Wednesday, June 29, 2005


I tire of the hard things,
victims of my senses,
hollow, dumb.

The free objects,
half known,
half visible things,
the rebels against fact
populate my life.

God merely created exits and entrances
and rooms
twisting within rooms.

Sunday, June 26, 2005

On Seeing "Oklahoma!"

When I saw the show
I thought,
if Jud Frey had not
advocated revenge
what would Curly say
in a world of enthusiasts?

There is something
grey about him and I
think his flesh
must be cold.

But when I have
a chance to touch his hand
I find him warm as life.

I offer a paper mache
welcome and paper mache
compliments, like insiders
do in their greetings.

He accepts them
as if they are real
and smiles in grey,
giving all he can I guess.

I hope he won't
test us too much.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

As I Am Altered

There is no
nether world for me
no place of the dead;

but the air on the Earth
is made of compartments and
delicate passageways through the sky,

secret means of escape
seen only by the insects
or steering the course of birds.

Tiny fields of flowers
hide under the cold rocks
my hands don't know how to lift.

I will find a place to stay
even as an earthbound being.

Friday, June 17, 2005

The Sin of Fantasy

When I talk to you,
stranger, and convince you to share
a world with me,
I do not want all of you.

I will say I know a
secret part of you,
one you may not wish to admit.

If you are plain
or bent with unclassic
family bumps,
I will blur you.

Then I may look your way
with a salesman's knowing smile.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Lament of a Darkness Man

There were the tiny spurts of hello,
and the little bits that told me about a laugh
that wasn't true,

lots of moments of relief
coming from kind remarks
when dreams were slammed
by things that didn't really matter,

times when good, quiet notes came in the mail
making me smile silently,
even throw my arms up in the air
and silently hoot.

Where is the noise
and where are the bodies
blocking my view
with the mirth on their breath?
And where is the laughter
that used to wrestle me to the floor?

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Temporary Soul

Even if I won't
live forever,
the restless
sunlight beams fire
through chambers in the clouds
bursting in rainbows.

Even if I won't
live forever,
I am plump with light.

Saturday, June 11, 2005

Answer to a Gentle Critic

I am a guy
who lives in the dark
where night grows hair
and poems.

Friday, June 10, 2005

Another Un-Birthday

We are going out tomorrow.
The air will be ready for us.
Sun has been scarce and we have
decomposed with the house.

We have become moles on rugs living here
where Spring is a privelege.
I watch from my kitchen window
above the sink,
the Spring and Summer
play without me among the breezes.

And the door stays closed.

Monday, June 06, 2005

Secret Chambers of Paradise

At the end
of the undistinguished doo-wop song,
they introduced a choir
which sang high,

a chorus of dreams,
aimed voices
right into the buzzer of my brain,
the trigger of charms.

I heard my way back
into my history of hope,
into the summer scenes.

Friday, June 03, 2005

Arthritis: Joyce's Poem

I wake up slowly
and the day is unnourished,
love stuffed
with oatmeal muffling.

I want a poem
but poetry isn't
writing itself today.

I opt for
a persona without flesh,
a desperado
skulking across the garden,

not of this place.
I steal what I need.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

The Quiet Departure of a Friend

When the little calico
ends, it
enjoys the attention of the world.

The cat noses at all her
favorite spots and finds them fine
then she
rests her little head on my foot
so quiet
I raise her to my lap.

Her eyes bore dark and calm
into mine. We had a shadow of
this intimacy before but
never so deep.

What do we share?
Two creatures of earth,
weak and strong.
She holds me in her eyes
until she fades.


This has not happened to me yet. The poem is based on a conversation with a friend.

Penetration of the Morning

Just an hour ago
our bodies still
lay where you can
see the imprint.

Inside, familiar voices
called hello
through the tubes of flesh.

The bed is warm and covers disordered
from the explosion
caused by waking.

We must
rise into the cold
of morning.