from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
I write as I have
for years—I have,
through time, come
to understand:
I write to write,
doubting praise, I write
in silence to silence.
(May 14, 2019)
-
One’s End’s Ambiguous
by
The labyrinth
bends into itself:
one thought feeds
bits of fear to the next;
until, teeth crack
on broken bone,
and it ends
without a beginning
to begin again.
One’s end’s ambiguous
as one’s beginning.
Indecisive and vague,
the end’s no different
than any contingent.
The end ends
with a flailing
of the mind
through a stark
unawareness
of where we are,
where we have been,
and without a why
to justify
the confusion
of the scattered pages
across the floor,
and the ash in the air.
(May 12, 2019)
-
Gathering Together (Massing)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
There is no center to hold;
no story of violent gods
to tell while drunk
around a fire.
There is no fire.
Yet still, we turn
to one another
with what words
we have, and begin
again to speak.
(May 8, 2019)
-
Marginalia
by
The ghosts in his forest sift
between the bramble, collect
momentarily in clearings,
and compare notes on their
unconsummated affairs.
His apparition slips along
her edges, begging the margins
she ignores. Annotations,
without context, entangle
his thoughts, growing a life
of their own, a meaning
of their own, as blooms
of moss on the forest floor
disguise the broken trees
in a green effulgence.
He tries to trace her designs
within her fractured words.
Each turn he takes leads away
form yet another possible exegesis;
until, he falls into a clarity
forever uncertain and voiceless.p
(May 5, 2019)
-
Community Prayer
by
I need someone to tell me–
I’m okay– I can make it
through this day— unashamed,
as do we all.
I need someone to hold me
closely through this night
of terrors– calm and unafraid,
as do we all.
(May 4, 2019)
-
idealistic pronouncement
truth is without trust
it speaks without proof
is known without belief
it harbors no amity
towards any who hear
nor makes promises to keep
one does not play safe
with what truth offers
for each day is at risk
each moment opens anew
toward a hope unfolding
into some better world
my truth I trust
my ideal and my damnation
(June 26, 2013) -
Coming to Meet
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
It’s always so simple to trust
an Iago’s words to lift
a bland darkness over
the light like a veil
to hide a leper’s face:
I allow myself to degrade
myself, ignoring my better
angels as if they exist
only as shallow hubris.
(April 26, 2019)
-
accents shift
from one neighborhood
to the next — one town
over– no more sounds
like yours or your friends
at the corner pub
where even the odd
and unloved fit warmly
at a table in the dark
where the fog follows you
home into a darker wood
until your voice tangles
among incestuous roots
and a knife draws
a line along your throat
at the possibility
of a misunderstanding
(April 22, 2019)
-
Coupled
At home, they sit across from each other
like a pair of stone-silent gargoyles, when
he sighs to himself as if with remorse.
Looking up, she asks, out of politeness,
“Is something wrong?” He shakes his head, and says,
embarrassed that he had spoken out loud,
“Oh, Nothing, just thinking, at least nothing
important enough to say: just thinking.”
They watch each other with a quiet calm
like the still center of a raging storm;
each happy enough at home not to stir
up any conversations to avoid.
Slowly, they fall into their silences,
starkly alone with their thoughts together.
(April 18, 2019)
-
Motion
by
one stands always at a beginning
a new door opens to a passage
which leads to another door
which opens wherever you are
there are no keys no locks no doors
only you standing within time
in motion without moving
yourself a passage a sluice
through which apparitions slip
taking on your form like robes
then quickly cast away replaced
by yet another without end
each moment embraces death with a kiss
each moment finds your self reborn
(April 16, 2019)
-
Turn
a turn toward the other
whether in body or spirit
a turn toward some other
than myself to complete myself
a turn toward the other
like the horizon turns east
always seeking after light
a newer day to exult in
the earth’s curve the curve
of your breast silhouetted
in dawn’s light slipping
through our bedroom window
I turn to you from the dark
seeking your warmth in turn
(April 15, 2019)
-
Just Another Name for the Devil
Perhaps the thousand-thousand
unpronounceable names for god
wait to burn your tongue,
if, by chance, your babbling
could bring you to the brink
of intelligibility. The thousand
monkey’s theory of Macbeth
could prove true given enough
time. Yet, we’ve been at this
for so long now, one would
assume our relationship
would be stronger somehow,
that I would know your name;
since, I know you know mine.
I’m unsure where you are, or if
you are, or, perhaps, I’m speaking
to myself—all those years gone,
as I puttered randomly about the house,
pulling books off the shelf, reading
a passage, thinking someone nearby
was speaking directly to me, but
only within the context of that moment;
never a sustained conversation,
as between long-time friends.
What can be said, when there’s no one
to hear? If you are not here, then
what consequence can I be, beyond
these words I speak only to myself?
Unless perhaps, what I speak, and to whom,
are enough of a signature, a singularity,
to pronounce, with clarity, if only
for this moment, my name into the dark.
(April 12, 2019)
unpronounceable names for god
wait to burn your tongue,
if by chance your babbling
brings you to the brink
of intelligibility. The thousand
monkey’s theory of Macbeth
could prove true given enough
time. Yet we’ve been at it
for so long now, one would
assume our relationship
would be stronger somehow,
that I would know your name;
since, I know you know me.
I’m unsure where you are, or if
you are, or, perhaps, I’m speaking
to myself—all those years gone,
as I puttered randomly about the house,
pulling books off the shelf, reading
a passage, thinking someone nearby
was speaking directly to me, but
only within the context of that moment.
What can be said, when there’s no one
to hear? If you are not here,
then what consequence can I be, beyond
the words I speak only to myself?
Unless perhaps, what I speak, and to whom,
are enough of a signature, a singularity,
to pronounce, with clarity, if only
for this moment, my name into the dark.
(April 12, 2019)
-
Three Poems from “My Book of Changes”
three poems out of 250 from a series of poems I wrote in the mid 90’s
-
Breakthrough (Resoluteness)
by
from “Renditions of Change” a work in progress
Speaking truth to myself
is difficult—as to power,
just more dangerous: no
compromise with evil,
nor abatement.
(April 10, 2019)
subtext 