Selections from fourth collection of poems, 2006

I saw Napoleon

And I saw Socrates

In the chairs at camp,

Listening to Demosthenes.

But it was all a dream,

One of the rippling changes

Going down the stream.

I saw visions of flowers

And psychedelic skies

When I heard the music

In my eyes.

There were visions

Of the past,

And I saw the girls

I never asked.

I sat,

As if in a trance,

Unlimited

By age, or circumstance.

I was everywhere,

And everything-

I knew greats,

And I knew kings-

And I saw her

Once again.

I saw soft twilights

And flares in the dark;

I saw the Fourth of July

Lighting Central Park;

I saw my dreams made real,

And you felt

All the things I feel.

But it was all a dream,

All a dream,

One of the rippling changes

Going down the stream.

***

Things always pass,

Fade away;

They leave and come,

But never stay,

Frustrating all efforts

To hold on to a past

That is already gone.

We are ever in the modern,

Latter time,

Continuing in our present.

The things we loved

And the things we hated alike

Stay where they were left,

Passing 

Into a farther 

And blurred

Former day.

***

Everywhere specters of now;

Everywhere, shadows of the past.

They shine and reflect

Outlines of me,

Leaving impressions

Of dreamy nostalgia,

And sleepy sentimentality.

The ebb of images

Is soft,

Like the waters in the pool

Before a gentle breeze.

I float,

And dream dreams

As I look at the peaceful pool

In a tranquil world.

Glinting white lights

By the water-

Exotic,

And brilliant

Light blue.

It breathes the sky

And holds the air,

And all that is best

In this universe

Is liquid there.

Pleasantly cool,

I feel it slide,

Comforting,

Holding me.

I look to the road

Leaving the drive,

By the garage

By the house

By the pool-

Stretching away from here,

To all every other somewhere

On the continent.

Black asphalt

Stretches away

Into a sky afar,

Mountain-edged.

And a little fire dances

At the edge

Of the penumbra sky;

Marking a lamppost

Outside a bar,

Up, a mile high.

I look out,

And see where I could go,

But I’m halfway to destiny

And stuck in memory

Of bobbing waves

And drinking seas,

Of salty smells,

And sandy lees.

The ocean will wait,

For the end of Reverie.

***

I transcend thought

To idealism unreachable, unattainable-

To the sky above, cloud swept,

Without exploitable worth on its own.

One man alone can do naught

To leap amidst it-

Impossible.

All the tears that were wept,

All the songs

That were taken from open mouths-

They’re gone from eye

And cheek and mouth and breath.

The sky can never be held

In the palm of your hand,

Like a little globe

Of white and water.

I cannot touch

What I feel,

And I cannot steal or keep

This morn-

And yet…

***

The morning sun

From o’er the trees twinkled

In sparkling fragments,

Cast from afar,

From the fiery star

Beyond the curve of the earth,

And the branches of the trees.

And now,

It reaches me in the water,

Flickering and searing white,

And it breaks apart,

On and in my eye.

It shimmers off the waters

Of more than seven seas,

Gilding land,

And ever greeting

A people's dawn,

As it kisses another ‘good night’

Softly, somewhere

Whispering

On the earth’s other side,

Smiling down,

On all the planets...

***

I thought my thoughts

And felt the sun,

And the morn was good,

As the dreams run.

I examined the world,

And it examined me.

The sky could be seen

In an azure light blue,

Deep and mysterious,

With depths unknown,

Unfathomed by the curious,

With glory yet undimmed.

And the eye of the earth

Examined the clouds,

A powdery white

That seemed in danger

Of fading.

***

Have you ever wondered,

If you have ever seen,

All the spaces in the places,

And in-between?

There is a great deal of emptiness

Between the parts,

And the whole is never filled.

Have you ever seen the sky

So blue,

As it was before the gray?

You look up,

And what do you do?

You feel the distance,

You feel the here and there,

And all the hunger

In every breath of air.

We are all looking for

Our secret thing,

We are all seeking

A universal string.

We want it all tied up

And wrapped in a bow;

We want Gordian knots

And forget-me-nots

That won’t let us go.

We want to press the world to our chests

Before another part drifts away-

We want to understand

For it helps us bear

The hollowness

That won’t go away.

Have you ever wondered

At the cracks that we fall through?

They’re further from the sky,

And a different kind of blue.

***

We read all the books

And never, never know.

We try so hard

To understand;

We question the questions

That life demands;

We look everywhere,

And yet,

We never, never know.

We move around

When we are dissatisfied,

But are too comfortable

With discomfort

To get off the ride.

With restrictions,

And without convictions,

We never take life for enough

To gain a truth to show.

I am lost, I feel as lost

As anyone else,

But I suppose that this is where

We each must start-

Admitting we do not know,

But still hoping
For an inkling that is true.

***

We are people,

Going off on our own;

But no matter our freedom,

We miss someone,

And miss the feeling of comfort

In our own skin, our own home.

We look everywhere,

And search for a happier life,

A steadier perch.

But we always end up alone,

Looking again-

Scratching at an itch

We cannot scratch enough.

***

We move far

And far apart

And far away,

Yet we never seem to find 

The things that stay.

The distance we travel

With the coin we pay,

Erodes behind our feet;

We were here

A decade before,

And here we are,

On the same old shore.

Emerson said

There is no progress,

And everything is like a wave,

Falling back into the waters.

I sometimes wish it wasn’t so,

But my life doffs acts

Like my hand doffs my head’s cap-

And the old acts submerge again,

Even as I put on my hat.

And in that submergence-

In knowing a lack,

But feeling a presence-

I try to tell you

How I wish to retrace,

To find where I went wrong,

And yet do not know

Where to go back.

***

This sunset in June

Has the color of a prune.

Sweet and soft,

Descending soon,

To spread from aloft to ground

With merging melancholy,

Growing without slowing,

To melt, into a moon-filled

Darkness. 

At times it is enough,

Enough for the day,

Enough for now;

Let it pass,

And fade away.

At the eve of night,

When softness is all right,

When hardness is done,

When the race is run,

Time for sleep;

My heart to keep.

A drowsy goodbye

Until the morn,

A slumber worn softly,

Softly, into the tender

Of the night,

Where hours

Are shapeless delight.

A look in your face,
Your eyes as quiet as the sheets,

And the glass of milk

Below the caressing sky.

A last glace

At the last day

Before this moment ends,

And passes away,

That my eyes may close

To the ends of dreams.

A soft light

Allows a dot

To move in the dark;

A mind empty,

The hard is done,

Seeing no mark.

At times, it is enough,

Enough for the day,

Enough for now.

Let it pass,

And fade away.

***

The rising moon

Seemed to examine my eye,

As I looked up from the pillow

In its soft, white light.

The sky blushed

And looked at me,

Stern anew,

With a cold reflected light,

Given by a star unseen

As the sky went dark,

To the edges of the seen world,

Into night.

As high as the peaks of the Universe far,

Deeper than seemingly futilely burning beacons,

Among the firmament, pinpricks bright,

Little lit by their efforts here,

Though known to human sight;

Giving light to other horizons,

Granting foreign dawns,

Untouched by discovered life;  

Not in need of our creations or caresses,

As they are, just right.

***

I shut my eyes

And let sighs

Become my world.

Until, restless again,

I found that I wished to get up.

So I slept under the stars,

Afar from the sea-

Life dances in the mountains,

And at the drowsy

Periphery.

I see afar, 

Below the falling sky,

The torching lamp

Shining on,

Still bright,

Still merry.

And I smile

Below the velvet sky,

Drinking in the streams

Of all these dreams,

And the reality that is present, now.

Selections from the collection 'Right Before,' 2006

The following is particularly typical of my poems of social commentary at this time. I am now quite a bit less critical of trivia, entertainment, and those who care about their appearances (thank goodness). I do, however, remain skeptical of the value of prejudicing appearances over the substance of one's personality and ideas. The difficult question is where we draw this line- and each of us must determine the specifics of that for ourselves.

I find myself

Coming back to myself,

In the darkness of my room.

And I move the curtain

To let in the sun,

But the rain runs down.

     I want to know the world

For a lucid life,

For a vividness

Undiluted,

And understanding.

But I am in a cage

Of the ignorance of my surroundings-

Of the weaknesses of myself.

I don’t get out- going in,

Deeper, deeper,

I penetrate into hollowness

And emptiness,

That had seemed so full

From the outside.

Like love,

Another hope becomes a trap,

And collapses.

Should I do this?

Should I do that?

I sit alone,

And think.

What have I gained?

***

Perhaps I should take up entertainment

Or memorizing silly facts, 

As if to prove

To myself

That there was no meaning-

The rest of the world is convinced.

Should I do what others want,

Should I know what others know,

Just because they might think me

Ignorant

Of trivia?

 How trivial.

And yet,

The latest trivia question

Comes in through the screen-

It keeps out the bugs

Of a life unclean.

***

Whether love

Whether country

Whether hope,

Whether learning

Or the stars above,

There is too much

To be let down by,

And too much to see-

Unless you bear the wrongs

Light, and ignorantly. 

But I cannot get out of my head

The memories,

The tales,

The texts,

Of some of the things that were better.

And history may save us

If we can read its warning.

***

I look to the past

So big and so vast,

And bright spots of light-

Eclipsing and lisping,

Into the night.

***

 

Routine holds me,

Constancy binds me.

Everything was so consistent

With urgencies here and there

Such a running pattern

That I never was aware

And the shadows of my hopes

And the thoughts of my lies

Were like the moonbeam,

Gilding the tides.

And when I tried to find

A way to undo the trap,

The shadows of my dreams

Were like the dim sun

On a factory’s gears

Catching the workers’ jackets

And smocks

And the tips of their ears

As they turn away

From the windows

And turn

From the light of day

And turn their eyes

To their work.

***

Why are so many people clueless,

Careless,

Regardless?

The saccharines,

The sweets,

The celluloid,

And plastic

Molding thin.

The aging, the Botox,

Inexpressive,

And yet, sort of nice-

But a little sad, too.

To work on looks,

When life and books

Are being sacrificed

On TV.

Rotting comes,

Quietly,

Under the white noise

Of that rat-a-tatta-tat-tat

Tattoo of the musical productions

And the rocker’s groove.

Problems arise,

But our thighs are busy

With laser surgery-

To remove the hair,

That we don’t want there,

So we are too glitzy to mind,

About elsewhere, or right,

Or care.

Artificial bodies

Have the spotlight,

But they are without truth

Or beauty

In the minds they try to hide,

And they smile vapidly-

As the world crumbles within,

And outside.

The lying reflections

Of the looking glasses

Of others' eyes-

They bear telephone games

Of bouncing lights,

With wasted riches,

And forgotten rights.

Spoilt youth,

Fashion sprees,

With false labors,

And artificial ease;

Of credit cards,

And gels for the hair,

Proof of money to burn,

And cares to spare.

***

There is joy,

And there is hope,

But I do not understand why

Or how.

I look to the sky,

And I see the stars of me

Looking back,

With ecstasy.

A heart of love,

Clouds above,

And somewhere,

The truth to stay.

And there I be,

Hurt but free,

Knowing more,

And I soar.

Because

Above the ways I traverse,

There is a noble contradiction-

Reverse.

I must abide opposition

Because it is all of me,

And in the sky

A mirror.

My weakness is legion,

Yet I am free.

Actions

Actions done stand,
Doomed to never be made nothing if evil, never redone better,
Though they are crushed to dust at their maker’s demand.
The force of their effects shall be a part of the stage of life,
A part of the land,
For a deed done may be lessened or heightened in strength now,
But it shall remain ever like sand,
Though its power wanes inevitably in time,
Drifting on winds that slowly carry grain from grain.

Fall

The beauty of life shines about
Leaves flutter, twigs in wind bout, 
Nature does joyfully in cool breeze shout!
Fields of grain are being felled, 
Air is crystal clear,
The land is remembering the flakes of ice from the sky
When winter it held.
But though the air is crisp and brisk,
The blanket has yet to be upon us, 
We still have three weeks of cheeks with rosy glow
Without snow.
The season is fall,
In the sky is the bright,
Fast softening, smudging celestial ball,
Spreading its light like a careless painter, 
Tinting clouds dark with light.
It is a season of leaves changing and dropping,
Flickering in the light and out,
Glistening on a field of green in the morning dew, 
They cover the ground, in the morning sopping,
Wet from the dew, droplets magnifying their dry veins.

Bridge Between

The light glints upon and along the appearance of calm at dawn,

Gilding a wooden bridge that over the serene a pathway lifts,

Not ruffling though shadowing the surface from above,

Where long reeds hang over delicate lilies,

To smell of their fragrance,

Perhaps over their beauty to fawn;

It is a bridge,

On one side receding darkness,

On the other coming light,

Between them tender plants rosy, green,

And a flowing water here lucid,

Here shadowed, here opaque,

Here bright!

With soft mists swirling between trees reaching high,

And wide as their smell clean,

Pillars enclosing the place where the world transitions,

Sheltered between;

Though the space is at times seemingly small,

The divide is there,

And the humble bridge joins the two halves of the world

This morning.

Created and Creation

The man examined the world,

And it examined him.

The moon could be seen in an azure light blue 

That was deep and mysterious,

With depths unknown and unfathomed by the curious,

With glory yet undimmed;

The eye of the earth examined it,

A powdery white that seemed in danger of fading.

It seemed to examine his own eye,

looking as if half-lidded, lazily and calmly.

The sky blushed under his attention,

And then looked at him with a cold reflected light,

Given by a star unseen,

To the edges of the seen world into night,

As high as the peaks of the Universe far,

Deeper than seemingly futilely-burning beacons,

Among the firmament pinpricks bright,

Little lit by their efforts here,

Though known to human sight.

Giving light to other horizons,

Granting dawns to them untouched by discovered life,

Not in need of our creations or caresses,

As they are, just right.

Plant of Evil

It grew from a seed,

And from neglect took its feed,

To generate more,

To feed upon yet,

To more rotting beget-

To grow in the shadow below the ground,

Away from sight,

Away from sound,

But cutting through to the human heart

Wherever it may be found,

Rolling like poisoned water into orifices 

And wearing away obstacles,

Swirling in the cup of life;

Pity those who taste its dregs,

Which gave it the bitter flavor,

Dark flowers seen swirling round.

Honey (2004)

Oh, golden liquid,
Sweet nectar,
Glowing dully
Over there,
Within a clear jar,
Ever fair,
To be desired,
Worthy of stare-
To be kept from all harshness,
Even the sun’s glare.
Sticky on the face and hands,
In the mouth possessing
A smoothly tender flair,
My dripping honey,
To eat I dare.

Wind and Voices (2004)

There are voices,
Not carried on the wind,
But within,
And perhaps are it.
Maybe all winds are the breaths of words spoken-
But who has ears to hear?
They haven’t stopped,
So their source hasn’t been broken-
Perhaps most of us need to know through loss,
And with such a gain we know the value of what we had,
And, when it went,
Its cost.
We can’t see the wind,
Though we see its effects in swirling particles and driving rain;
So if the earth had nothing upon it to move,
And nothing to feel,
The idea of moving air may
Seem strange, surreal.

What are the words,
What are the shapes of the wind?
Go ask the old man,
Tranquil on a hill,
And the ageless wisdom will questions still;
You’ll breathe of wind.
For it doesn’t always matter why something is so-
Sometimes something’s presence alone is enough to know.

Wind (2003)

Wind, there is power in you rooted in the heart of difference,

That rustles the grasses so finely,

Whistles in crevices,

Producing sounds ethereal.

You sweep the world,

Excite the senses;

You skim the scum off stagnant pools,

Blow down the dying leaves.

Blow down the ripe fruit,

Carry dust in clouds,

And snow crystals in whirling devils,

Make old houses creak.

You power windmills,

And lift flags,

Push sailed ships forward-

Invisibly there, and heard.

Statues (2003)

About me are trimmed bushes,

And by nice walks marble statues stand.

They stand quietly,

Not moving at all,

So perhaps like many people, they are afraid-

To fall?

But they also don’t talk.

Who knows why,

Perhaps they know something we don’t-

Do they wish to lord it over us by not speaking,

Making us guess?

They don’t listen,

So perhaps they don’t really care,

And know not who is there.

They do quite nothing but look noble all the while,

And I wonder if the grinning statues ever frown

and the frowning statues ever smile.

Distraction (2003)

The noisy babble fills the bus,

And cheers the gray day,

Thank goodness that everyone is here together,

And most have something to say.

Untitled (2002)

A man who had not slept

Stepped through a marbled hall.

It was late, but the window let in a trace of light-

And across the buff of the floor, polish of one mahogany door,

A bright moonbeam crept.

His wrinkled hand rested on its brass handle,

But it had been locked, absentmindedly.

He sighed for a moment, called for a key,

But the sound rang,

Echoing futilely.

So he rheumatically sat

With the candleholder gold

And the waxy dripped candle old

With the key in his pocket that he had forgot-

To wake to the morning light,

And a chirp from behind,

And the cool that warmed his drowsy mind.

Edited 7/5/14

Only So Many (2002)

There’s only so many ways a song can be written,

Only so many ways a fruit can be bitten,

Only so many ways to travel a road.

Only so many ways you can say fine things

To make people smitten,

Only so many ways of finding

Where in the universe one’s fitting.

Only so many days, can’t spend ‘em sitting,

Only so many days to on the seas sail.

If you laze, after too many days,

It will be hard to prevail.

Years go by quickly,

And there are only so many chances,

Only so many lives in a life.

Song of Life (2002)

A song was heard,

A quiet melody,

It flowed as slowly and steadily as time.

The listener felt joys and sorrows,

Pain and pride,

Failure and triumph,

The passion of the years.

In the Realms of False Courage (2002)

In the realms of false courage,

all is fake as the lands themselves,

the 'brave' and 'smart' sit in the gilded armor

of royal foolishness,

attended by courtiers to greed.

Those stand before their mahogany mirrors,

fierce face in place,

only to cravenly creep from the battle with fear.

So bold in counsel, brittle at heart,

a legend in their own minds they art.

Cathedral (2002)

Away from earthly life in a special place,

Above human grace,

Cathedral darkly glorious,

Melancholy in shadowed corners,

Joyous in pools of rainbow light,

Figures of hope there in the darkest night.

Feeling there,

From the times when they spoke of the last man,

And his empty chair,

Carved, hewn, and shaped,

Whole tells a story,

Continuous chain of history,

Product of chosen fate.

Within voices have sung,

Within harps have been strung,

Sounds of beauty rising mingled,

Intermixing and intertwining with a lofty sound,

Saints there,

With feet on solid ground.

Bells of Remembrance

The wind swirled about the door,
riling up the leaves, 
whistling in the eaves,
and bending the branches of the trees.
A dirt path stretched ahead,
green grass beside, 
clad in liquid light.
I left the stone house 
and walked, 
to know the breeze and sunshine.
Soon the wind quieted, 
clouds covered the sky.
I heard only my thoughts 
and padding steps
until starting at the sound 

of tolling bells.
Their ringing resounded in the air,
palpable in my whole body,
and I shivered with a strange electricity.
It was fall, and ripening time,
but past grapes were not present wine,
and home was far away. 

Edited version, 7/4/14

***

The wind swirled about the door,
riling up the leaves, whistling in the eaves,
and bending the branches of the trees.
A path stretched before me in rustic brown,
green beside, all in liquid light clad.
I tiptoed along the trail, hearing nothing but gold,
proving the truth in the cliché old.
Then the silence was compounded by wish of the wind,
it dropped off quickly,
so something else could begin.
I was in a reverie, meditating on things past,
at which point, starting, I heard the tolling of bells vast.
Their solemn sound was palpable on the air,
resonating in head and heart, sending shivers up my spine.

Original version, 2002