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http://michaeltaoblog.blogspot.com/2013/08/keeping-her-secret-postcards-home.html
I know - not a poem.  Again, my apologies, but I just need to get these out of me.  Thank you for your indulgence, and your patience.

(UPDATE, 6.12.14 - text removed; for full text, follow link)
http://michaeltaoblog.blogspot.com/2013/03/neighbors.html
2013-03-13

Apologies to all, but I have a series of small stories from my life that I need to tell over the next few days.  This is the first.  As always, I hope it makes you feel, or think, something.

(UPDATE, 6.12.14 - text removed; for full text, follow link)
There is a Middle Road between all Worlds
I know this to be Truth
I have always seen it, glimpsed like a shadow in the corner of my Eye
Everywhere I have ever Looked
Everywhere I have ever Been
Everywhere
I have always felt myself to be
Known my Self to be
Standing to one side or the other of this Lost and Delicate Way
Skipping between the Extremes, always
Too High
or Too Low
too Hard or
too Soft
too Strong or too Weak
Too Much
or Never Enough
a Life Exhausted, leaping Across the Divide
from Mountaintop to Mountaintop
Seeking in vain the peaceful Valley on the Horizon
Always in The Distance
always Almost
never Now
Until
Until
until

until I collapse
until I cannot Go Any Further
until I finally Let Go
and Let My Self Fall
and Slide down the Mountain
because there is Nothing Left for me to do
but Lie Down
and Be Still
and Rest
Eyes Wide to the Sky
along the Middle Road
Last night, I took a twenty dollar bill from my drawer
the last one
marked it with my words
in thick, black ink
grabbed a tack from the desk
and went wandering the alleys and backways and sideways of my town
scanning for the right spot
the right time
And alone on Cumberland, across from Potomac
I found a pristine telephone poll
sprouting tall and straight from the asphalt
like an urban redwood
Took the knife from my belt
the tack from my teeth
BOOM
BOOM
BOOM
and I walked away, heart pounding
hoping no one heard, no one saw
leaving the twenty hanging there like jesus
like a sign
in thick, black ink
asking,
"What do you REALLY want?"

I feel like a fraud.
there's a strange and beautiful light in the building this morning
as i walk down the hall lined with empty offices all dark
on my merry way to my morning coffee
it's dark and storming outside
sweet Summer rain
heavy dark, almost night
and that odd, grey-cast half-light
that is not quite shadow but neither true illumination
filters in through the tinted office windows
into the hall
into my eyes
blending on the way with the white bright from buzzing fluorescents
that draw a dotted line down the halls' ceilings
so that the colors from within and the colors from without
merge
to form a singularly beautiful light that glows in the air
only on days like this
dark rain
morning sky
fluorescent light
off-white walls
and i'm suddenly lost in that ethereal glow
drawn back in time to a memory i had forgotten when i was still young
of the time when i had first learned to love this light
though i didn't know it then
and couldn't have put it to words even so
i was still only learning how to read
and the school day still included a time specifically for "napping"
but i knew that rainy days were different, somehow special
and not only because we would have recess in the gym
but because everything about this strange new world that i was shuttled off to every morning
Looked Different
on these dark rainy days
everything glowed in a strange way
and it wasn't like that when the sun was shining bright through the windows
and most days were sunny
it was only sometimes, only in the once-in-a-while
that the sun would hide behind the darkness
and the wet would come pouring down on us
and the class-room would glow
and i would feel the strangeness of that rare and special light inside of me
my tummy would roll and quiver all day in anticipation of
nothing in particular
my young body would vibrate to match the frequency of the fluorescence humming above me
overwhelmed with exuberant expectation
i couldn't have described it, couldn't have said what it was
i was still only learning to speak
but i knew something was different in my world
i knew it was rare
i knew that it did something to me
i knew that i liked it
and i came to realize that is what the word "beauty" meant
and that is where "love" came from
and though i didn't know it then
couldn't have known it then
now i realize
i've chased that strange and beautiful light
every day since
i'm getting depressed
keeping it bottled
the pressure is mounting
i need to write
want to write but
now i need to write
i can feel it
but i can't do it
can't make myself do it
i'm working so hard
so exhausted
feels like i never have the time
or the energy
to sit down
to express
and compose
i write my poems in my head now
staring into the bathroom mirror
in the mornings
as i'm getting ready for work
i dictate them into a phone
it's all i can do
i wrote this very poem that way
just this morning
staring into my sleep-ugly face
because i don't have the time
to take the time
to write
to craft
to sculpt and shape my perception
into anything resembling art
i'm left only the option to
regurgitate words onto page
clean up the mess
and get back to work

but it's more than that
it goes much deeper
i don't like what i'm feeling right now
and i don't want to say it out loud
wish i didn't have to
saying it out loud is how to make it all better
i know that
the care-free grace of the newly-confessed
but there's this wall of fear
between me and salvation
and i don't think i have the strength
to climb it
because it's one thing to confront your demons
i do that every day
it's another to do it
out loud
in public
for all the world to see
dancing naked and crazed in the center of town
covered in your own ***** and ****
while your family gathers around
and stares
and you say, "See, Dad?
I'm doin' just fine.
Just working a few things out."

i have no ending for this poem

it hasn't been written yet
Another year, but what a year!
And all that you've done, so amazing my dear!
A new career
        and new prospects
        a new outlook on life
Two new husbands you've lived through
        and held strong through the strife
That I thank all the gods that you are my wife
So I could witness, in joy, your Becoming this year

So thus goes a year that you'll want to remember
All the way through to your last December
A year where you've grown
And made life your own
And fanned flames from your glowing ember

As the wealth and the riches of this year are now yours
Then what glory for you has the next year in store?
I'll say it
        I'll scream it
        louder and LOUDER
Being yours this year
        I've never been prouder
But of one thing I'm certain:  I've never Loved you more
2013-07-17 - A silly little poem for my wife, on her birthday.
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