I could finally confide
that lately I’d lost
that long drive that’d taken me
off all my maps.
.
She would certainly intercede,
She brought fresh buds through frost,
I’ve a return drive she’d taken me
Back onto new paths.
.
.
.
I can close my eyes and see
Her heart near and warm
But open I can not see
Her hand upon my arm.
.
.
.
.
(from july 2010)
I have staved off lost passions
I’ve held on cold cliff holds
I stayed and endured elements,
Harsh and all part of a hard whole
Where lost passions
Sounding far, in the fog,
Meaning more in a quiet man
Than a kind word,
Can work
To urge his stoic stand
On
.
(from 2009)
“This time tomorrow I’ll know what to do”
-David Bowie, from “Stay”
I’m m.mustly…/
I am stammering/ I must/ Fail to believe it/
.
Clamoring chime bells/ Of mercy/
A Rhyming of rain & relief/
When paired/
W/ death’s despair/
It’s cleanly/ So messy/
Supremely/ good grief.
the night fills book shelves
of newselves
and ghosts ancient that go silent
after you dare to glare it down.
the night fills full boxes
of hoaxes
all honest, bold-faced hazy facades
and full frontal epiphanies
I take my ten tablets.
Wash ’em w/ Irish.
It’s my time
for medicine,
& no time for nonsense.
I’m ready I’ll try to pull hard
for a merciful god.
Finally I’ll try my hand
To move a pen
To move my words
To move me.
.
.
.
. (from 2009, Slainte.)
to you & yrs, then
The Irish poet and writer, John O’Donohue (1956-2008) was as moved by the landscape of the soul as he was by the landscape of his country with its Celtic spirituality. An ordained Catholic priest, he eventually left the priesthood, but he never abandoned the mystical roots of his Christianity. He was a Hegelian philosopher, did doctoral work on Meister Eckhart, was fluent in Irish and German, was an environmental activist, and wrote several best-selling books (both nonfiction and poetry). His most notable work was Anam Cara:A Book of Celtic Wisdom. (Anam Cara meaning soul friend.
She won’t remember when
Without a word we wandered
Dark collegetown neighborhoods.
Where were the dogs & cops? I wondered.
We were thrilled for the night still.
Still, there were all the satellites.
And very still, there was that light
In a candlelit picture window.
It gave a silhouette, a shadow readying a bed.
Buffing up a sheet, she showed us,
Me and my sister Janny,
Her heartstopping Beauty;
A silent ballet shadow show that
We acknowledged
Her walkstopping ethereal naked lines,
Then continued on, still wordless
Then getting stiller yet.
.
.
.
. (happy birthday, janice)
“Bridge’s out”
A boy in a blue scarf shouted.
But a girl with high boots and a cape
only whispered “Icy isn’t safe”.
Both their lines seemed to lift steamlike, upwords,
opposing most all downfall white
(On his hair, in her eye lashes).
White lit it all, it meant to mask the night.
.
Ethereal, yet so real, their faces were so pale.
They are, I thought, not far from fainting.
I strained to scout beyond them, they stood out
Stark against wood and trail.
It confused me, admittedly, I might see a painting.
.
“Watch yourself”, their voices, close,
It sounded some like me who
confoundedly joined their chorus.
Starting down to the river,
I shake off a shiver under my clothes.
I take a deep icy breath, then take a step nearer chaos.
.
.
.
. (nightmare from five years ago)
There’s fog.
Then, there’s people landing planes at all hours.
There’s dogs chasing birds
on runways. And one way those people in those towers
can plan to, and see to, land planes is
the guts to go with the guages.
They heartfelt dealt with data,
Trusted all they’d seen
on their farforeign &; onlyman made monitor screen.
As dogs flushed their fog,
hands hover over lights
and cover their old bets,
their usual action.
,
, from 2009
When the task at hand…
When I’m asked to pay & pay
More attention,
I say,
It’s mostly too costly and
It’s evident one’s needs warrant
Intervention.
.
It’s ridiculous,
I’m impossible,
I’m impervious to all I’m capable.
Honestly, I'm a Liar, & Other Balances & Imbalances 