Cigarette

Death wrapped in paper
for fools like me
sealed in cellophane for freshness

20 class "A" killers
emblazoned with Caesarian quote...
"Et tu, Marlboro?" seems more appropriate.

Death,
filtered for the weak...
selected, fine death.

Untitled XVII

Fog rolled in from the sound
into the humid afternoon
leading dark clouds
following heavy winds
which made the water dance
throwing waves against the shore

Clouds II

I sit watching the clouds
like great sculptures
a clay of steam
worked by the hand of God

Always being changed
as if seeking perfection
to be mirrored in the eyes
of the maker and the beholder

Inspiration

Not an incredible sunset
shades that hardly differ
barely reaching beyond a dull grey
yet beautiful all in its own
majestic in its own being
not ashamed to be without beauty
not afraid to be
simply for the point of being

Point Of View

Tonight the stars shine differently
colder and more distant
cruel slashes in the purple twilight
the wrath of an angry God

Today the world seems faded
colors dulled and muted
by eyes filled with pain

Now life becomes bleak
men grow colder than ever
trading heavily in fear and pain
while the return on love dwindles

***
Sometimes I look at the things I wrote 20 years ago and think... wow...

Ocean Tune

I sing a song of great water
of waves that dance in the sun
of green wash and eternity
no land on the horizon

A melody for the beauty
the grace, the power, the size
for the beaches beaten forever
the treasures brought in on the tide

A tune by a man who knows nothing
but still so deeply in love
he sings his song to the ocean
but his song is never enough

Hole

I once had a dream
about a life I shared
about a warmth I felt
about a love I knew
and a dream was all it was

There are times I don't notice
when my mind is on other things
or I am so wrapped up in music
or alcohol
and I don't feel the emptiness

But there are nights
like tonight
when I light candles
but the bottle is all that gets lighter
and the loneliness feels like a part of me
that cannot be removed
and I have grown complacent in it

I

I hate myself,
and I hate myself,
because I hate me,
and I hate all I have done,
and I hate what I think,
and I hate the life I'm living,
and I hate... I hate...
me.


***
In a way I'm sorry that I'm pulling some of this old stuff out, but there is a reason for it, or maybe reasons. I do want to get the few good things back out in the air, but I'm also working through a few things that have me thinking about this stuff, and... well, it's always been easier outside than inside.

Roles

a man needing
a poet feeling
a musician playing
a teacher guiding
a lover embracing
a pillar supporting
a wound hurting

the things I have been to you,
you have at times
needed them,
loved them,
hated them.
which do you need to love to hate now?


***
We were talking briefly in one of my classes today about a theory of identity based upon the various roles one fills in his or her life. I thought immediately of this poem I wrote... well, a long time ago...

Forever

Hazy humid heat
endless highway
sun beating
sun beating
sun beating
down.

I'm driving
no one is riding
this is forever,
this highway is forever.

Brilliant colored clouds
gentle breeze
sun falling
sun falling
sun falling
down.

I'm walking
never arriving
this is forever,
this road is forever.

Purple twilight
stars shining
lay me
lay me
lay me
down.

I'm dreaming
love ain't for keeping
this is forever,
this sleep is forever.


***
This is one of my most under-appreciated pieces. I know it's very simple, but I really like the rythm, it's almost hypnotic.

Time Change

These cold nights
often feel like forever
with the wind whistling through
the empty corners of my heart
and moaning over
the abyss of my soul

These dark winter nights
sometimes feel like torture
as the distant starlight
tempts me to believe
that somewhere, shining in the distance
there is something different

These hands of mine
sometimes feel
like they are already dead
cold, bloated, and broken
and I just haven’t
realized it yet.

Four and Seven Sisters

Four sisters looked
to seven sisters above
and wondered if they
had ever known

for, though seven, could they
from so very far
their open arms full
of naught but frigid space

know closeness
or warmth
or the touch of a hand
burning like the brightest star?


***
You probably know that the seven sisters are the Pleiades. I'm not saying who the four sisters are...

Morning Prayer

In morning’s quiet stillness
the singing birds
call me to prayer
contemplating
life scattered around me
puzzle pieces and playing cards
while I look for patterns and edges
thinking I can solve the riddle
mistakenly
seeking comfort in the understanding
that is mostly illusion
closer, my God, to Thee
eyes closed, breathing deeply
consciousness expanding
seeking quiet places inside
where I might hear your voice
stiff legs and back pull me
out of my escape
back to the “real” world
in the grey light of morning
where my simple mind
darts hyperactively
analyzing the faces of
feeling the edges of
puzzle pieces and playing cards
that are but are not
while coffee steam and cigarette smoke
rise like incense from the altar
of my morning sacraments



***
I am so glad I quit smoking...

In This Bed

I am lying in this bed
where you have lain before
and I know that isn't much
but I just can't ignore

If I close my eyes
I can just imagine how
you dreaming so softly
sleeping by me now

In the stillness of this room
I hear you whisper my name
I am lying in this bed
and the dream is what remains

New England Again

The river lies restless
foam rising on wind-raised waves
glinting cold steel in the sunlight
rearing cold spray into the air
touching the sky then falling back
always moving but never leaving

The river lies mirror-like
reflecting the stars, the moon,
the dark outlines of trees stretching high above
almost perfectly casting the images
making me wonder which side I am on

The river lies forever
embracing fools like me
with its vision and insight
telling a story
but never the whole story

The river lies glazed
a facade of still peace
hiding its frigid, forbidding soul

Message

The Lord speaks
to me
in my own words.
My prayer shows me my needs
answers my questions
through His wisdom
through His will
through my words.
The Lord will speak
to you
in your own words
if you look for Him there.

***
Okay, I understand that there are some theologic problems here... I wrote this when I was in the Gulf, which was when I first started realizing I was being called.

I Am

I am the black sky
the wind blowing through the trees
screaming out my love
in a song so bittersweet

I am the stinging rain
the water rushing down the street
lightning strike, thunder crash
echoing eternally

I am the destruction
the storm has set me free
to scratch my mark upon the world
and then return to sleep

More Rain

The rain falls
beat and syncopate
upon leaves, and roofs, and pavement,
falls,
like a million shoes on a hardwood floor,
tapping, maddeningly constant.

The rain falls
beat and syncopate.

As Autumn Fades

Clouds over water break sunlight,
pale orange in a misty grey,
seen over fading trees.
The ground spangled with fallen leaves,
brightly arrayed on dying grass,
stretching to the dark waters of Lake Michigan,
A crow, as black as the coming night,
rises above these things...
and glides...

Chicago Rain

Grey and white walls
rising from a black floor
on a grey stormy day
off Lake Michigan.
The sounds of rain on pavement
verses written by a greater being
spoken in a foreign tongue.

***
Boot camp...

Atlanta Fog

In the dripping foggy cold
the dirty night sky
traps the light of the city
in its miserly grasp

The glare of streetlamps
viscous with the weight of the fog
seeps downward
glistening on the pavement
slick with oil and rain

In this sulphurous miasma
where natural color is distorted or lost
cars pass...
occasionally stopping
at the dented sign

***
I wrote this very close to the beginning of the end of my marriage, but I really didn't see what it was about then.

Cape Cod Morning

And the breeze blows
as if whispering a lover's name
finding ecstasy in the shape and form
never having enough

And the breeze blows
like a lover's caress
sweet and tender
in its uncomplicated intimacy

And the breeze blows
unbridled, unchecked,
free

Westward

Yellow lights on the river,
night settles purple into the sky,
"Westward!", my heart cries,
"Westward!".

Trees dance in the driving wind,
blowing through the valley,
"Westward!", she wails,
"Westward!".

I am mirrored in this window,
my eyes so dark with wanting,
"Westward!", they beg,
"Westward!".

***
Another very old one, from my Groton days.

fancy

Her hair gleams
burnished copper in the sunlight
tickling the part of my nose
that, in my mind,
inhales the smell of her
as I whisper in her ear
telling her how crazy it makes me
to see her hair gleaming
burnished copper in the sunlight


***
I wrote this today. It's what got me thinking about creating this blog.

Swallowing Me

There are moments,
I won’t claim there are lots of them
but there are moments
when it all feels worth it
like I could go on forever
empty and alone
if somehow that might bring
just one more person
to some kind of peace

I want someone to hold me
to tell me that it’s all okay
that she loves me no matter what
that she always will
but for me that isn’t real
maybe that can’t ever be real

So I look at myself in the mirror
and wonder how many more
grey hairs and wrinkles it will be
until I get to stop hurting like this
get to stop pretending
that this hole inside of me
isn’t swallowing me

Starlight

The late day sun set without warning
left me alone, cold, mourning,
beneath a canopy of distant lights.

The midnight moon arose with no sound
watched me lie upon the moist ground
below tree branches long bare.

Orion winked and with his wry smile,
ancient one to starlight’s child,
bent low and whispered his song to me.


***
This is an old poem I recently dug out.