…back again by popular demand…
“She Asked Me How I Knew”
She asked me how I knew, and all I knew,
And all of this in less than what it took
To give a sign, and say, “What floor?” It shook
Me up a bit, to tell the truth, but then I view
These close encounters in the light of years
These days, and find that nothing sways me so far off the path
That I’ve lost sight of who I am, and how to laugh.
And so I answered her, I did that thing. And then the tears.
The double-arched eyebrows, the look of terror in her eyes when I
Suggested that between our floors the elevator flies
Too quickly for a studied answer, but not to worry, I’d
Be willing, yes, perhaps, someday on some long train to try. .. .
She took a rain check, though, and said she had to go;
And, when she asked my name, I knew she really didn’t want to know.
Posted in Emotion, Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Love, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Sonnet
“These Single Seconds”
These single seconds, presentiments of all
And nothing in eternity, everything in being
So alive; so much ado for yet another death in Venice, the seam
Of what is past as in a single passion’s pall
So sharpened in the moment that it’s cut
Is never noted until the point of infection. Minutes and the hour
Record a simple causal pause, time enough to harvest flowers
That will surely wilt so thoughtlessly. But
In the common flush of extremities, the blush, the rush, the flow,
This now is always yesterday’s dream, the stuff of self-deception,
Always what has happened just before, some weak inflection
Of realities and truth but crudely reckoned, a seed but newly sown
That only time can nourish. I’ve lived through nearly seven times ten in years
Through veils of unmitigated grace and holiness amassed in arrears,
Still, it is within another winter’s votary thought at last;
I know I will not be with you here beyond the death
Of these same embers in the hearth, this house arrest
Of days and nights so beauty-worn. I am the fast
In winter’s moonlight bringing closer all who see
So little light save in one another; days begun and then recessed
Before their time. And so it is with graduated rest
From daily obligations, time enough to dream, at least to seem
To one another safe enough for one brief season, a familiar in the close
Encounter with so little interest but in the present evening’s run
To fetch a cow within, a log from out back, to secure the barn.
Barely born, the moon grows reticent as the rising sun discloses
Evening weeds and as we build the fires and take the steam,
The fire’s warmth is strong and so is love…as so it seems.
Posted in Age, Aging, Death, Detachment, Double Sonnet, Emotion, Existence, Fidelity, Hope, Idolatry, Illusion, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Immortality, Love, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Pain, Patience, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Reality, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Age, Aging, Death, Death in Venice, Delusion, Double Sonnet, Emotion, Existence, Fidelity, Illusion, Imagism, Immortality, Love, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Pain, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
“That We Fall Is Natural”
That we fall is natural; that we rise, elephantine.
The elemental flow of oceans cannot be
A thing so scripted in the stones nor greater than it seems,
But ever-striving, ever-writhing, natural peaks declining,
Irreconcilable in their conniving, twice and more desired falling
In or toward Themselves, the Mothers of all Waters, yes. Rivers
Die and are reborn at once–revivals in their streams and noted divers
Books, catalogued as tributaries and watersheds–calling
And recalling from a moonstruck swollen pinnacle
even to the least and last most holy drop.
Confucius* said it long ago that greatest glories
Come not so much in never falling, but in histories
Of revision, sublimes in tectonic prodigies at the mountaintop.
Little wonder save to mortals what the matter is;
energy is the bright selective gleam
Of noble souls who
like the stream, the river, the brook,
must at last rejoin the sea.
*Confucius B.C. 551-479
Posted in Age, Change, Death, Evolution, Existence, Fate, Hope, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Nature, New Year, Ocean, Poem, Poetry, Providence, Samsara, Sea, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Age, Ecology, End Times, Evolution, Existence, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Nature, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Of course you’re slightly disconcerted, you should be. Now
That you’re alive and well and thriving,. . . how
Else should you be?
…after all, you’re really here….
You know; a little here and there will never hurt,
And if you’re good at what you do, the benefiits assert
Themselves and sooner or later, we all get the point
. . .of knives and forks and spoons placed clearly on the table
When your but’s are in a basket and your no’s are out of joint
With the seasons and the people, and aliens that crawl
Through pipelines, conduits, and everything in the air ducts maul
The lungs because the filter’s often worse than what’s in the air.
Yes, well, someone’s never mentioned this and nor cared
Enough to remove the label when they had the chance,
The thing’s still breathing; price tag thus, and at first glance,
The truth is just as obvious and nothing short
Of brilliant, worthy of protection, worthy of report
Amongst the ever might-have-been’s.
But then the backfire and the stall, the mid-flight
Process includes a message from the pilot, “Don’t tell a soul
But we’ve already landed, nor in bronze or silver, but solid gold.
“Summer Like the Lion”
Summer like the lion has so little time;
Reflections on horizons only seem at rest,
Refractions, hungers in the higher grasses are at best
A blind, a routine introspection, attest to sun and pride,
Alike as natural season’s slightest change rewards the prey
Of both with perspicuous signs and insecurities but nonetheless
Concrete enough to cause a wonder in the every power; less
Than single clouds occlude the sun, the slightest hint of grey
Upon the main, both signal gain and loss. Clearly crowned,
They have no equal in selection’s schemes
Save Death, itself, yet each pays out in measured penalties. Extremes
In greatness and renown sustain but reasons, diadems and crowns
Subject to circumstance of cycles in the main—in means
A certain end—in cosmic tragedies beyond the need of seasons.
Posted in Animals, Cycles, Death, Destiny, Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Matrix, Mortality, Poetry, Providence, Reason, Seasons, State of Being, Stations, Tragedy, Tragic Flaw, Zeitgeist
Tagged Age, Aging, Lyric Poetry, Sonnet, Summer
“A Summer’s Aimless Thought” or “Don’t Ask Why I Wrote This!”
And so the lesser heat descends upon us once,
But, come again?…and now the skin is damp
For no good reason, nothing more than clams
Must feel through all their night’s eternity, abandoned
In watermarked enclosure, rarely asking where
Their homes are logged–no! nor even more from life
Than what is strained for food. If found, the knife
Will end it all. From accidental currents traffic cares,
From aimless waves and tides and what seals may accrue,
Seadogs innocently involved and driven by their own
Insensitivity to feelings and not so much in interest as they comb
The seabeds looking for what mindless kelp must do–
For supper–Yes! We dine tonight: the sacrifice of clams and oysters,
And budget-minded shrimp, and the choir?–crabs conveniently cloistered.
Posted in Animals, Chorus, Distraction, Entertainment, Existence, Imagery, Materialism, Mortality, Nature, Poetry, Sacrifice, Seasons
Tagged Crab, Lyric Poetry, Shrimp, Sonnet
Pain, and the Pacific has had its way, so many tears;
The summons; natural deities, rushing devotees of Southern waters
Join discords of the North and oceanic rivers feed because the glaciers falter.
Nai-no-Kami will no doubt dance. She needs not move far while fears
Of millions, fields and city gates are prey with every passing day.
We view their sighs and gestures, calmly watch and lunch on wonders
At the thought and misery that gorges on the plunder
Of laboured mountains duly noted while we dine. Mere screens relay
Our sympathies as surrogates before us mouth the news in bites, remote,
Confounding empathy of others with our own, and with no more thought
Than is required to vote or tolerate yet another tired announced affair
Convinced we’ve performed our sacred duties. Filtered sage suggestions float
Between commercials; who is dead, and who is dying?
We resign ourselves to daily schedules, and retreat
To mindless repetition, and support of yet another public brawl,
and trash what cannot be understood, change the channel and eat.
Posted in Compassion, Existence, Gods, Media, Mortality, News Media, Ocean, Pain, Poetry, Tragedy
Tagged Lyric Poetry, Nai-no-Kami, Pacific, Sonnets
“And When He Looked Again”
And when he looked again, he saw the two suns
Rehearsing illusions in the river’s voice, the highest good,
The other lost within himself; the tidal mirror could
Not bear separation from the source, one
In signs, yet silenced, ever flowing in what it did
In passing. Crudely graced, seducing visions perfectly,
The first declared itself a certainty,
Its faith a recreated memory, its secrets hid.
In less than seconds, there was nothing of the rival left
To view. A single pebble and the river, too deserted,
stretches seamlessly, the cleft
Between the golden orbs become a prism,
the heavens suspended twice, the right, the left,
The recreation of creation, binding immortal mortalities,
void and substance bereft,
The heavens and the earth; breathless, lost within a common interlude
Where visions set themselves through perpetual accident and certitude.
“Between the Particles”
Between the particles, seeds, whole galaxies
With beings monstrous in physique by grace
To be or not to be of any consequence; a place
Of high dramatic action, energies, prolixities
And all that is the chaos and confusion here
Among us there between the millions, there
Where no present eye beholds the plan; fair
Throughout minions of the wide arena sated, dear
To those whose measures are diminutive
But in such numbers as we cannot command,
Or catalogue; and even here may be the death of man
In servitude to what is life to them, disease to us, illustrative
Of powers to the nano only recently imagined:
We seek where there is nothing; we see mountains in grains of sand.
Posted in Appearances, Ecology, Evolution, Existence, Matter, Nature, Poetry, Reality, State of Being, Universe
Tagged Economics, Lyric Poetry, Sonnets
“Where the Sun Has Risen”
Where the sun has risen marks the edge
Of all that’s been but, offering no offense
To what is evident in the primal disk, an evidence
Of what has been and not what is, a hedge
Against rebellion in the ranks; a wedge
Deliberate, a proof, divine, that in the imminence
Of being and in having been, an eminence,
Is occluded like the stars at noon, replacing every absolute with the pledge
Of probabilities within a sacred zone of time. Masked against the periphery,
The matter, more the consequence of having largely come
From nothing and ascended to even less, dissent expressed in helplessness
Addresses issues of existence as if they were a wilderness
Of weeds for the sake of worlds below and well beyond all mystery
Of galaxies, a Lilliputian sovereignty beyond the banality of the sun.