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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

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  • Poetry: Mary Oliver

    by

    attention, awareness, books, poetry, reader response, response


    I finished Mary Oliver’s “New and Selected Poems, Volume One” today. I found it at Half-Priced Books a couple of weeks ago, and finally got around to reading it. I have not read Oliver beyond her two big hits: “The Summer Day,” and “Wild Geese.” And to be honest I found many of the poems in the book to be more interesting, which of course means nothing other than my differing tastes. Among the poems I liked, and would recommend, are: (no specific order) Entering the Kingdom, Farm Country, Acid, and Lilies. Oliver has a strong sense of rural natures as a source of meaning and metaphor. She talks a lot about the importance being aware in, and of, the world. Overall a pleasant and easy to access poet. 

    (July 2, 2024)

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  • Summer Morning

    by

    awareness, change, floating world, meditation, objectivism, patterns, poetry, restraint, samsara, transition, ways of knowing, zen

    Sun and shadow dapple the ivy

    as it unfurls slowly up the wall.

    Just a few days after the solstice,

    the summer’s long heat rises early

    from the damp coolish darkness beneath

    the foliage in the garden bed.

    Two cardinal couples flit between

    the long branches of the chinquapin

    twittering love songs through the morning,

    while the dogs stalk lizards through the yard.

    (June 29,2024)

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  • why write

    by

    acceptance, agency, ambition, essay, writing

    I have been writing poetry since I was fifteen. There were proto-moments earlier where I wrote and enjoyed writing, but those were mainly assignments for school. For almost the last 50 years I have considered myself a poet. Over the last few years, I have submitted some of my work to various lit magazines in a sporadic and random manner. I have even had some accepted for publication. And I appreciate their efforts. I am not making any claims toward the quality of my poetry. Some days I think I am writing pretty well, but when I read it again days, weeks, or even years later, I think: my writing is pretty crappy. Lately I have been leaning more toward the crap judgement. I am not looking for any affirmation from others, because I know that doesn’t really mean anything more than my own opinion of my work. Yet, one must have some confidence in one’s ability to create in order to continue, and that confidence has to come from somewhere whether from others comments, or one’s own arrogance. The last few days, weeks, I have asked myself why I continue to write after all this time. Why do I take the time to work over a poem, to shape it into something I think is a poem. Then I post it to social media, and on my own blog. I get a handful of responses indicating that someone, somewhere read it. For a few seconds, I bask in some stranger’s positivity. I do appreciate those who read my work, whether or not they comment. However, I wonder why I bother. Especially since I am currently in a downward spiral as far as my own opinion of what I write. I have gone through this cycle before, and have always shrugged off the doubt eventually and continued on. I normally say I write because I have to write, but I think it is more accurate to say I write because I write. It is simply something I do. I am not sure what I would do if I didn’t write. Drink more than I already do, become more bitter than I already am? Perhaps. I don’t think I will find out, because I have confidence I will continue to write (good or bad), as I have for almost 50 years.

    (June 28, 2024)

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  • Truth is Thin like Breath

    by

    abstract, acceptance, awareness

    Truth is thin like breath

    along a mountain range

    with less to hold it dear

    close to the ground.

    It is hard to breathe here.

    The fear of falling

    catches in my throat,

    and I cannot speak.


    What more is there to say?

    Everything and nothing,

    Some form of memory

    broached near the end

    to hang from evergreens

    like talismans in the sun?

    (June 28, 2024)

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  • I Would Like to Say

    by

    alone, despair, emo, happiness, lonely, perspective, poetry

    I would like to say

    I was just visiting


    that I had somewhere else

    to be where I belonged


    a secret place other

    than this constant vigil


    I would like to say

    this was a pleasant trip


    that it is time to go

    back home again


    but none of that is true

    I have no where to go


    and loneliness is all

    that happiness is not

    (June 21, 2024)

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  • An Erosion of Trust

    by

    anger, existential angst, poetry, rage

    Long vindictive waves

    pummel everything

    before them like tears.


    There is no shelter

    from the storm’s dark surge

    swallowing the shore.


    Like dead jellyfish

    pulsing on the sand,

    anger’s sting remains.

    (June 21, 2024)

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  • Despite

    by

    broken, interpretation, interrelationships, poetry, sonnets, ways of knowing, words

    I say something.

    You hear a window

    a smudged image,

    vague with familiarity,

    despite the angles

    of the frames,

    or the broken glass

    in the dead grass.

    We wear our wounds

    like overstuffed chairs,

    or hermit crabs their shells—

    alone and voiceless,

    despite what was said,

    despite what was heard.

    (June 20, 2024)

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  • Crowded Life

    by

    alone, anxiety, borders, dissatisfaction, interrelationships, life, poetry, relationships, sonnets, traces

    Too many old ghosts walk about today,

    leaning against the walls, blocking doorways.

    They lounge around the house, reading sad books

    they’ve read before, never leaving their chairs.

    I wave my hands in the air, futilely

    trying to chase them away. Like house flys,

    They vanish along the periphery,

    only to reappear within seconds.

    They are in no hurry to return home,

    where their versions of the story can’t change.

    They like the nebulous nature of life.

    I’m tired of talking to their shapelessness;

    I want to slough off their soft vaguery,

    and cast them into the unanswered night.

    (June 18, 2024)

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  • portrait of a man who was just joking

    by

    awareness, interrelationships, language, life, poetry, sonnets, ways of knowing

    like the stone drapes 

    of roman statues

    he assumes what

    he assumes so do

    the others in the room

    that what is at the core

    is different than what

    he presents to our world


    what we see is stone

    shaped to fool the mind

    with polite nods

    and sly innuendo

    until stone is not stone

    but a polite bigotry

    (June 13, 2024)

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  • Cogito Ergo Sum

    by

    abstract, agency, alone, anxiety, awareness, doubt, meditation, other, poetry, social construction, solitude, sonnets, ways of knowing

    Through others we become ourselves.

    — Lev S. Vygotsky

    We think we are

    what we think we are,

    because we believe

    we think ourselves

    into awareness,

    that it is us

    who is thought

    when we think.


    I am unsure,

    which part of me

    is me, and which

    part is part

    of who I am

    supposed to be.

    (June 12, 2024)

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  • Heidegger’s Hammer

    by

    abstract, awareness, definition, meaning, poetry

    People are always asking ‘what’s the use of poetry?’ The mystery of language, the poetic imagination, and the mind of compassion are roughly one and the same, and through poetry  perhaps they can keep guiding the world toward occasional moments of peace, gratitude, and delight.

    —Gary Synder

    A hammer lying next to a book

    of poetry on a table is not a hammer.

    The book of poetry is not a book of poetry.

    I open the book and read a poem.

    I close the book and place it 

    once again on the table:

    Once again into nothing.

    I pick up the hammer

    some nails,

    then go again to work.

    What use am I?

    (June 10, 2024)

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  • And Some Days the Writing Goes Nowhere

    by

    allegory, alone, creativity, frustration, lament, lost, metaphor, poetry, process

    false starts

    with tired thoughts

    begin

    in faltered steps

    then end

    off trail

    vaguely muttering

    lost

    alone

    in the dark


    like Gretel

    without crumbs

    to follow home

    or a Hansel

    to hold on to

    (June 7 2024)

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  • Central Texas, Early June

    by

    assignment, exercise, meditation, nature, poetry, response, summer

    Summer’s heat hangs thick.

    Doves coo through a slow afternoon,

    hotter earlier each day.

    Beyond shade’s cooler edge,

    lizards hunt their prey.

    Doves coo through a slow afternoon—

    the long heat’s mourning.

    (June 8, 2024)

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  • rationalizations

    by

    agency, guilt, irony, patterns, poetry, process, sonnets, time, writing

    i fear i’ve used time

    as an excuse to fail

    telling myself for years

    if i only had time

    then i would be enough

    yet now that i have time

    i fear it is too late

    to take time to write


    today for example

    instead i took a nap

    read watched tv

    then finally felt guilty

    because i had failed

    to walk the dogs

    (June 3, 2024)

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  • Nothing More than Everything

    by

    attention, awareness, change, cycle, meditation, nature, objectivism, poetry, samsara

    Clearing to a light blue sky,

    an early morning wind storm

    blows away the humidity

    that has hung thick 

    and foreboding in the air

    these last few days of May.

    Nearby, a humming bird hovers

    quickly about the red canna lilies,

    then flits away on a new mission 

    across the Indian Paintbrushes

    and  Bee Balm swaying casually

    in the meadow out back.

    Oblivious, the dogs sleep in the sun.

    While softly above their heads,

    honey bees and bumble bees

    float along the pinkish white

    flowers of the Chaste tree

    which bloomed overnight.

    (May 28, 2024)

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