September 24, 2010
Inspired by the poetry of Billy Collins.
Can't we just mean what we say?
Does each line need to hide meaning?
Why can't we just sit down to dinner
our plates spilling peas and carrots into each other, or
on rare occasions, asparagus lying parallel or perpendicular;
mashed potatoes, mine overflowing, yours barely covered, with gravy;
these beside various pork chops, or as generally is in this economy,
quick frozen chicken breast, fulfilling its duty as the main course;
all without the fork and the spoon doubling entendre?
Is it possible for us to sit on the couch
and watch TV for just an hour or two, commercial breaks included,
just you and I and perhaps a comforter on top and a pillow between
in the glow of thirty-six inch diagonal, non-HD wonder
without it having to mean something before we go to bed,
read a book, snuggle, and sleep?
Is it all meant to mean something
other than what happens in that moment
on the page?
Thursday, October 14, 2010
The Living Word
September 23, 2010
Lord, I live
by your word.
My life is in the spoken sentences
and paragraphs from Your mouth,
not the black and red ink on
rice paper that can be burned to ashes,
added to the pile;
but by Your voice that etches
the tablets of my heart,
by Your breath that permanently
marks my mind,
the breeze that brands my soul
as Yours
I live.
Lord, I live
by your word.
My life is in the spoken sentences
and paragraphs from Your mouth,
not the black and red ink on
rice paper that can be burned to ashes,
added to the pile;
but by Your voice that etches
the tablets of my heart,
by Your breath that permanently
marks my mind,
the breeze that brands my soul
as Yours
I live.
poesimania
September 22, 2010
poesimania
The first one's free.
They said it was an acquired taste;
fine wines painting impressionist portraits
upon nurtured taste buds.
Large barrel-like bottles of table whites and reds
lead to Chardonnays and Merlots
soft, supple and complex...
brimming with plush cherry...
and jammy blackberries followed by
hints of vanilla and spice;
samplings of Pinot Grigio
opening with seductive floral
and lemon aromas, followed by notes
of mineral and tropical flavors;
glasses of Reisling
made in an off-dry style
accentuating delicate notes of...
stone-fruit flavors...white peach and apricot...
deliciously mingled with hints of Anjou pear
and bursts of jasmine;
a bottle of Trivento 2008 Malbec,
a bright carmine red
whose plum and raspberry jam aromas
mingle elegantly with vanilla notes
from the 6 months aged in French oak barrels;
to a case of 2001 Nebbiolo,
garnet-red...with ruby reflections...
scents of roses, vanilla, roasted hazelnuts,
licorice and spices...
pleasant touch of tar and
oaky notes in perfect equilibrium.
All served with aged cheeses, wafer thin crackers,
and fresh fruits upon a tray of silver or Malaysian bamboo.
What they didn't say
was that once acquired
required constant feeding
like heroin or crack
crawling up your spine
chasing monkeys without wings
things that go bump in the day
days without end
nights with no sleep
creepy, crawly flesh
less like a man than a worm
squirming through your veins
raining on your parade
a charade of death walking
in a daze of confused words
and guttural phrases spewed out
through black and broken teeth
spittal running down the jawbone
of a diseased mind
I'll find it this time
I swear I'll pay you back
just one more
please, God, let it make sense.
I buy chapbooks like dime bags
and hide them from my wife.
poesimania
The first one's free.
They said it was an acquired taste;
fine wines painting impressionist portraits
upon nurtured taste buds.
Large barrel-like bottles of table whites and reds
lead to Chardonnays and Merlots
soft, supple and complex...
brimming with plush cherry...
and jammy blackberries followed by
hints of vanilla and spice;
samplings of Pinot Grigio
opening with seductive floral
and lemon aromas, followed by notes
of mineral and tropical flavors;
glasses of Reisling
made in an off-dry style
accentuating delicate notes of...
stone-fruit flavors...white peach and apricot...
deliciously mingled with hints of Anjou pear
and bursts of jasmine;
a bottle of Trivento 2008 Malbec,
a bright carmine red
whose plum and raspberry jam aromas
mingle elegantly with vanilla notes
from the 6 months aged in French oak barrels;
to a case of 2001 Nebbiolo,
garnet-red...with ruby reflections...
scents of roses, vanilla, roasted hazelnuts,
licorice and spices...
pleasant touch of tar and
oaky notes in perfect equilibrium.
All served with aged cheeses, wafer thin crackers,
and fresh fruits upon a tray of silver or Malaysian bamboo.
What they didn't say
was that once acquired
required constant feeding
like heroin or crack
crawling up your spine
chasing monkeys without wings
things that go bump in the day
days without end
nights with no sleep
creepy, crawly flesh
less like a man than a worm
squirming through your veins
raining on your parade
a charade of death walking
in a daze of confused words
and guttural phrases spewed out
through black and broken teeth
spittal running down the jawbone
of a diseased mind
I'll find it this time
I swear I'll pay you back
just one more
please, God, let it make sense.
I buy chapbooks like dime bags
and hide them from my wife.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Heart of God
September 20, 2010
There is not a soul alive
that has glimpsed the complete beauty
within a conch shell.
Broken by the crush of waves
and washed smooth by sand
gives a partial and wholly different vision.
The only way to truly comprehend
the smooth darkness of its bright curves:
crawl inside.
Can a man know the tenderness
of a mother nursing?
Neither can remember
the comfort of the infant
suckling mama's breast.
It must be lived in the moment of innocence.
To my knowledge,
no one alive has survived
the internal winds and pressure of a tornado
whipping about seemingly out of control;
dust and debris flung about on the outside,
while molecules of nothingness fill the eye.
But wouldn't that be an experience.
There is not a soul alive
that has glimpsed the complete beauty
within a conch shell.
Broken by the crush of waves
and washed smooth by sand
gives a partial and wholly different vision.
The only way to truly comprehend
the smooth darkness of its bright curves:
crawl inside.
Can a man know the tenderness
of a mother nursing?
Neither can remember
the comfort of the infant
suckling mama's breast.
It must be lived in the moment of innocence.
To my knowledge,
no one alive has survived
the internal winds and pressure of a tornado
whipping about seemingly out of control;
dust and debris flung about on the outside,
while molecules of nothingness fill the eye.
But wouldn't that be an experience.
Ghost of Serenity
September 20, 2010
You're not dead.
Just not here.
Where'd she go?
Don't wave bye.
Blown kisses
fill the air.
Echoes of morning jabber
tickle my inner ear.
Toys are scattered across the floor.
No one is playing.
I eat my Cheerios®
alone.
You're not here.
We're not alive.
You're not dead.
Just not here.
Where'd she go?
Don't wave bye.
Blown kisses
fill the air.
Echoes of morning jabber
tickle my inner ear.
Toys are scattered across the floor.
No one is playing.
I eat my Cheerios®
alone.
You're not here.
We're not alive.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Reading the Bible by Moonlight
September 15, 2010
I actually attempted to read by moonlight. It was early morning, the moon was full and bright, but not bright enough.
Reading the Bible by moonlight
words are blurred and smeared
on a not so white surface
only thing clear the white space
the margins that surround ink
jot tittle blend indistinguishable
from alpha and omega
Dawn, increasing clarity;
words are ordered in steps.
O's are opened, I's made straight;
more white space is evident
in the pores of the P's and the Q's:
each letter clearly delineated.
Even the punctuation is comprehensible.
I actually attempted to read by moonlight. It was early morning, the moon was full and bright, but not bright enough.
Reading the Bible by moonlight
words are blurred and smeared
on a not so white surface
only thing clear the white space
the margins that surround ink
jot tittle blend indistinguishable
from alpha and omega
Dawn, increasing clarity;
words are ordered in steps.
O's are opened, I's made straight;
more white space is evident
in the pores of the P's and the Q's:
each letter clearly delineated.
Even the punctuation is comprehensible.
Love Poetry
September 14, 2010
1.
She lifted the words of my poem off the paper,
dry-flower pressed them between the pages
of her heart,
carried the meaning in her bosom
between her breasts
where a line of sweat traced her cleavage,
cleaving the sense of the words to and from our souls
like the drop of sweat rolling between my eyes
down the bridge of my nose to drop
upon the page, blurring any trace of meaning
between the careful symmetry
of the lines.
2.
Remember how we used to leave each other messages:
the first one out of the shower
would write with their finger
on the steamed mirror
I “heart” U or
U R SEXY;
words that remained after
the condensation evaporated.
1.
She lifted the words of my poem off the paper,
dry-flower pressed them between the pages
of her heart,
carried the meaning in her bosom
between her breasts
where a line of sweat traced her cleavage,
cleaving the sense of the words to and from our souls
like the drop of sweat rolling between my eyes
down the bridge of my nose to drop
upon the page, blurring any trace of meaning
between the careful symmetry
of the lines.
2.
Remember how we used to leave each other messages:
the first one out of the shower
would write with their finger
on the steamed mirror
I “heart” U or
U R SEXY;
words that remained after
the condensation evaporated.
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