by
a network of shadows
across a path
connect patterns
dormant through my night
I am constrained
with chains of doubt
and fear—abstracted
from stark moments
decades old
for more than a moment
they swirl like dust
in late afternoon
sunlight—
thin and pale
for less than a moment
i hold these moments
like crumbling oak leaves
falling from delphic hands
back into shadow
(December 24, 2023)
by
1- Tao
once
there were two
which begat a third
then sprung
a myriad
to flourish the world
2- Patience
finally
i become
the contours
of the change
my life has
left me to
desert wind
through rocks
as rain upon
old gravestones
grinds time back
to nothing
(December 19, 2023)
by
Oak leaves skitter
like fragile kittens
down the empty street.
The first blue norther
slices through the trees,
rattling my old bones.
(December 10, 2023)
by
Here is a madwoman, dancing, while she vaguely remembers something. She longs to possess it, grasping the air with hands broken like branches. As she dances, naked, down the road, the memory tangles through her hair. Between her desire and memory, she can feel herself smudge into darkness. It is something like the smoke that slid long ago through the hallways of the house she once lived in. They were all happy as time flowed around them. They danced to a music that passed between them like birds flitting through branches. He held her then as if she were as fragile as air. Her memory becomes her partner, but not the partner of her memory. He was as solid as stone on the day she first saw him. He arrived with spring’s flowers igniting the air with their passion; its echoes now flow thick like water and ash. Now everything’s cold and winter never ends. His hands were like fire caressing the kindling of her body. Time was eternal and demanded no penance. Their laughter was joyous and private; the children all danced, giggling around them. When the last child died, she wept alone by the fire. Now children chase her and throw stones at her, as if she were a blackbird.
seed text: The Songs of Maldoror, by Le Comte de Lautrémont
(June 23, 2015)
by
The days become less;
night slips to a deeper dark
where I cannot see.
I take a side chair,
and watch the grandchildren play.
Oak leaves fall outside.
I fall from my chair,
then laugh off my clumsiness.
I ache hours later.
I fear for the day,
when my peers begin to die,
and all is silent.
The night is still and quiet;
birds wait for the sun to sing.
(November 26, 2023)
A lizard moves from leaf
to fence, shifting from green
to brown, quickly hiding
from prey and predator.
Today, he captures a moth;
tomorrow, the hawk feeds.
Life and death’s a disguise
I wear to hide the present
horror: the taut skin over
bone stretches to a smile.
Without camouflage to live
within, I pass to the last
third of life: I must change
to live, must live in this change.
(November 24, 2023)
I worry
the broken bits
of my memory
scattered
across the sand
like a snake’s skin
desperately sloughed
against the rocks.
Each bit again
reshapes and poisons
a new form
into a present
truth which shatters
what was to be
believed
like dandelion puffs
drifting across
fallow ground.
(November 19, 2023)
If I confess
is guilt excised—
must I list
in detail
each transgression
by name,
or may I
vaguely hint
toward
an absolution
that I can
accept
as my
own?
(November 18, 2023)
by
he walks through his life
with a string of nows
hanging from his neck
most days slip away
from dawn to dusk
without distinction
yet some he can see
with a clarity
which is unmoving
with a cold silence
which strips away time
like a broken tomb
the past and future
vanish and the now
opens around him
like a white lotus
rising from the palm
of his outstretched hand
(November 12, 2023)
two nights in a row
the cat drops a rabbit
dead on the back mat
her throat ripped open
bits of fur float in the wind
her body still warm
the cat proudly purrs
as she curls around my feet
I did this for you
I push her away
unceremoniously
dismissing her kill
each moment deserves our trust
each moment’s a sacrifice
(November 11, 2023)
As I putter about the house,
each node, great or small,
where I failed
to be kind;
where I failed
others;
where I failed
my own measure—-
rages
like harpies
lifting their heads,
broken smiles coated
in dry blood.
(November 9, 2023)
There is always an excuse,
some rationale; but nothing
that’s not infested with fear:
just follow a line across an abyss;
just follow a tale which is not mine;
just follow the next man into time.
But there is never a reason
to surrender one’s life;
never a reason to ramble;
never a reason to leave home;
never a reason to lift my voice
and follow an unheard song.
(November 6, 2023)
by
An early November sun sets slowly
over the neighbor’s house, as I nurse
a tumbler of scotch on the front porch.
The tattered tie-dyed peace flag, I bought
as a counter to the MAGA flags down
the street, flutters in the soft evening breeze.
In her hijab, the Muslim mother across
the street marshals her children on their
regular evening walk. I faintly hear
the suburban high school band jauntily
play their fight song at the stadium
across the way. It’s Friday Night! Israeli
jets in Gaza pummel yet another refugee
camp with righteous indignation, and
none of these complicit ironies escape me.
(November 3, 2023)
by
Over time my doubts
determine the desolation
my regrets and dreams
have brought to me.
It is not a stark moon rising
over dead mountains,
but fetid rot crumbling,
wet grain by wet grain,
into a tangled swamp
from which memory
rises unbidden
like will o’ the wisps.
Foolishly, I pursue them
lashing myself
with shame and horror
at what I did or said
in the smallest instance.
Until I am tied so tightly
to the past that I am,
that I am no longer
able to do more
than lie prostrate
across the ground,
afraid and unforgiven.
(October 31 2023)
by
From a distance
across green fields,
our house appears
idyllic and pastoral.
While unseen beneath
twined ivy vines,
the loose mortar
and ancient beams
await repair.
Crowned with roses
and scented bay,
we face each other,
seeing different paths
of the world we are.
I offer what I have,
as do you, not knowing
if there is enough
in our worn cups
to sustain us
through another year—
trusting love
continually heals
the wounds it creates.
(October 23, 2023)
