Revelations of love in solitude

High upon the red’ning hill
where I wait so mute and still
I dream of you in orange dress
ready to, in joy, confess
eternity and three weeks more
your love for me will endure

Far below the dark’ning pond
where dreams all dream of well beyond
I see your shadow pass me by
and wonder if love is a lie
or if you’ll pause upon that shore
and prove the soft of love’s sweet roar

On the road where words seem hard
I drive through desert then on toward
the green place where lovers screamed
the little deaths of the unredeemed.
Perhaps you’ll come knapsack in hand
we’ll walk until we understand

That love is not another dawn
It’s what is left when all have gone

Meditation on Gratitude

In the voice before me is the Buddha
round-bellied and smiling
The  other Buddhas and Bodhisattvas encircle him
like the full moon surrounded
by serene sanctity of stars.

I bow humbly
my body, speech, and mind offered
to the sanctified spirit of peace.

This sacrifice of time becomes a confession
of every wrong choice, wrong thought and wrong deed
A reverberating meditation
fit to rejoice in the fancy garments of virtue.

Every body and every soul flow on
as enlightenment
turns the wheel of Dharma.

How to write a poem about this

Now, I’m not a certified expert. I grant you this, but I have written me a bit of something here and there and I think from time to time I might have a helpful thought or two stuck in my gaping maw.  So today I wanted to take 4-5min and jot down a few things that might help when you want to write a poem about this.

First, if you’re asking ‘what’s this?’ – it’s time for you to move along. I’m not answering that question today. I’m not here to tell you your mind. I’m not here to tell you what to do. I’m not even really here to tell you how to do it. I’m just dashing off some ideas. That’s it. If you don’t like it, kindly go away.

Secondly, if you’re thinking I’m nuts – that’s fine. I probably am. It’s irrelevant, lots of insane people have written incredibly good poetry and prose. So, think what you want on that matter, I have no preference.

That brings us back to this. “What can I do to write a poem about this?”

I think the best approach to writing about this, is a sort of Socratic prosaic or poetic method.  Ask yourself a series of questions, and jot down the answers. You can do it in a bulleted list, or you can just free write each answer, it doesn’t really matter. In the end, you’ll have material about this, and you’ll be able to produce something substantial.

I generally find it easiest to observe this, and then ask myself – what are the 10 words that best describe what I’m seeing? What are the 10 words that best describe what I’m hearing?

Word lists aren’t generally the best way to write great material, but, when you’re writing it’s nice to have them to glance back at.

Next I ask myself, what is the opposite of this? What is that? Once I know what that is, I ask myself what are the most complimentary two or three things to this?

Look at it this way, If THIS were a season, what would be it’s opposite season? What would be the seasons preceding and subsequent to it? If this were a letter, would it be a vowel or a consonant?

If this were a job, what type of person would stereotypically do it? If this had a gender, what would it be?

What religion would this be? What philosophy would it have about poison ivy? Why didn’t this come up at your fifth birthday party?

These questions might seem very ‘free-writing-ish’ but they’re not really.  The entire point is illustrating creative thinking, analysis and observation.

The worst place a writer can be trapped is in their own mind. When thoughts twist and tangle until the sense of self is the only easy reality available, writing becomes a empty reflection of the least important parts of an ego. This often feels good for a writer, but it is shallow and not terribly rewarding.

The easiest path out of  this mind-trap is it through active observation and engagement. Let the  mantra be: Writing is not a passive thing.  Writing is confrontational. Writing is active. Writing is creation through force of word and will.

And there it is. If you want to write about this – then look at this. then consider this in relation to that. Consider the physical and spiritual forms of this. Reflect on the nature of this. Writing about this does not require ‘knowing’ this or ‘understanding’ this – it requires considering this.

Now don’t get me started about writing about that.

taking a picture on graduation night

For a moment, I watch the snapshot
of a boy becoming a man. He is
smiling, one arm draped over a woman
with ebony skin and smile that explodes
with joy, the other is around a young man
who will be a marine tomorrow.

Tonight, they are still
children and adult. Tonight they only know
joy.

Tomorrow, the picture will be printed
They will frame it in a cheap $5 frame
They will stash it in their luggage to bring with them
to the future.

Someday, when I’m long dead, they will still remember
They will still look at the picture and smile,
They will never know, I watched them. That I was there
beside them.

Question for you

mars is a planet

the dog peed on the rug

cheese, good old fashioned american cheese

a man in a pinstripe suit.

mars is still a planet

doG does not exist.

thoroughly modern muenster

a man in a blue pinstripe suit

Really, mars IS a planet

or circles mean nothing

i’m not inclined to

Broken Meower Amongst the Lawn

a kitten on the edge of a tree
his mother just looking at me
up to the highest
i can’t – though I triest
and watch what he can’t say to me

a kitten on the edge of the street
in the place where old lovers meet
the light is half broken
o’er vows nearly spoken
and a black cat might make this complete

a kitten on the side of the hill
works hard but silent and still
down to the glade
where he was just made
a Tom turns silence to will

a kitten without any voice
still has felinitous choice
a claw and a tail
without any fail
lead to coital rejoice

a kitten without any meow
untouched by the vets cheerful ow
with agonized squeak
offers to speak
but everyone begs please not now!

 

 

dissertation on the coolness of anything anywhere (else)

the poor pus of anything
swims against the current
events. gray skinned and hoping
for something, damn.. some thing
cooler.

the porpoise of anything
swims even better with the current.
events do not gray, they become
vibrant. Hope becomes that alive
something that blesses everything.
Everything grows deeper
Deeper, and deeper
until that thing that was cool
becomes the thing that is too cold
for anything to survive.

Rejecting my soul in favor of a song

humanity eats turkey
and says things like, “yes yes, of course
tomorrow, i promise”

so i choose humility instead.

humility eats tofu
and sings what it says in humdrum wordless tones like
“Laba laba lu laba lu … laba laba oo oo baby oo”

so I sing along as if
i know the words

Humanity laughs at me
because my toes are utterly perfect.
i denounce humanity
and wear a cardigan.

I say things like, “It’s always perfect
here in the neighborhood.”

Humility is disgusted, but still
my toes are perfect.

I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have just sung

labalu
labalie
the bloon
the blue balloon
the blues.. you loon
the blues… I lie.

Humanity is a prick, but damn, I love it.

letting go of what might have been

i burn the sage
let the smoke carry you away

i burn the sage
let the smoke fill me with something
other than you

i burn the sage
let the smoke rise and fall
become everything I imagine
everything you are not
everything is the smoke
everything is the sage

i burn the sage
wisdom fills me up
and you are gone.