The Poet


The poet waits for an inspiration

Thunder as word sounds crash into each other
Lightning as rubbing visions causes sparks and ignition
Earthquakes shift bedrock perceptions
Volcanoes spew understanding too hot to ignore

Time stands still as the process unfolds
Until the last words are recorded
And the brow is wiped dry
   so that time resumes

     drink some juice

     walk to get a bag of groceries

The poet sits, pen in hand
Two or three images in mind
Flowing, mixing, ending here, starting there
How might it connect?
Not a puzzle, more than telling a story

Experiences accelerating and intertwining in the imagination
   create a world that never was, but that could have been

Ideas collide
Emotions friction and flow
Straightening edges, untying knots, perfecting the shape of thought

The poet’s hand paints the ink onto paper
Oil marks on dried wood pulp scored with lines that do not guide
Letters written at odd angles compose words ripped from an arm’s muscles
   driven by a brain telling a tale to friends and strangers

The poet compresses the core of reality
   to focus the energies of creation onto a single point

And then,
   from almost nothing,

A new universe inflates with power that cannot be measured by physics

Allowing deep understanding for all who reach in to
   touch the pure annealed crystal of a poem reading

      the experience of which catalyzes our souls,

         so as to change them,


Broken Circles

The sounds carried across the valleys
Infinite silence followed
Left,     right,     left,     right
Rippling the emptiness

Dark quiet disturbs the sleep

Black sky, cloudless night
Eyes closed
Heart ripped
Midnight silent rage
Hands clenched, turn over

There are so many lonely stars up just beyond reach

We need to dull the sharp angles
Gather around
Neighbors and friends
Open our hands
Silently share sorrow

We need to mend the broken circles

Fix the church roof
Dig a community well
Remove the stumbling blocks
Bake loaves of bread
Reach out

We are a village

Slowly, slowly
Roots grow down
Supporting our weight
Drink in the rain
Drink in the dew

The hours pass

Slowly, slowly
Leaves grow up
Building a canopy
Drink in the Sun
Drink in the stars

The days pass



And again

And again

Rainbows and Rain

It was a day of rainbows and rain
This morning, he is at peace for the first time
She has a future, though she does not know her present

The sudden call at six am
Driving through the drizzle
Holding back grief
Phone calls, conferences, cleaning, finding
Piecing her life together after so many years

On the drive back
Very bright rainbows
One after another
And then a double rainbow
Large and near

It was a day of rainbows and rain
We stop for a sandwich on the way
A right, a left, there they are
Water falling from above as we prepare to place earth onto his casket

Silence, prayers, words, deeds
We are to cover him
Two shovels, two lines of people
Dirt falling onto sanded pine, hollow echoes
Someone places one shovelful, another moves nine
Each at work, focused, a job to do, he is on their mind
The tree above me is soaked and can no longer protect us
Steam rises from the dark hot footpaths
No thunder or lightning

How do we remember him?
How can we remember him?
Did we really know him?
Could anyone?

Silence, prayers, words, a sense
Rain falling on asphalt, grass, tombstones, dirt
Each making their own sound as the droplets bounce

On the drive back
A full rainbow
All across the sky, left, above, right
We want to pass under it, but it recedes as we drive
Through it we see the green of the mountain
The blue of the sky
The white of the clouds
Illuminating the thoughts of these days
And the path ahead

Step by step

By step

New York Hoofing

New York sense
Truck fumes and noise
Taxi cabs, diesel buses, overhead trains
Hot dog vendors, street festivals, Central Park
Penn Station, Port Authority, handbag hawkers, three card monte

New York working in the streets
Pulling my weight plus the load on the road
My boss is on my back again
Seven days a week
Go twenty blocks
Earn my pay
Day after day

New York rhythm
Seven a week
Get me there now
Beat, beat, walking

Go twenty blocks
Away from here
Day after day
Beat, beat, walking

Left foot right foot
Earning my pay
Day after day
Beat, beat, walking

Born and die in
New York City

Born and die in
New York City

Straight to the park
Riding me there
Not really fair
Beat, beat, walking

Left foot right foot
Nothing to say
Earning my pay
Beat, beat, walking

Go twenty blocks
Day after day
Eating my hay
Beat, beat, walking
Beat, beat, walking

The Ghost of Christmas Pluperfect

I am the Ghost of Christmas Pluperfect
Born when you had decided to ignore your fellow man
Growing when you had decided to take from your fellow man
Matured when you had decided to abuse your fellow man

You are the result of your decisions
Blinded when you had removed your inner sight
Deafened when you had removed your inner ear
Lost when you had removed your inner compass

Reflecting to the world your path’s history
Fated when you had wandered away from home
Dirtied when you had left the well-trodden road
Bleeding when you had tripped over your own stumbling block

Lessons right in front of you
Written when you had screamed for help
Bound when you had lifted your arms to the sky
Learned when you had opened your eyes

Presents within your reach
Taken when you had seen your fingers against the blue sky
Opened when you had touched the white clouds
Thankful when you had become part of our colorful world

You became who you were meant to be
When you had kissed your wife
When you had hugged your children
When you had looked out of your window to feel the joy of neighbors

I took my leave of you
When you had found your need for others
When you had rejoined the family of man
When you had no further use for me