Hallway to Nowhere

  • Short Notice (Poem)

    again I am leaving

    what do I take from this place to the next

    the grit of the sidewalks

    sliding on the grime of unknown stories

    flakes of discarded lives abandoned

    like children orphaned in the eternal war

    the harsh cries of the birds

    resounding to each other a raucous challenge

    warnings to we unheedful below

    that we are interchangeable bit players in their world

    the striking color of walls and posts

    filling each gaze with baited brilliant hooks

    gigs to grab attention and not let go

    until the message has been absorbed without assent

    and always always

    the pleasure of moving silently solitary

    through all the busy people on all the busy streets

  • We Waited (Poem)

    we waited as children

    time draped carelessly over our shoulders

    so lightly that we did not care

    we could find another hour or two or three

    hanging warm from the sun

    on the line stretched out back

    we waited as adults

    time crammed into backpacks and bags

    heavier now but still unregarded

    we’d grab spare minutes along with coffee

    whenever we needed extra

    we waited as elders

    time spread across the table

    weighty memories of things that never happened at all

    broken pieces of too many jigsaw lifetimes

    that trembling hands could not fit together

    we died and there was an end to waiting

  • Common Teacher (Poem)

    the pavement is kind enough

    to receive a foot step a falling body

    the muttered words the loud screams

    the mingled incoherence of the street

    no judgment given nor any quarter

    equal treatment extended to all

    a lifelong student of the hard thing

    I would become concrete

  • The Stone’s Question (Poem)

    the stone in the street asks

    why do you choose this path

    and I answer

    when there is no destination

    any road will take you there

    furthermore say

    why do you rest on this pavement

    no reply so I pick it up

    leave it somewhere along the way

    on a windowsill or a bench

    there to have different conversations

  • If Crows Do Not Suffice (Poem)

    when the moment hangs so heavy

    there right there in front

    unexpected after a turn up a street

    so that you remember the weight of time

    and when you first felt its pressure

    again and again these encounters

    seemingly stochastic but you know better

    look up at the derelict casements

    and cracked glass windowpanes

    the peeling impermanent glory of ordinary passage

    the gritty testament to the beauty of wearing down

    with their comfort walk on and take care

    to step on each spider-webbed crack in the sidewalk

  • Afternoon At Knossos (Poem)

    tea led us into the labyrinth

    where we followed different threads

    into complex conversations

    he is passionate about a desert

    and the burning man

    an inventor who likes to juggle ideas

    with multiple spheres in the air

    spinning them with dazzling speed

    transparent yet opaque

    he used the word magic so often

    this clearly was a need

    and somehow reminded me of a faraway friend

    who quotes with mournful mien

    the world is too much with us

    I’ve never sought magic and as for the world

    I find curiosity and kindness to be enough

  • This Is One Way (Poem)

    the thickening fug of uncertain outcomes

    the digital unsteadiness of everyday life

    outside the window a bird arcs

    dirty feathered wings against the gray grimed sky

    a woman sits reading in the rooftop garden

    the pages of the book stark white amidst the buildings

    I walk down the street for a cup of tea

    from a shop where they know my name

    our brief greeting warms the weak morning sun

  • The Answer Is Idaho (Poem)

    she idly wondered in the conversation

    where does the time go

    I answered Idaho it goes to Idaho

    startled by this she laughed

    then looked thoughtful

    I explained further

    it’s true though most don’t know this

    Idaho has a huge reserve of buried time

    just sitting there waiting

    no one knows why or what to with it

    or even how to access it

    but if you run out of time try Idaho

    • The Awareness of Prufrock (Poem)

      when it happens and it must

      will you sit beside the uncertain moment

      stunned into a concrete pose

      then begin to weep when you find your voice

      and in this childish abandon

      hear the work that you have to do

      again and again until you don’t

      this life short as any so now is the time

      will you turn away in fear and say

      I do not dare I do not

      then grasp the banister tightly

      as you hurry down the staircase

      tripping over coffee spoons oyster shells

      chased by questions of lingering intent

      again the knowledge you have work to do

      or not

      the fog the dusk the narrow streets

      the evening the tea the silent seas

      the snicker and the scuttling claws

      relax relax let go

      no need to return from any death

      be a prophet, a fool, or attendant lord

      hear mermaids sing or drown beneath waves

      all these already yours

      breathe

    • Furnishings (Poem)

      say you are happy

      (you are) enough to do these things

      drape a grin across the chair

      wry to match the Midcentury mod

      be careless with laughter

      so it clumps like dust in every corner

      leave spare joy in the outside lobby

      for anyone who lacks their own

      simcha poretz geder