweeping themes. It does touch lightly upon colonialism; prejudices and bigotry against those not in your tribe (Earth v. Mars, Earth and Mars v. the Belt); corporations too powerful and focused on gathering more wealth and power over the interests of the people; science v. humanity; loyalty; honor; and love as a unifying force. But I could be over-reading the novel. As they say, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. I would have loved these books as a teen ager. There is an equally enjoyable television series, The Expanse, which arose from the books. Both the book and the series are worth the time it would take to enjoy them. Sometimes escapism in literature is a good thing. 

    (March 13, 2026)

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  • Salvage

    by

    broken, eros, loss, love, poetry, regret

    We stepped

    into the field

    of possibility,

    and found

    only wreckage

    of the words

    we left behind.


    Love is naive

    if it’s to survive.

    (March 12, 2026)

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  • Quick Response to The Bat Poet by Randall Jarrell

    by

    beauty, books, charm, education, identity formation, literature, reader response, reading, writing

    I re-read Randall Jarrell’s The Bat Poet late this afternoon (It is short, 36 pages so don’t be too impressed). I first read The Bat Poet as part of The Hill Country Writing Project (the precursor to the Heart of Texas Writing Project) in 1987. It is such a lovely book about becoming a writer. Lots of analogies between the narrative of the bat and the stages newbie writer’s go through on their journey to being a poet—1) seeing a world different than your peers; 2) finding a mentor (text); 3) writing your first poems 4) mimicking others’ voices 5) finding your voice in your identity; 6) returning to your community with your vision: a mini-hero’s journey! I love the scene between the bat and the mockingbird (the accomplished poet no one understands) when the bat reads a poem he wrote about the owl to the mockingbird. The mockingbird explains the technical aspects of the poem he liked, befuddling the bat who just wrote the poem like the owl was oblivious to the academic names for what he was doing. The illustrations by Maurice Sendak for the book are a bonus.

    (March 5, 2026)

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  • Someone’s Always Knitting Nearby

    by

    abstract, attention, awareness, belief, patterns, pessimism, poetry

    Free of belief’s comforting vanities,

    the small profundities of the day

    reveal themselves through slow unravels

    as their collective weight strips conceit

    away, leaving bare bones exposed

    to judgement and snide approbation.

    (March 4, 2026)

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  • new neighbors move in late at night

    by

    awareness, borders, broken, life, melodrama, narrative, objectivism, patterns, poetry, tension

    a scream like lightning

    rough ragged quick

    followed by male laughter

    then more garbled screams

    like dogs growling

    lights go off and on

    upstairs then downstairs

    the front door opens

    light stabs across the yard

    then the door slams shut

    a bedroom light remains on

    a car guns out of the driveway

    then shoots off into the dark

    then silence 

    (February 28, 2026)

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  • an overflowing fountain 

    by

    floating world, life, meditation, poetry, present, time, ways of knowing

    days arise and fall

    as time flows

    without direction

    and I don’t know

    what season has come

    or if there is a beginning

    or an end this time round

    (February 26, 2026)

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