DE GUSTIBUS NON EST DISPUTANDUM
As the ground became
increasingly inevitable,
he began to appreciate
the subtle difference between
flying and falling.
I was, sadly, the
last in a life-long
series of last-second
realizations. But
was it the most
important one? Possibly,
though the question of
relative importance remains
ultimately a matter of taste.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
AN APOLOGY
I write about death a lot in my poems to make you think about death so I won't have to. Sorry.
WOMAN TOO
Sometimes I let my mind
graze in the neighbor's pasture.
His grass is a lot greener
than mine, and his wife's
a woman any man in
good health would be
foolish not to covet.
I have to use a road
less traveled by to get
to the neighbor's place
because of a wall he's
built between us.
Earth's the right place for
man. For woman too.
Sometimes I let my mind
graze in the neighbor's pasture.
His grass is a lot greener
than mine, and his wife's
a woman any man in
good health would be
foolish not to covet.
I have to use a road
less traveled by to get
to the neighbor's place
because of a wall he's
built between us.
Earth's the right place for
man. For woman too.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
RENDEZVOUS
We have to stop meeting
like this. In my poems,
I mean. It's not so much
that people have begun
to talk (we've never
cared about what others
thought of us) as that
there may be other, more
interesting places to meet.
At Starbucks, for example,
over matching cups of
cappuccino. At the corner
of Anywhere and Vine,
where people touch and go blind.
We have to stop meeting
like this. In my poems,
I mean. It's not so much
that people have begun
to talk (we've never
cared about what others
thought of us) as that
there may be other, more
interesting places to meet.
At Starbucks, for example,
over matching cups of
cappuccino. At the corner
of Anywhere and Vine,
where people touch and go blind.
Monday, November 22, 2010
THE GAUNTLET
I'm postmodern when it suits me and modern, or even ante-modern, when I'd rather. What are you going to do about it?!
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
TENURE
This constant bickering over poetry, what it is/isn't, must/can't be, is becoming tedious to those of us not pursuing tenure in an MFA program. So let's settle it once and for all: There are two kinds of poems: those that are and those that are not worth reading.
SELECTED
It's always interesting to see which poems poets have left out of their "Selected Poems". Maddening, too, of course, since they inevitably leave out one or two poems you had considered (and still consider) among their best, while leaving in a few you'd rather not have to read again.
Friday, November 19, 2010
OH BROTHER
for Jerry
Was death just your latest
excuse for not getting
up in the morning? I
remember once on a
Sunday morning (after
a Saturday night had
lasted too long) Mother
got tired of trying
to shake you awake
and finally came in
with a glass of water
she poured over your
face. You wiped yourself
dry with the blanket and slept.
for Jerry
Was death just your latest
excuse for not getting
up in the morning? I
remember once on a
Sunday morning (after
a Saturday night had
lasted too long) Mother
got tired of trying
to shake you awake
and finally came in
with a glass of water
she poured over your
face. You wiped yourself
dry with the blanket and slept.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
ELEGY FOR NO ONE WE KNEW
Water we poured
through your funeral
came out the other
end as wine. Next
time we'll try harder,
if there is some kind
of "next time". Otherwise,
we won't. Someone caught
snacking on communion
wafers in the pantry
was asked to leave this
really cool death party
we threw in your honor.
Hope you enjoyed our grief.
Water we poured
through your funeral
came out the other
end as wine. Next
time we'll try harder,
if there is some kind
of "next time". Otherwise,
we won't. Someone caught
snacking on communion
wafers in the pantry
was asked to leave this
really cool death party
we threw in your honor.
Hope you enjoyed our grief.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
THE POSSIBLE
I have a damaged cathedral
to store my chances in
and a faint hope to lean on.
But I still tend to be
less than can be counted on
when the daydream fizzles.
There's an overused lightning
bolt I'm careful to avoid.
The distance between devotion
and the initial cause of
things expands, but I keep
a two-bedroom
belief in the possible under
my pillow just in case.
I have a damaged cathedral
to store my chances in
and a faint hope to lean on.
But I still tend to be
less than can be counted on
when the daydream fizzles.
There's an overused lightning
bolt I'm careful to avoid.
The distance between devotion
and the initial cause of
things expands, but I keep
a two-bedroom
belief in the possible under
my pillow just in case.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
PIRATES
Criminals hide by
being us, then leave
when the coast is clear.
A gentle dream on
mental wings lights
softly on your breast,
your wish a candle I
haven't blown out but will.
Land begins where
the water ends, while
the pirates, from whom
my thoughts are fleeing,
slip quietly away on a
memory slick with pretending.
Criminals hide by
being us, then leave
when the coast is clear.
A gentle dream on
mental wings lights
softly on your breast,
your wish a candle I
haven't blown out but will.
Land begins where
the water ends, while
the pirates, from whom
my thoughts are fleeing,
slip quietly away on a
memory slick with pretending.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
THE PLUMS
for Elaine Equi
The still life he ate
and replaced with an
apology (thanks, Elaine)
tasted even better
than it looked. And,
of course, it sounds
great when we paint
it with our ears
(inner or outer,
depending on whether
we read the poem aloud).
Sight, taste, sound, smell.
We hold those plums
in our hands.
for Elaine Equi
The still life he ate
and replaced with an
apology (thanks, Elaine)
tasted even better
than it looked. And,
of course, it sounds
great when we paint
it with our ears
(inner or outer,
depending on whether
we read the poem aloud).
Sight, taste, sound, smell.
We hold those plums
in our hands.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
NAIL
The brain, knowing
it can never come
down here, not even
through the gap uncertainty
leaves in things, reaches
out for something out
of reach. A hole
in the middle of this
closes faster than an eye that
doesn't like what it
sees. The body drags
an old hammer from
its tool chest and drives
a longer nail into itself.
The brain, knowing
it can never come
down here, not even
through the gap uncertainty
leaves in things, reaches
out for something out
of reach. A hole
in the middle of this
closes faster than an eye that
doesn't like what it
sees. The body drags
an old hammer from
its tool chest and drives
a longer nail into itself.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
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