Saturday, April 23, 2022

I know I'm right where I'm supposed to be


I sit on my carpet

Dusting my book and CD player stand

 

Jon Kabat-Zinn, one of my favorite meditation teachers

Advocates getting down on the floor at least once a day

Be it for yoga or praying or sitting to read a book

In touch with the Earth

Humbling yourself

Putting yourself in perspective

 

I look out my living room window

Across the parking lot that is my perpetual view

Up to the top of a street pole

That holds a street lamp

 

There I see a crow

Looking out from above the lot

Over an entire swath of this town

It knows its place, and I realize mine

 

And I know

On the carpet, among the stacked books

With dust rag and spray bottle in hand

I am right where I am supposed to be


Wednesday, April 13, 2022

honor the dead


honor the dead

with bad love, awkward kissing

with laughter and salt

tears for the gravy on their biscuits

offer them a smile

a memory so gently held

it may flit from your hands

take to the sky

to space beyond

where they dance for you

delighted you are well

(oh, so much better than you think)

 

they celebrate your joys

rain healing of eucalyptus gel

on your deepest sores

your most devious wounds

call you forward

not to the tomb

but to the edge

where you will hedge

for the rest of your mortal existence

always missing out on the sensation

of the infinite plummet

of flying like Supergirl

or Superman, or Superdog

 

instead, you will forever feel

you are not enough

forever try

to be more


Tuesday, April 12, 2022

cyclone


as if the clock, damn cyclone, does not

tear through this life quickly enough

 

and we kneel, devotees of love, we imagine ourselves

dumbly away from the swollen sun of the heart

 

we do not see until we see

always too late, always, right on time


Thursday, March 31, 2022

shroud


let the shroud

descend on your body

limp, anticipating

solace, silence

song of birth, life, death

inhale a world of confusion

exhale crystalline clarity

last breath

 


Friday, March 25, 2022

In the Delicatessen of Giants (Dedicated to poets I know and aspire to)


In the delicatessen of giants

I am the processed sliced turkey

The holy baloney of poetry

Chopped liver

 

Let there be potato salad that knows no end

Creamy and chunky at once

Celery, pimentos, chopped egg

Mayo that goes out for the longass long haul pass

Brings back lunch on a shining deli tray

Morsels of wry wit, verbal shenanigans

Accounts of the beauty to which our lives may attain

Anecdotes of events gone hopelessly, hilariously astray

 

My words are merely a sip stolen 

From the wine glasses of literary tzaddikim

Wisdom procured, fire of the gods

I have watched their loving placement of nouns

Their gorgeous adjectives, metaphors so easy

They seem to have slid off a greased skillet

 

Their verbs are potato knishes

Fluffy omelets, kugel, tea biscuits

They put their hearts on the line

To save sorry souls such as mine

With our little paeans to the mundane, the minutiae

Missing the mark completely

 

Someday,

I will nail that big friggin’ Reuben sandwich

That monster corned beef

A poem lean and mad as a manic plotzing yenta 

Thick rye bread, yellow mustard

A fried egg planted smack on top

Thursday, March 24, 2022

cafe poem #...well, I've lost count


agony can find no foothold

where birds swim over bare trees

clouds are plush strokes

so many paint brush footprints

 

I can hear people speaking

some of it hurried, some hush

as need desires

as desire needs

 

something pulls these phalanges, muscles

tendons, ligaments, to pen this poem

not razor thin wires fueled by fire

but creaky gears and assemblages

 

from a deep pocket of want

I lack satisfaction, hoping

some answer might come

knocking at my bedroom door

when I am deepest in slumber

mouth open as close to trusting

as it has been

since I let myself slip

into mid-life

Saturday, March 19, 2022

aging


the emptiness
of this being
in its tiny processes
actions to please
thoughts to self-assure
words to divert
attention from the dull stare
the ghoulish eyes
all is empty
indeed
but this
a special kind
and now I know
and now I see
it was me who
must solve
the mystery
why such a bright stone
would fall to Earth
gravity dogging it
post-birth