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CAT PEOPLE
We spent one morningof our visit to Key West wanderingaround Hemingway’s home. The six-toed cats seemed to realizethat we were cat people, cameover to us, took us asidefor a petting and conversation. He was a tough old goat,they said, or so our ancestorstold itm and we cannot beginto understand why you,cat people, so obviously intelligentwould…
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NEVER EVER
For those who cannot see the picture above, please imagine this text is the most hated font of all time*: There are certain sinsa poet learns never to commit,whether by teaching orsimply bad experience. Poetic sins come in manyshapes and sizes, grammatical,typographical, metaphorical,or just about any -al you choose. Bad rhyme is a minefield, unableto…
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PERSPECTIVE
It is always, the artist told me,a question of angles and elevations,but I am sure that was just his perspective. Dali threw all of that out, madea pretty good living at taking perspectiveout of his work, replaced by fluidity. For Dali that fluidity resultedin a fair bit of liquidity, which wasan irony not the least…
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DECISION TIME
Checking the calendar, I seethat today I must makea profound decision that willaffect my life for years to come. I am certain it will not bea simple decision, importantdecisions seldom are, and thisoffers multiple but no easy choices. I have long taken the facile wayaround the issue, a straightforward“same as everyone else does”approach that has…
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TOOLING AROUND
I have always wantedto use the word lugnutsin a poem, but stillhave never foundthe way to do so. It is much the samewith my full setof socket wrenches,still in futile searchfor a matchingset of sockets. I keep my bastardfile in the garagewith the other filesand tools, butmy name isthe only one in it.
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TAILORING
My adoptivegrandfather could take bitsof cloth, a needle, threadand with magiclygnarled fingerscreate a garmentfit for royalty, to be wornby the old womanliving in the walkup down the street. I take wordsbits of ideasand hope,and with manicured fingerscreate whatI can only hopepasses for poetryto be ignoredby thoseliving nearbyin my suburb.
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IN CHORUS
Deep in a small forest,a murmuring brook reflectsthe shards of sun slidingthrough the crown of pines,its whispered wisdominfinitely more clearthan the babbling of menholding the reins firmlyin distant cities of power. The birds know this well,sing of it in chorus, nature’smusic, jazz scatting thatthe graying clouds absorb,an always willing audience,and the wind rushing bycries through…
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TAKING
You can take my sight,but my mind will still see what it must,and my fingers will become eyes.You can take my hearing,I will imagine what I must,and my eyes will become ears.You can take my tongue,but my body will shout what I must,and my hands will speak volumes.The only thing you cannot takeis my words,…
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A LESSON TO TEACH
This is what I would tell my sons:“You came from an ancient people,a heritage of poetsand tailors, or thievesand blasphemers,of callous menand slaughtered children.I would give you these books,written by God, some have said,although I am doubtfulbut driven by Erato, without doubt.” This is what I would tell my sons:“I didn’t go to war —there were so many…
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THE ROOM
It was a strange room,that much I recall, with heavyvelvet curtains coveringwhat should have been a window, and might once have been, but no longer. The only light was a bare bulbin the ceiling, casting a soft amber wash across the time worn oak floor,and once white walls. There was a chair, nondescriptand now long forgottenand a small…
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an old writer and his words 