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ON ITS HEAD
Death has an uncanny knackfor turning normalcy on its head.My mother was never readyat the time my parents had to leaveeither selecting outfitsor jewelry, the right shoes,as my father stood by fidgetingand looking at his watch,knowing better than to say anything.Yet she left without notice,no delays at all, just suddenly goneso unlike her to make…
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CONCEIVE OF THIS
No child, no youthwants to imagine the momentof his or her conception.Now, that is the moment of personhoodin some places, a moment whentwo cells become one and isa life of its own, but it isn’tthe convergence of sperm and ovumwe avoid, but the act leading to it.When you are an adopteeand only later in life…
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THE OLD ROCKER
I reached the point in lifewhere I know the Byrds were right,I was so much older then,I’m younger than that now, andfor good measure Jethro Tull knewI was too old to rock ‘n’ rollbut far too young to die.And yet I am still inchoate,a product of the Big Bang, stellardust accreted temporarily.And the Webb Space…
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WRITTEN
It was written for all to seebut went unseen as no oneentered the portal willingly,never sufficient curiosityto offset the foreboding.Everyone knew what it saidbut knowing and seeing areseparated by an unbridgeable chasm.It remained an imposed solitude,an isolation inherent in location,implicit in a world spinningoff its moral axis, time extendedand compressed, an irregular pulse.It was written…
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MUCH, AND MORE
There is muchyou ought to do,there is muchyou could do,there is muchthat needs to be done,there is muchyou might do,there is muchthat you left undone,and you know thisbut on this dayyou have chosento spend too muchtime in thoughtand composingthis sadexcuse for a poem.
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SHE
You were a young beautyto my middle aged eyesthat knew, despite the mirror’slies, that I too retainedsome large measure of youth. Even that is now behind us,and I can no longer denythe mirror’s sad truth,my face unable to belie whatI knew time had wrought. And yet your beauty hasnot diminished, rather grownas does a fine…
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VICTOR
In our timeof never-ending war,punctured by the briefestlulls we now call peace,someone, someonesmore likely, will talkabout whom will bethe victor, to whomshall go the spoils.Bierce, that perpetualcynic, reminded usthat peace was a periodof cheating betweentwo periods of fighting.But no one pausesto consider thatin any war there areno true victorsonly the victimsunwillingly offered upin sacrifice to…
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FACING
The face in the mirrorwas surprisingly older today,and I can’t imagine that Iwill ever look that old,at least not for quite some time. I wanted to ask him howhe had aged so badly, but knewthat it would be bad mannersto comment on his appearance,so I smiled and he in returm. I suppose one day I…
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BENT ARROW
He would never understand how time developed a flexibility that defied the laws of physics. An hour, a minute, a second, they were all standard measures. Each the same as every other. Yet lately they had changed, flexed. For the most part they had gotten shorter, shrunken. He knew that wasn’t possible until he remembered…
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A SIMPLE TASK
You misunderstand me, he said,I did not ask you to write a poemabout a flower, anyone can do that,I asked you to write a poem with a flower. Do not ask me what the poemwill be about, ask the flower, butfirst you must learn to speakthe language of the flowers. If you find this difficult,…
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an old writer and his words 