in this house
12 August 2013
in this house
in this house I lived and breathed
almost free, yet in between
lost in hopes, forgotten dreams
in this house I once believed
in this house I lived each day
ate and slept and worked and played
poured my soul out in a way
in this house I cannot stay
in this house no longer mine
too many ghosts still reside
I must leave them all behind
in this house, one last goodbye.
a first, and last, letter to my editor
11 August 2013
a first, and last, letter to my editor
In my Collected Works as yet uncollected and unpublished,
I’ve always wished to present each poem on the
verso, and a commentary, or poetic process on the
recto. However, such a commentary is also, unfortunately, unwritten.
It so often occurs what I meant as clever,
is undiscovered, or worse, shrugged off as otherwise. Some
of my poems exist solely as an exercise in
presumed cleverness, nothing more. Sometimes I may have been
lucky enough to also create something resembling poetry along
with the cleverness. Consider it as a dash of
salt and pepper, a seasoning to an otherwise unremarkable
consumption. Only a few poems have ever been written
utilizing white space, or more intentioned concrete form. I
have formatted them the way I wished to present
them. Don’t get fancy. From the very beginning, I
have felt a strange affinity for a single phrase
which I would view as an apt summarization of
both myself and my life. This should be the
title of my collection: " … nothing but words" Also, do
not correct punctuation or anything else unless absolutely necessary.
Some grammatical and syntactical errors are intentional and punctuation
was used regardless of rules and proper use. Also,
do not become critical in any manner of my
naming forms, since most of the time I bastardized
them ignoring conventions and academic insistence on tradition and
blah blah blah. Thank you in advance, for everything.
out of Eden
11 August 2013
out of Eden
I miss the comforting warmth,
that reassuring nearness
the simple magical touch
shameless nakedness.
I long for that innocence,
before either of us knew
the need to hide from others
what we most desire.
And cursed, we may not return
‘though we seek what we have lost
a perpetual hunger
never satisfied.
privy
11 August 2013
privy
(written for The Sunday Whirl # 121)
i
within,
pebbles tossed into a still pond
scatter dragonflies, that race about
in stark contrast to the gentle
ripples spreading outward,
like breathing. I strain to illuminate
more than their busyness, but
I wallow in distraction.
ii
I’ve lost the incentive,
grown weary of the race.
Mindfulness requires discipline,
an unbroken circle, always returning
to illuminate darker corners,
places I avoid, afraid
I’ll scatter shadows, or worse,
discover the concrete
is still wet, unhardened.
iii
I wish I could just flip a switch,
rather than striking flint and steel,
hoping for a spark to coax and enflame.
Warmth is both a need and
my incentive, that endless circle,
the incessant strain between
necessity and desire.
A practiced half hitch knot,
tied to illuminate the needfulness
of connection, one thing to another.
But, sometimes, it is too much —
my head is pounding.
iv
pounding the pavement
concrete jungle imprisons
wallow in obscurity
a face in the crowd,
nothing more and nothing less,
carried along to nowhere.
v
persevering, little victories encourage me
onward. It’s never really one failure after another I
understand. But, giving myself credit for anything
needs a little work. I rarely see anything but negatives,
discount the positive, even when it is valid and true.
I am vigilant though, I keep trying. It’s a secret work,
no one is privy to what goes on inside of me But, then I.
guess that is how it is meant to be.
invitational
11 August 2013
invitational
spirited sunlight
trickles through the dark curtain,
illuminating,
unobtrusively waiting
for me to share its delight.
Purple's Platitudes 