Category: poetry

  • Twilight (Poem)

    Twilight drifts through the bedroom window

    With a wistful cast for all it is not:

    Not bright daylight lit by the sun;

    Not rain clouds threatening to drench all below;

    Not stygian darkness preparing to showcase the stars;

    Not even the overloud rumble occasioned by the passing train.

    Falling so quickly it cannot choose

    On which side of time to place its allegiance:

    The waking hours of so varied array

    Or the quieting duration of more similar miens.

    Caught in this hesitation for its brief span,

    It slips away before my eyes,

    After murmuring almost unheard thanks,

    Grateful that I had watched and noticed.

  • Transgression (Poem)

    If you saw me, you would see:

    I walk lithe and free, proud to be what I am.

    Youthful, aged, eternal,

    I wear pinstriped suits with a vest and tie,

    Always with a fedora and oxford boots.

    I don glittering gowns with outrageous heels,

    Always with extreme impeccable make-up.

    I scare wrinkled old men who brandish bibles

    But charm their wide-eyed open-hearted children.

    The troubled seek me, for they know

    I will call them by their true names,

    Drape them in rainbows, and let them dance.

    I walk down your streets , as you shut your eyes in horror

    At the colorful flags and the joyful laughter

    That trail in my wake to make festive the road.

    When I glance your way, you know that I see you.

    This is what scares you the most.

  • A Song and A Stone (Poem)

    The past reaches out with mudded hands

    A potter that continues to shape my day

    Shifting my moods as malleable as clay

    Just hearing a song transforms

    Voices recall that giddy excitement

    I feel again your touch on my face

    The stone you brought me from your tour

    We held it between us that night

    The warmth we drew to ease its sea-deep coolness

    Lingers still, and our laughter shines around it.

  • The Mass Scale Of Each Day (Poem)

    When I finally step outside my door,

    I look up to the sky to see if the clouds lower;

    To the ground to see if the ground dampens;

    At the wall to see if the moths remain;

    At the street to see if the deer travel.

    All of these carry weight and fill together one plate of the scale.

    Countering these and in the opposite bowl

    Are my very particular concerns.

    How is the pain that hinders motion;

    The sight that diminishes usual activity;

    The fog that hazes across thinking;

    The mood that renders much complex?

    I hang each from the fulcrum of awareness,

    Carefully considering their changing measure.

    This is what I can do this day.

    With acknowledgement that the poise is ever shifting,

    I go about my quotidian existence.

  • Pronouns (Polemic)

    They crossed their arms and leaned back in the chair.

    Oh, you don’t like the usage of THEY? The plurality of this stymies you

    By throwing down a new concept? Once I would have tried to explain.

    Now I realize that because of living among you (singular),

    You (singular), you (singular), you (singular), and all the other damn yous,

    I AM not one, but many:

    I who have always known and said, “I am here!”;

    She who others insist be “girled; ladyed; womaned; ma’amed”;

    He who some did occasionally call out, often to tell him to leave;

    It who got teased, bullied, beaten, and bloodied.

    These all live here within me, a forced communal being.

    No more apologies. I’m tired of being patient and understanding.

    THEY/THEIR/THEM.

  • The Lack Of A Thesaurus (Poem)

    He unwound his heart, thread by strangled red thread.

    Having searched in vain for a suitable synonym,

    He muttered, “What a mess,” and left,

    Punctuating his disdain with a bang of the door.

    The discarded fibers quivered and with enormous effort

    Strove to remake themselves once more.

    Without a purpose, without a suitable descriptive term,

    They found no word to give them cause.

    Hopelessly they stilled and let flow brief bitter tears before they died.

    The color leached from them, and all that remained

    Turned brittle and dusty with time and loss.

    Years passed, and the housekeeper hummed a popular love song

    As she swept the floor and emptied the dustpan into the bin.

    All for want of a good thesaurus. Sing alas, alas, alackaday.

  • The Sunflowers (Poem)

    Flowers stand on my table in a slender jar, a gift.

    I remove the petals one by one and hold them.

    I softly breathe and send them adrift to the floor.

    I lie down in their midst and place two upon my closed eyes.

    I do not want visions, only to remember our visit.

    I smile.

    What a wonderful thing it is to find a friend.

  • I Didn’t Want You (Poem)

    I never wanted you here.

    I didn’t want to see your hand

    Rest tenderly on the flowers you grew.

    I didn’t want to see your eyes

    Fill with delight at a bird on the windowsill.

    I didn’t want to hear your voice

    Call my name in the sleepy morning.

    I didn’t want to hear your laugh

    Ring with joy at a unexpected kiss.

    I didn’t want you moving into my heart

    And making it your home.

    I didn’t want you; no, not at all.

    I shall miss you every moment.

    I didn’t want you. I didn’t.

  • This Night You Are Not Here (Poem)

    This night you are not here

    And so I cannot see the moon or stars

    They existed only as reflections in your eyes

    This night you are not here

    And so I will not dream dreams

    They visited only with you beside me

    I stare blindly into the immense solitude

    In hopes that you, anyone, or even the abyss stares back

    But this night you are not here

    And so I am alone

    This night a presage of all further nights

  • What We Have Done (Poem)

    The heat sits a crouched gargoyle

    Hunched right outside the door

    The moon does not linger

    The shadow of night recedes

    Both fleeing quickly

    No longer able to offer brief respite

    We struggle to move or even breathe

    The air thickened

    Heavier than any hope we carry

    The sun become a brutal god

    Indifferent to our desperate pleas

    Seeing only his reflection in the scorching shimmer

    Our suffering the suffering of all

    As innocents die and die and die

    We hide ourselves however we can

    Covering our ears so not to hear

    Whispered spoken wailing cries

    Unbearable knowledge

    That we ourselves built this pyre

    Now the entire world burns