2003May01 (Poem)

From the book of unforgotten sorrows
I lament my departure
From the light-filled being
I once found
With you.

It no longer matters
If the star I see
Is from crawling through a tunnel
Or falling down a hole

That your radiance,
Even when just a glimmer
Incites me to live
Inspires me to love

I’ll forever strive
To be complete

And dream of a time
When I felt whole

This chapter is a story of it’s own
The end will be resounding
And irreversible
What risk is there to reading on?
But that the enjoyment will conclude
And leave me where I’m at
Alone and missing you

[next page]

Love is as beguiling as the sunrise in your eyes

Let me feel you
Come bring your breath
Closer to my ear
And whisper
So I can hear your heartbeat
From below
Let your energy flow
Around / the line / between us
I’m reflexive
To your touch

Let me see you

2003May06 (Poem+)
I am in love. Or in light. There is a visible – blaringly visible – delicate glow that permeates all that there is. Lightening strikes a spiral ripple in this lake of emotion; there is the same wellspring at the center of our lives; the same spark or glimmer – am I insane? Are my dreams really coming true? – And yet I know her, she’s changeable and likely to turn against herself. She cares about me, more than anyone has before, but what will happen? There are so many variables (and so many people). I don’t worry about others coming between us – no one knows us, or understands us, enough. I worry about her judgment, though she has demonstrated more ability than I have to show. I wonder how much of a chance we are taking on each other, or if this is as fateful as it seems. Or is it fateful? At times (such as today) I find myself in the midst of the wildest coincidence, strange even for synchronistic things.
[next page]
Such a perfect day on which I dine.
A perfect woman to stimulate my palate
Like a painter I sense the mood of the hue
Even as you remind me
Of that ever important substance called light
You drive by, a flash of your presence
Enough I hope to capture this thought
Even after it has begun.
Native son shadows the violinist
And my hunger strengthens
Who cares where my next meal comes from!!!
This one is on it’s way!

There is a certain façade that is expected of others, big or small we prepare for it; and they, us. You see, as we look at each other we put a certain distance between ourselves. That, in turn, makes us feel separated – like we’re in a glass jar because there’s this invisible wall between us and every-body-else… and we want more, so, we look for that someone who we can connect to and develop our ability to connect to all and then one day… one day, I meet this woman who I felt no wall with our touch – we touched and it was free.
[next page]
What will they all think of me! We all know the truth is no one is likely to understand. She is strange (everyone knows that) but I might just scare the hell out of them. People are frightened by things that move quickly like lightening – although, the chance of being hit by lightening in far less than that of contracting a terminal illness. – Nevertheless, poelpe spook more easily than sheep (and herd as well) and like my friend says “though we walk on the backs of the ewes as dogs, we must never forget we are part of the flock”. Heaven bring me as much. I am now haling.
[next page, evening?]
Is my heart so malleable, tenderized and softened, that it now forms to every movement her spirit makes? And where did she come from? I didn’t think that people like her could be in this world. She is the most magnificent soul a person could hope to shere with her presence. Her eyes are light. I feel her with the core of my being. And I need to touch her. I am still so afraid of losing, yet this is the greatest unknown connection to someone I’ve made ever. I’ve met
[cut off]

2003Jul12 (Poem)
[no date, may be Jul19]
Comfort day –
Shabbos morning grace
Exceptional beauty
Sophisticated stride
Place of indulgent words and drink
Love in all even as she walks away
A gem’s value may be it’s flaw
But the light comes from it’s facets
Introspection is a hall of mirrors
All ways the labyrinth
Leads back to the center
And the end is always
The beginning again

2003Aug04 (Poem)
To think that words are not hollow
Shells or fragments of unmanifest thought
Vessels empty of action
To think how full the void.
Resonant sound from a plucked string
Wine breathing the same air that floats a ship
Or makes snow even as it saves a skydiver
The void sets an eagle adrift
And makes waves in the ocean
Words are a womb, Shiva’s conch, and music
Notation for the sake of imagination
Rhythm keeps us moving
Language keeps us being
Dreams keep us alive.

2003Oct11 (Poem+)
Saturday

Much madness is divinest sense to a discerning eye – thematic, anorexic solitude is not blindness but distance as if an eagle has a more objective view from high above reality – what changes, what reality so different when I fall back to the earth! Personal truth is inherently subjective, our dreams like our fears are actualized beyond all control as if there was no choice but to be here. And what comfort we take in the illusion of choice! I am stuck with myself, captive on a boat whose sail clings to the wind for a sense of purpose while direction only seems more relevant than movement. What shore will be my destiny? A shady beach or rocky reef? The eagle, as it falls, must alter it’s course to snatch it’s prey. What fish stays motionless? What wind does not shift? Entonces

A sailor’s wings
Agile anchored talons
Catch the moment
Depart from the journey
Regal centered being
Alive and free

2003Oct12 (Poem+)

High mountain morning sun
Wind swept, textured sky
Aspen chatter, fire crackles
And even coffee can’t break the stillness that is everywhere.

I worry about money, my dogs, my teeth – but I just need someone to love me. This unspoken solitude must be destroyed – if not by God then by a woman – or I’ll drink my last dollar, drag my dogs through the desert and starve my soul of words forever. Without a stable source of inspiration my creativity will certainly dwindle, though my drive surges at this time in life. I may implode or explode, but will never be the same, cannot do much more than survive alone…. No reason, no reward. My spirit is feeble. I need family.

Disjointed, semi-stifled strings of sound –
Instrument without an audience
Sing or scream, it does not matter
Isolation is abandonment of the masses
A lost poet is found dying, not living
Disrupted, then discarded, driven to drink
Because society prefers the value of a bum
Over the threat of a visionary.

[evening]

What passion lies dormant and definable?
A reclusive fire isn’t burning
My heart is an ember too hot for touching
And yet dwindling under pressure
Unquenchable, unstable, liable to explode
There is an inevitable release
Trapped by fear from mind, from thought
It’s as if emotional scar tissue
Must still scab and flake,
Not likely to be graceful – the armor of love –
Light as a warrior in a box becomes a bomb
Coal burning soul, pensive smoke
My body lingers and looks for escape
Yearning intimate and alone

2004Jan14 (Poem)
Wednesday

Clarity
Organized thought

Loveless dissolution
Integrated half-truths
Solemn vow
Unspeakable secret

2004Jan22 (Poem)
Thursday

Indeterminate

Veritable attributes
Of the queen of cups
Found in every woman
A word of hope
In a lexicon of sex
Is flirtation
Anticlimactic
Because
She’s not here

Like each sparkle
In every eye
Emanates from her
And I have walked
Trudged across a spectrum
From ‘anyone’ who will
To here where I know there will be one
And while now there are many
Soon there will be no one else
And my soul will be fulfilled

Leticia, I miss you.

2004Jan23 (Poem2)

Imagery is deceptive or it wouldn’t be beautiful

Penetrated
Punctuated
Exercise in writing without words
No need for idols
Surreptitious and
Sublime
Insidious fiction
Folded with a crease
Mountainous
Madness
Tense and pretentious
Pretense
Born ugly
And naked
And empty
Set in motion
Toward a desired end
Covered up
Thinly veiled crack in the brick
Showing light through artifice
And within
Still empty
Seed of knowledge
Ready to burst
Makes way through illness
Inviting aim
Like this void is a target
Poised
Posed
A hurled razor thought
Shreds itself
As emotional currency lands on paper

Can’t I get enough of these fake, fallow letters stacked up to resemble meaning? How pointless (still poigniant) words are – an addiction of thought. Writing is the act of striving to manifest being.

When ‘I’ is not enough

We say ‘Is’
We say ‘His’
We say ‘This’
And, soon, ‘What about me?’

Disect it and you’ll find nothing.
The implication of meaning is lost
In the proximity of separation.
There is a substance
Between giving and getting
Between the lines of sound
There is feeling
They’re all translations of the same (the only) unspeakable poem.

Listen to the null
The lull of the stationary

Filling a black hole
Or a bottomless glass
Is easier than it sounds
Filling one effectively in impossible.

Unbound constraint
This world (my world)
Has no need for hinges
Has no walls
No joining of different pieces
No water to span

Riveted by love
Stilled by wreckless abandon

2004Jan23 (Poem3)

A premonition
Peacock to proud for it’s own self
Feathers stretched to the limit
Phoenix twisted flame
Chrome delirium
A bluff behind her tambourine smile
The sun never rose
And yet the silence must end
Heirlooms of reason
Thrusting smoke within
Ineffective vision
Won’t wait –
Won’t win by staying in trial

2004Jan23 (Poem)
Friday

Idle as a
Tamborine smile

With only a flash
Of an unmanifestable
Dream

It’s that monotonous trudge
That takes you an extra mile
Away from inevitable collapse
Implosion
An incarcerated scream

A self-destructed vagabond
Leaning against a pole
With a sign that reads
“Move on. I’m one you’ll never know”

And an unbreakable hope
Nested deep within a truth
That isn’t at all what it might seem
Flown and hidden
Because the cover on this book is old
Tattered, torn, smalls like mold
But there’s a new word in chapter three

And it doesn’t matter
If it’s too easy
To fall into make believe

Your life is a well chosen note in a piece of music composed of rests, mostly

Nobody controls time
The whole earth cannot influence the sun
Nobody spends time
Because nobody owns it
Time is a flow
Contiguous with life as we know it
The fallacy is that we are masters
But the truth
Is that we’re just a conduit

They are all the same poem

Because (?)

She was too close to call
Flow, pace
No point of reference
To this place called self
Is unseen reverence

Secrecy engulfed
By reason of sanity

Hollowed out of warmth
Confined by a need to be free