Alone
an absolute
nothingness
with only a heart
made malignant
by divers spirits
passing elusive will
around words writ
that we do
Love
a little help here
what a mess
in a crowd
wants and remains
Poetry and Writings about Poetry
Alone
an absolute
nothingness
with only a heart
made malignant
by divers spirits
passing elusive will
around words writ
that we do
Love
a little help here
what a mess
in a crowd
wants and remains
Nothing works here
As quickly as the mind
Hurries along thoughts
The electric goes out
Filleted and breaded
white fish scraps floating
in a blue soup -
Poisoned health
Her parents had wanted to meet me
They laid towels out
on the Queen's bed
in the attic
The surprise, an argument,
Our parting:
I always expected the body to end
Sideways
At the edge of the universe.
Once more, it's fall.
I stand in front of the window
On and off all day
Hoping to catch a glimpse
Of meaning.
In the absence of light.
Only days ago,
The change in seasons
Teased me.
Mickey Maniac had a side no one ever saw.
Or was it Roger’s Maris? (Etruscan, infantile.)
Slides and swings belong in a playground,
Until they make the difference
between winners and losers.
A sleepy barn has 4 sides, an open door on each end,
And one “reason for being.”
The farmer (son of Heracles)
never caught on
as to why climate change meant “forking the hay.”
Was the sun
Rising
into Heat? Everything true
had been eclipsed:
earth’s shadow, earth’s shadow. Ducky-wacky. The two
fell behind my horse.
I picked up the tab, put on my shades, and left the bar.
The next time I see you at work, I’ll say “hello.”
You followed the path as far as it went
Along the lakeshore, only to turn back.
Dusk forced the concession;
Fortune wouldn’t butter your bread.
He was leaping in front and behind you,
The little man, frog-like, who gabbled on.
Sensei has gone on retreat.
No one sits on the cushion, teaching.
At dusk, a pair of geese squawk,
alighting in Spring's low alfalfa -
Refuge!
Mentors and bourbon and ladders to heaven;
Eight lives lived, this one to go.
Worthy or not, there’s no looking down;
I had a target tattooed on my back.
Days, weeks, sometimes years by,
when I am challenged to "feel the love.”
Sky, light, clouds even, draw us
into the presence of their refuge.
Time-lapse becomes a moment of stillness.
We cut up pieces of bread
to toss out in the snow for birds
hunkered down in the hedge.
Their chirps off the old block.