“What Softer Melodies”
What softer melodies heard the other side
Of mirrors, doubled, perpetual in returns
To both the seer and the seen, burn
Memories in the afterglow. Waves obeying tides
Remove all witness out to sea, erasing steps, colliding,
Reverberating―as if we must be told we never learn
The first time―revisiting familiar images, taciturn
Reminders that apparently we, astride the shore abiding,
Encounter in the flood the restive need to keep on moving.
Inevitable, too, the image in the glass reflects the light
That cannot pause but in the subtle notion
Of someone suddenly defined by some tragic emotion
Spelled in comic ciphers only catalysts and radicals can read,
Effects remembered only vaguely in the anguish of the night.
Posted in Aging, Anguish of the night, Ciphers, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Memories, Mirrors, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tides, Waves
Tagged Age, Aging, Detachment, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets
“She Knows What I’ve Been Thinking”
She knows what I’ve been thinking, Joe.
She thought I’d be straight shot through
You know, and what’s more, she knew–
They always do–that in the end she’d show
Me what she thought her best side was and let it go
At that. It might just be she’s a little tight, but if
She takes a second look around, she’ll skip
The show, forget the curtain calls, and roll
The footage from the credits to just about
The point she crossed the line and blew
It all by being what she dreamed she knew
Was me but turned out to be just a light excursion, a heavy bout
Of thinking, a frame without a painting, a horse or two without a cart
Which in the end was neither positive nor very smart.