from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
Before he moves,
he waits on time,
listening for a breath.
He moves still
without motion;
his mind wanders
across the valley
to the next mountain.
Discontent breeds desire.
He sits stiffly
somewhere between
here and there:
no end,
no beginning.
(May 20, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
A door blows open;
I wake to a storm.
A familiar room whirls
in disarray. Fear dares
for someone to speak.
(May 17, 2019)
1.
I cannot hear America
singing– the sun
descends, and the moon
is dark. Hell’s gate
swings wide. I fear
I am lost.
2.
I worry the world,
and am wrong
about so much;
yet, the sun still rises
each morning,
despite all of us.
(May 15, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
No flames engulf–
I burn in slow embers
which pulse like blood;
if god exists, he’s here
now between these words
I live within.
(May 15, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
the students come and go
I remain, little changes
we talk about poetry
and show our minds
at play in essays
it’s what I have
to give, what I know—
for most it will end
with whatever they take
away with what they did
(May 14, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
If one can accept
the slow rain, one
must acquiesce
to the flood. I do not
know what to say, or
what to believe
between the lies
which bear down
daily like a press.
Yet, even exhausted,
I still step out
singing the sun.
(May 14, 2019)
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)
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)
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)
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)
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)
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)
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)
