These poems are drafts, not final versions, and are not to be shared outside this website.
Selected Poems
130626
DISBURDEN
If, if, if.
Be done with ifs.
Rest within what you know—
and, should that be nothing,
be nothing.
Or—be anything you choose.
What is there to lose?
* * *
130625
SCRIBE
As I write
these poems
each day,
I wish I knew
what I were
trying to say.
* * *
130624
SIGNS AND WONDERS
Which is the world
we wish to see,
of the myriad perceptions
and interpretations available?
Which impressions
do we choose to filter in
and which to filter out?
Was I simply open, this morning,
to the intuitive prompt
that let me catch an “I’m with you”
snippet of a radio song?
And the moth my dad noticed
in the grass of my mother’s grave
on this, the first anniversary
of her death—
like the moth that appeared
on her ceiling last year, was that
a connection or a happenstance?
A visitation, I say.
Chance? Not a chance.
* * *
130623
END OF DAYS
The final trick of life
is death:
the final twist
at one’s last breath …
when the truth of the reckoning
is revealed to be the beckoning.
* * *
130623b
A ROCK IS A HARD PLACE
I slept with my concretion
last night—the rounded rock
that looks like a popsicle off its stick,
the one given me as a sacred talisman
by a sort of medicine man
or con artist.
I’m using it as a ritual device—
as something meaningful to hold
while I count my daily blessings
and magnify my gratitude.
The giver of the stone told me
that it was formed in the heart
of Mother Earth and that I should
carry it close to my own heart always.
Like many other aspects
of my life, I’m grateful for the
conundrum of how to do that.
* * *
130622
ONBOARD GUIDANCE
When we set our sights on flight
into internal realms,
nothing truly overwhelms.
There, there are no rules to obey,
debts to incur, pains to endure,
or costs to defray.
There, in that lustrous night,
the heart is sure; it knows the way.
* * *
130621
STUDYING ON IT
I keep thinking
I’ll get clear,
keep thinking I’ll know
and, knowing,
will not fear to act.
But, oh, it’s so not so.
* * *
130619
READY, AIM . . .
Planning involves research,
exploring, and dreaming,
plus setting goals and strategies,
masterminding, scheming.
Planning sets agendas
and also trouble brewing,
for there’s no more effective way
to postpone ever doing.
* * *
130614a
MERRY GO-ROUND
Success or death.
Make your choice;
you will get no other.
Life’s a test
you must win—
that, or do it over.
* * *
130614b
STICKLER, STUCK
I keep my writing true to truth—
won’t substitute “old man” for “youth”
just for some effect. But heck,
if I could sometimes just bluff well …
OH, the poems I could tell!
* * *
130614c
INTO OUR OWN
From first days … from babyhood
… others dictate what is good;
we imbibe that with our mush.
“Eat now. Burp now. Sleep now. Hush!”
Monitored to be just so
(not too fast, not too slow,
not too rich or smart or wise),
we live out those others’ lies.
Preached a thousand kinds of truth,
we go crazy playing sleuth.
Preached a thousand kinds of hell,
comes a day our souls rebel.
To our true selves we awake,
early, late (perhaps near death);
sort our inner wheat from chaff;
think own thoughts, breathe own breath.
* * *
130614d
A WHOLE DIFFERENT ANIMAL
Does a pigeon pre-know death?
Does a kitten hold its breath?
Does a mollusk play the martyr?
Being human—what is harder?!
* * *
130613e
LOVE LESSONS
Everything is meant for me.
There’s nowhere else I need to be;
these tests are ones I chose myself
and all the steps from first to twelfth.
I’m here to learn the ways of mind
and leave its trickeries behind
until I know: below, above—
all that’s real embodies love.
* * *
130611a
MYSTERY BIRD
Dark body,
white wing-tips,
wings that rowed.
Not a buzzard,
not a crow.
Till today,
never seen.
Something in between.
* * *
130611b
LUNCH FAV
PB sammich
wif nanner or appy.
Yum-yum-yum,
I so happy!
* * *
130610
JUNE SKIES
These are the days of cloud changes,
of puffy whites being devoured
by gigantic amoeba grays.
Then comes the rain.
Then back again to spacious blue
and puffy whites above the greens,
and songbirds all about.
On high, the buzzards own the sky.
* * *
130609
ROAD KILLED
Dear dead fawn,
come into me
and breathe the air;
use my eyes to view the sky.
Life goes on.
Much is here
to see and be.
Know that love is everywhere.
* * *
130606
NO NEED TO EXPLAIN
Hurrah for rationales!
How else could we
assume our human role—
how reconcile the absurdities,
complexities, and contradictions
of what we don’t control.
* * *
130605b
COLOR VALUES
We so love light
(aurora-bright or purest white)
we think its lack is trauma—
but, oh—not so!
Dark is drama.
* * *
130603a
LADY IN WAITING
How was I to choose among
mother, artist, nun, or nurse?
Which is better; which is worse?
How could I decide between
worker bee or worker queen
without, regardless, getting stung?
Was I foolish; was I wise?
I didn’t choose to specialize.
* * *
130603b
JUST SO
All I know
is how I am.
And how am I?
As I am.
* * *
130602b
SOUL SONG
At last she wakes
and finds her wings.
At last, at last,
the nightbird sings.
* * *
