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My Poetry and Commentary on Life

  • This Writer’s Beginnings: EarlyYears
  • Bread Loaf Influence
  • Rock and Roll High School
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  • The Oblivious Now

    by

    broken, control, fate, life, patience, poetry, time, Uncategorized
    what are you waiting for?
    the end of the world
    retirement
    the weekend, lunch
    someone to save you
    from the boredom
    a story to believe
    to attach a purpose
    to your wandering
    a meaning, or perhaps
    your mouth to gape
    around a last gasp
    what comes next – –
    with or without you
    (January 13, 2017)

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  • Incremental

    by

    erasure, life, poetry
    “Everyone wants to know where we leave our futures.”
    –Mathew Schnirman
    each day we slice off a bit more
    as collateral to our dream
    tomorrow al will turn towards us
    if we can only make it home
    today’s another day to today
    no trauma no joy just today
    the winds are still the ocean calm
    no ship’s sail breaks the horizon

    (January 13, 2017)

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  • Dream Journal # 31: objects in motion and at rest

    by

    desire, dream, erato, eros, interpretation, love, poetry, ways of knowing

    we (L. and I) arrived at a bend in the river
    the river rose swallowing the ground
    we stood upon and we were trapped
    in the wash of a cold syllogism
    a lost friend- a physicist- lived nearby
    the friend had two children now
    the physicist and her daughter spoke
    French (although they were Spanish)
    to one another as the baby slept
    we were admonished to keep quiet
    the door opened with a startled clatter
    You walked in with one of your dogs
    you touched my arm and said hello
    some guy I did not know was with you
    briefly before vanishing like friendship
    We all went outside and sat on the lawn
    near the river L. swam up kissed me
    then swam away without saying anything
    R. pontificated on the meaning of broad daylight
    you sat down next to me laughing brightly
    your bare leg warm against my skin
    I was no longer able to move or speak
    (January 12, 2017)

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  • a pretence at autonomy

    by

    abstract, control, poetry, sonnets, unstable, ways of knowing
    “listen, listen, listen,”
    he mouths beneath his breath
    a  mantra for his life,
    a tattoo to his heart.
    so goes the pulse and pull
    of the day: listen to him,
    to her, to the pattern
    dancing like mice beneath
    straw stalks jutting still
    from the thick black earth,
    the moon hovering low
    like cows in summer’s shade.
    listen through the nonsense
    to the heart’s slow eviscerations.
    (January 9, 2017)

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  • meaning’s origin

    by

    attention, borders, exercise, memory, patience, poetry, renga, ways of knowing
    a leaf on the water
    is a leaf on the water
    he reaches through his reflection
    for a leaf at the bottom
    of a puddle
    what one values
    determines its worth
    in his notebook
    an old man finds a flower
    she gave him years ago
    the past holds regret
    the present’s perfect
    he hears Dr. Williams sigh
    like rain water glazed
    across his memory
    a last aspirated gasp
    rose like a dove falling
    death slips quickly
    into place alive
    then not like that
    each day the pattern persists
    yet still we act surprised
    lost in thought
    during his long commute
    he suddenly arrives home
    the sun rises the sun sets
    noticed or unnoticed
    he bundles up
    as the temperature drops
    a mockingbird sings nearby
    “You don’t know what you’re missing now
    any little song that you know”
    –Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, The Song Remains the Same
    (January 6, 2017)

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  • winter’s bones

    by

    beauty, poetry, ways of knowing


    winter’s bones
         McKinney Falls, Texas
    in a static dance
    bare limbs writhe
    ecstatically between
    dead leaves’ clatter
     *
    like a jilted lover
    the trees’ gnarled fingers
    grasp after grey sky
    *
    water grinds grooves
    through the rock
    before falling
    into the curved silence
    beneath the trees
    *
    like disembodied legs
    of a prehistoric beast
    the trees’ roots
    clutch the shoreline—
    eternal children
    dangling their toes
    in the water
    *
    as if in a glass
    display case—
    beneath leaves floating
    upon the water’s sheen
    a skeleton of a deer
    rests as if running
    on the river bed

    (January 5, 2017)

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  • no shattered violence beyond a domestic fissure

    by

    borders, broken, interrelationships, poetry

    I find edges and openings
    like crevices in tree trunks
    as places to hide
    breaches to slip past
    the violence sitting calmly
    in the open air
    as if fangs snarling
    hungry for blood
    were common place
    bones cracking and
    snapping beneath
    domesticated jaws
    like plates dropped
    from slippery hands
    into fragments
    fragments of me
    and you scattered
    across the floor
    (January 4, 2017)

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  • miracles must be believed to be

    by

    change, definition, fear, poetry, sonnets

    “to complete a portrait is to learn to like your likeness albeit miraculously….”
    –Anne Carson
    often these days I hold my face
    in my hands rubbing my hand down
    my forehead and into my eyes as if I
    didn’t my head would snap off
    my neck or fragment into shards
    so I struggle to keep my head
    straight and held together tightly
    between my anxious fingers
    simultaneously out of fear
    that what I imagine and
    what I am will coincide
    toward a point where I vanish
    yet continue as if I am
    what I have become to be

    (January 2, 2017)

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  • carrion

    by

    attention, choice, poetry, thinking, ways of knowing
    What do you think,
    when, crumpled
    in the sand, and
    with a parched vision,
    you see:
    the vultures drop
    nearby, then amble
    toward you with stutter
    steps and hops?
    (December 31, 2016)

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  • pluperfect

    by

    definition, fate, interpretation, life, memory, poetry, sonnets
    He sits beneath the tree,
    and conjugates his personality.
    Each syllabic shift and modal
    savored like time:
    no more who he was,
    than who he is to be,
    a mark in a book
    as a reckoned form.
    Yesterday, still ongoing beyond
    his memory, struggles to leave
    a single clear line
    as a gesture of farewell.
    As most, he too forgets
    which part of speech he’s become.

    (December 31, 2016)

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  • prayer, a fragment

    by

    alone, chant, poetry

    part of a life other than
    your own other than alone
    part of a life to atone

    (December 29, 2016)

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  • Love’s an Anomaly

    by

    hope, love, poetry
    Reason’s an emotion;
    as mysterious as love,
    or anger, or lust.
    Reason’s a comfort,
    an assurance, a hope
    life can be codified,
    can be explained, if
    one can be convinced
    to listen, then all
    will fall into place
    like the neat tulip fields
    of Holland, colors following
    colors, row after row
    outside the train’s window,
    until the unnatural
    seems natural, and my heart
    no longer must explain itself.
    (December 29, 2016)

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  • about, and beyond (love)

    by

    communication, conversation, interrelationships, poetry, sonnets
    little is said about what goes unsaid
    his chagrin coupled with her bitter laugh
    creates a barrier neither of them
    can cross without learning to speak
    honestly without subterfuge or guile
    before such simple things as love slowly
    fall away as the seasonal changes
    slip unremarked like sparrows through the trees
    little is said beyond what goes unsaid
    the ritual comfort of daily talk
    allows small space for either to find love
    within the stories they believe they must
    believe in order to find some solace
    in their world of misunderstood silence

    (December 29, 2016)

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  • Study for a Self-Portrait, 2016

    by

    aging, definition, erasure, identity formation, irony, life, memory, poetry, sonnets, ways of knowing
    He takes measured steps
    within the boxed spaces
    he has allowed himself
    to live. These people, scattered
    like furniture about the room,
    know him differently than
    the person he set out to be.
    He must remind himself
    to forget, to remember
    memory’s a tattered cloak
    to be rewoven into stranger
    patterns, where all possible
    hopes tangle into disarray
    beneath his worrisome tread.

    (December 26, 2016)

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  • an interrupted narrative

    by

    erato, eros, life, love, memory, metaphor, oblivious, poetry, traces
    how long before
    a narrative interrupted
    falls, unfinished, out of memory
    like a book mark from a book of poetry
    left on a bus seat—he has nothing
    nothing but guilt
    heaved like a sad walrus
    up onto the beach bellowing
    a song of love, unrequited
    and joyous—even now
    not much is left to rescue
    to lift into metaphor
    like a place holder at table
    for a guest, a friend
    who never knew she was invited
    who do you think she was,
    a manifestation he muttered
    into himself, a description
    of another life—like honey
    poured from a cold cup
    a slow infatuation
    slid like an echo through him,
    a storm’s destruction
    in her path, unintended,

    unnoticed by all but him
    (December 21, 2016)

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