It was getting late in the year,
the sky had been low and overcast for days,
and I was drinking tea in a glassy room
with a woman without children,
a gate through which no one had entered the world.
She was turning the pages of an expensive book
on a coffee table, even though we were drinking tea,
a book of colorful paintings—
a landscape, a portrait, a still life,
a field, a face, a pear and a knife, all turning on the table.
Men had entered there but no girl or boy
had come out, I was thinking oddly
as she stopped at a page of clouds
aloft in a pale sky, tinged with red and gold.
This one is my favorite, she said,
even though it was only a detail, a corner
of a larger painting which she had never seen.
Nor did she want to see the countryside below
or the portrayal of some myth
in order for the billowing clouds to seem complete.
This was enough, this fraction of the whole,
just as the leafy scene in the windows was enough
now that the light was growing dim,
as was she enough, perfectly by herself
in her place in the enormous mural of the world.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
defined by physics
described by poets
twirling daughter, centered son
waltzing through created space
small step
giant leap
illuminated darkness
lifelines measured
lifetimes managed
birthing mother, waiting father
each day its intended place
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
His golden locks Time hath to silver turn'd;
O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing!
His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurn'd,
But spurn'd in vain; youth waneth by increasing:
Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.
His helmet now shall make a hive for bees;
And, lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms,
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are Age his alms:
But though from court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.
And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
He'll teach his swains this carol for a song,—
'Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well,
Curst be the souls that think her any wrong.'
Goddess, allow this agèd man his right
To be your beadsman now that was your knight.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
i'm not myself
i'm somebody else
trapped
or living out a life that isn't or wasn't mine
i don't know
i readily take on forms
and my lips frame words
that are not my shape or thoughts
i'm a product of environment
of culture, of class
i'm chameleonic
don't judge me
i am you
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
automobile assault again
by
churchlot crasher.
departed, damage done
even
forgoing forgiveness.
grumbling gomez glowers,
haranguing
impossible immunity.
jeez! just...jerk!
klutzy
lot leaver!
mangled mobility machine
needs
overnight observation.
poignant payment, pending
quixotic
recompensing ravager.
supposing satisfactory salvage.
truck
under
vehicular
warranty.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
Uncovered hist'ry
Knives, loathing, misfortune's sting
All scars tell stories
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
throat punch want
hallway haunt
sternum crush
swirly flush
bigot smack
sneak attack
grapple hold
ankle rolled
****** nose
shredded clothes
bruised and worn
ego torn
love withheld...
screws up the poem of your life
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
Some boy wrote a note to my daughter:
"Your voice, a thing divine."
He quoth the bard of yesteryear
Love shared, by design
"Dad! My ovaries just exploded!"
What every father wants to hear
Well done, young lad. Well said
Love spoken, crushes fear
My care for her, unmatched
No mimic is available
So, I will speak with words attached
To love that is invisible
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
late at night
bowl of white
fill it right
take a bite
tummy polled
bread to hold
jelly cold
spread and fold
hunger or habit
simply grab it
whole or halve it
bunny rabbit
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 2:02 AM UTC