giraffe-hare2

even the shortest giraffe is tall enough

being the hare, searching the savannah
i see the giraffe standing at the watering hole

perhaps a lion is out there, perhaps hungry
perhaps seeing the giraffe as well

being the hare, there on the savannah
i say nothing as I watch for the lion
i say nothing as I watch the giraffe

later, I am thirsty, I leap a thousand times
across the dry grass until I am there
with the giraffe

‘giraffe, do you worry that you are spotted
by a lion at the watering hole?”

perhaps the giraffe is scared, perhaps hungry
perhaps seeing the lion as well

being the hare, there on the savannah
i wait as the giraffe says nothing
I wait as the giraffe watches for lions

now, I am sated, i say, “giraffe,
you will always be spotted
and you will always be tall enough to see
off into the distance and run”

perhaps the giraffe is laughing, perhaps angry
perhaps knowing I’m a fool as well

being the hare, there on the savannah
i smile as the giraffe leaves me wondering
about the beauty of the one that runs
everything
without claws or teeth.

You (far away

All the (what
Maybe) clouds like
Fluffy (buzz less) bees
Searching (not for
Honey) – and we
Too (un) together
Wish we could
Fly (& other things
That do not end
Without sweetness)

mammoth

A Caveman Diet: Of Meat & Madness

i see them hungry, the cavemen
hunting mammoth near the mountains.
the cavewoman at home,
hungrier – wondering

not of protein, but of soul -
this diet of hers, it is cold
for the heart – a gathering of berries
of nuts, of bones

the cavemen come home
not today, not tomorrow
but soon – with fat and ivory
with fur and meat

the cavewoman does not smile
she tends the fire
silently
a hide must be tanned

i hear echoes in the paint
on the walls of caves in France
i smell loss in the distance
between now and then

I see the caveman singing
his story into the embers
as they flail upward toward the stars
- the cavewoman does not sing along
she is hungry
for more than this

darling, i

darling, i (if i could see …

i would (if i could see
with both eyes) dance
with you – i would.

if i could only see (darling, i
would dance with you) all
the colors – most especially
the green, darling (i would) i would
dance with you.

i would dance with you, darling
if I could see the world
vibrant as your green eyes
alive with (if I could see) passion

darling, if I could dance with you
i would see your green eyes
and nothing, nothing else
if i could see, darling.

the morning star

prayer – the one that changes
every damned thing -
the one God hears
the one Satan says
every night on his kneesdo not speak, do not cross
yourself, do not be
the incense burning
like a nun’s lost passion

do not dance, do not sip the wine
eat the bread, fall into the water
and drawn.

when the prayer is done
walk away – all creation demands it.

In Hopes Half the World Explodes

In hopes of half the world exploding

Tonight, I’m writing poetry and thinking about all of the most important things to say. Not that i want to only say important things, but I am thinking thinking important things occasionally might be exceptionally interesting.

Important seems to be the hardest part to be sure of, until it’s easy.  What I mean to say is, important is a decision about what you believe. Well, what I believe. Once you decide what’s important, it’s easy to know what’s important.

So, here I am. Tonight, having decided the things that are important to me, I’m now figuring out what I want to say about them. Of course I’ll do that in a poem.  Or 20 poems. Who knows? Some of them will be wretched – some of them won’t – but I’ll still write them. I’ll still jot down the things I think are important enough to think.

While you can’t actually stop me, you can hope that the world explodes, or at least the half with me on it (while you safely wait on the un-exploded half ready to declare victory over my evil-ass self.)

Western Ave Studios

Jan 12 Talk: Coming Unstuck Through Poetry

On Sunday, Jan 12 from 4-5pm, come to the Loading Dock at Western Avenue Studios, 122 Western Ave, Lowell, MA, where Poet and writer Stephan Anstey will use a series of poems to illustrate and illuminate paths around, over and through creative blockage. This extremely informal talk will explore a few different ways poetry can become an integral part of any artist’s — any person’s — creative process. This is not just a talk for poets or people who like poetry. In fact, hate poetry or love it, it can change how you think. After the formal presentation, Anstey will lead a discussion on presented themes of self-prompting, stuck-ed-ness, and the development of a personal creative philosophy.

Western Ave Studios

 

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