from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
It took me more
than a decade:
to realize
my students were smarter
than we let them be;
to stop being
such a martinet
prancing upon a stage;
to listen to their minds
as they translated
their world out of ours;
to finally be silent
and step out of their way.
(April 4, 2019)
I hold up mirrors
as shields to reflect
what I’m expected
to be: brother,
father, teacher,
lover, friend.
These apparitions
flow through
me like fish
slowly nibble
the bait clean
from the hook.
I’m only myself,
when nothing’s left.
(April 3, 2019)
Trouble pulses, like cicadas
along oak branches through
summer’s heat: pervasive
and cold. It permeates
my blood like a poison.
I worry the times — for nothing
can be done – How does one
take on more than one self,
yet again? Don a new mask
to project a calm certainty
when fear’s fires rage and burn?
I have no place to stand with
surety. Answers are simple
without people’s constraints:
the constant tug and shift,
like the tight tectonic grind
as ground slips over ground.
(April 2, 2019)
by
Too near-sighted to see
a larger view, he holds
close to the present.
He has no memory
beyond now; but
with tight-curled fingers,
it is edge enough,
if only for a moment,
to hang a life upon.
(March 30, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
The harvest is hauled
to the castle; birds
and peasants glean
the fields for bits
left among the chaff.
It’s all very simple:
one’s heart’s strength
adheres to us all,
and must be endured.
(March 29, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” from a work in progress
The storm breaks
with the new dawn.
(March 29, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” work in progress
On this road
he is a boulder
he cannot remove.
He turns, then returns
with others.
He absorbs himself
until he vanishes
to himself.
(March 27, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
He shuffle steps his dance
to the left; she circle slips
through their spaces
around her. They move
against the other, dancing
with one dance.
(March 27, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
If what he says is said
within the bounds
of proper order–
If what he said is heard
like fire flickering the wind
toward the horizon–
If what was heard was
what he said, each circle
replicating the last–
then the world becomes home.
(March 25, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
At night a light
exposes one, opens
like a wound to bleed
out into the dark.
I want to stay
hidden within
my secrets, to hold
my desires close
like a small flame.
It’s safe there, stitched
tight between muscle
and bone, waiting
to enkindle a better day.
(March 23, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
Daylight expands
over the dark
earth. I, too,
must find a way
home, to be happy
with my friends.
(March 23, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” work in progress
He could force the moment,
sweep his way clear
without consequence–
He could act,
high-handed,
dismissive–
He could succumb
to his appetites,
devouring all —
and yet, he doesn’t.
(March 21, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
I wait more often
than react– more often
a squall line doesn’t form
but disperses in the hills.
I know you will
go, and I’ll remain.
(March 21, 2019)
Like flowers in a slow conversation’s
eddy, he floats through his circular day.
Nothing’s amiss. Almost, as memory,
the pattern persists; almost as if he
whispers to someone who listens nearby.
Each flower’s petals fall, by troubled turns,
until the air is not enough to hold
the incoherent world; and, like glass,
it shatters into the composting earth,
oblivious to its own slow demise.
The flower unfolds into its silence;
the swift flutter of bird song in the trees;
the rough caress of dry leaf on dry leaf;
the winter wind’s incessant pulse and pause;
are nothing to his flower’s petal’s fall.
(March 20, 2019)
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