Poetry is my protection against terror.
It fortifies no wall but collapses the one
behind which I find myself cowering.
I’m embarrassed to find myself there.
Poetry is every word in the question,
What are you afraid of?
It leads me outside.
Tag Archives: life
As night falls pregnant woment
As night falls pregnant women
exercise in the park and parents
clean the classrooms of the school
(with buckets and rags, I remember
how that was). It’s all green now,
every tree is filled with multiple
shades of dark green, the delicate
dusty pale pink has left us.
I wonder how soon I will see
the change again – the yet darker and fuller
giving way to the first gold.
Sooner than I think tonight, surely.
But happily, this easy arc of color
has no true downside.
What blood sounds and smells like
Raptor
pure receptor
embarassed to pick up
every signal sent on this train,
every feeling felt,
the doubtful wavering
of the woman wondering
if her hair is right,
the dull plodding of the multitude
swiping, swiping,
the man sugaring on ahead
to his visit with the family,
and yes, the girl in red,
her mother worried.
She doesn’t want her to worry.
I did it my way
Which was dragging things
out to the bitter last moment,
watching possibilities fly
like cocks crowing
unhinged, remembering
Nietzsche said, The deed
is everything, and that
was in ’92 when I was
going to meet him in the ring
that very day!
The living water went out of her
No, don’t look back
Don’t long for it
Don’t stand dry with memory
in a future made of wind
A superhero’s soaring violence
Abundant in the air,
thwacks and grimacing jaws –
a cracked wall in the one frame,
rubble in the next –
a nuclear flash
and,
at last,
the muffling down,
a caroling
in paper soft as spring
Quite content with the alternative
I lay by my wife and felt her fingers,
and then all her bones together –
a skeletal, scary thought
with a cold wind blowing through it –
so I hastened to add the rest,
first the organs and then the
blood and tissues I couldn’t name,
and finally the skin and
mass of golden hair.
But even then she wasn’t herself,
so I started decking her out
with all her qualities, her smile and
hard soft-heartedness,
her way of leaving things
and that twist when she dances.
And how she cooks, with her million recipes,
and curls up in the corner of the couch.
The further I went, the warmer she,
and the drowsier I,
got, and God it’s good
to sleep with her
and not with that bag of bones!
Dishes, a window
Yes, I know, I said we didn’t need one,
but later I was glad to pack it
with plates and bottles, and know
how hot it got. There was already enough
with a baby in the house.
Still, I was sorry to let go
the excuse to stare out at
clouds and weightless birds. And I missed
how warm my cold hands were.
Once I wasn’t speaking to someone,
two people actually, and as I washed
tears fell right into the suds.
We had no window then,
just a cupboard with cups
and a light above the sink.
Commuter
Amid the vast network of tracks and trains
one puts his body in and
it matters a lot whether he
puts it in or in front of the
train. We who ride know
the difference, but he who
has stalled and rerouted us
is blank, extinguished,
a smoke without a flame
God’s ten minutes at two-thirty
The Lord said to my Lord,
“Sit at my right hand and I’ll make your enemies your footstool.”
They shook hands and then He turned to me.
“Glad you could make it. We need to talk.”
Whoo boy, here we go.
He came around and sat on the edge of the desk.
“How are things going?”
Great. Fine, yeah good, no real good.
“The wife?”
Super, yeah. You know, tough as nails!
“The kids?”
Oh sure, ditto. Chuggin’ along. Thanks for asking.
“You got me a little worried.”
Me? Ah Boss, don’t put Yourself out. You know me,
I’m a little slow, but I bring it around.
“I guess.”
Hey, who’re we talkin’ to here? I’m Your guy!
“Yeah, I know, I know. But still.
You got me worried.”
Utrecht Journal 