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IN ABSENTIA
It is, I thinkher lips I miss mosttheir butterfly flutteracross my cheekthen her eyes, almost felinethat see withinbehind wallshastily erectedthat fall to her sight.It is all of thatand the whispered wordslinking heartsthat still echoas she slides into sleep.I cry out to Morpheusmy words are swallowedby the droneof the enginesthat fall as raininto the Sea of…
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GOOD LUCK WITH THAT
The fortune cookies of my childhoodwere far more interesting, or somy memory would have it.The cookies offered wisdomof the East, or so it seemedto a 10-year-old, but perhapsit was the same mumbo-jumboin the bulk print today, nowthat the cookies, which oncetasted good, unlike today’sorigami cardboard, werefolded by hand, and therewere no lotteries then, sothere was…
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STILL
Someone once told me that painis a good way of knowingthat you are still alive.I did want to kill that person,but thought better of it,why not simply smile andleave him in a life of pain.More recently I was toldthat I would get used tomy chronic pain andover time it would seemto hurt less if I…
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I WISH
You probably imagine thatthe life of the poet is one of greatexcitement and adventure.There are moments that mightbe deemed exciting or adventurousbut those happen just as oftenin the lives of those who despise poetry.And believe me, poetry is not onlynot a career, it’s not a job unless yousit in some city square and offerto write…
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HYMNAL
Open to page 147 of your hymnals.There is nothing to sing therefor the words of promise oncefound there have witheredand faded, carried off on nowtoxic winds, so hold your breathor whatever heaven you imaginewill be too soon be approachingat a speed exceeding imagination. You don’t remember how you got here,things happened around youwhen you weren’t…
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UNKNOWABLE
How often have wesat in pews, on the zafuand heard an enrobedman or woman say“Let me describe for you”that which cannot bedescribed, that whichis beyond mere words. We would be better servedto just sit in silenceand hear deeply whatwe need, not empty wordsmeant to lead, to mislead,for you God does not speakand you cannot claim…
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PRAVDA
If I was in Russia Iwould have no problemfinding a title for this poemfor it would be The Last. I would write that I mournthe children, men, and womensacrificed to assuage hiswarped need for domination. I would write that I detesthis disregard of truth,supplanting it with his liesto justify his megalomania. I would write that…
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WHAT WOULD YOU SAY
I am just wonderingwhat you would sayif you were calledto testify about allthat you had seen,all that had disgusted you,all that you condemnedbut did and saidnothing while it occurred.What would you sayif you had no choicebut truth, no shading,no mincing of words,just the harsh lightand you in a chairin an empty room,a disembodied voiceasking endless…
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EGGMAN
When I was a child . . .God, how many times have youheard something prefaced by thoseever frightening words, notscary themselves but whatpainful story they promised. When I was a child we hada milkman who broughtthe glass bottles twice a week,took the empties and envelopewith his payment from theshelf built in the walljust for deliveries.…
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RETURN
He arrived todayalthough none saw him coming.He had been here before,been quickly ignored,despite his pleas and prayers,they twisted his wordsto suit their venal desires,his message forever lost in translation.They were not ready,and in their hate fueled world,they might never be.
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an old writer and his words 