Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Surprise
I thought when you left
that it was just the end of you;
of course, I was wrong.
It was the end of me, too.
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that it was just the end of you;
of course, I was wrong.
It was the end of me, too.
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Tuesday, January 19, 2010
No GPS
The turns of life
are imperceptible;
without knowing how,
some morning,
you find yourself
where you are.
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are imperceptible;
without knowing how,
some morning,
you find yourself
where you are.
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Wood/Man
The heart
of the wood
burns hottest;
the heart
of a living man,
as well.
Both consume
themselves
to produce
light and heat.
In the end,
only ashes
remain.
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of the wood
burns hottest;
the heart
of a living man,
as well.
Both consume
themselves
to produce
light and heat.
In the end,
only ashes
remain.
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The Creek Knows
The creek fell
two feet last night.
Doesn't seem
to mind.
Perhaps it knows,
we are all fallen.
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two feet last night.
Doesn't seem
to mind.
Perhaps it knows,
we are all fallen.
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Monday, January 18, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Ars Poetica
From the mouth
of God's silence
I write these words,
not for glory or to please,
only to remind myself
that in the vast emptiness
of these lonely days,
I am still here and alive.
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of God's silence
I write these words,
not for glory or to please,
only to remind myself
that in the vast emptiness
of these lonely days,
I am still here and alive.
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Folks
They all
want to hear you
sing of the light;
damned few
will listen
when the song
turns dark.
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want to hear you
sing of the light;
damned few
will listen
when the song
turns dark.
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Thar She Flows!
The weather has moderated here in TN. Today it is raining. The good news is that, for the first time in two weeks, I have running water. Joy! I can take a hot shower in my own house, do dishes, clean. I don't know how long this will last, so I intend to make full and hearty use of it. Life's little amenities don't mean much until they vanish, but when they do, you really come to appreciate them. Simple pleasures, always the best.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Battlefield: Fragment, From An Unfinished Novel
The sky was appropriately the color of gun metal. The smell of cordite clung like rancid perfume. He inhaled. It wasn't much to look at. Not so much a field as a clearing. A patch of nothing blasted onto the hilltop by the exhalation of a few 500 pound bombs. The earth was loose; plowed by mortars and cultivated by machine guns. A place men would have to cross under fire without cover; a place where men would be harvested. Not completely, though. It had been awhile. Some vegetation had encroached. Here and there it smoldered. The jungle never slept. Like the enemy, it kept coming back. There were lumps strewn about at random. Large lumps, the bodies of the dead. Smaller lumps, pieces of them. Dragon's teeth, clumsily sown. At first light the grunts had gone out and executed the wounded, laughing as they blew their brains out. He didn't blame them. Mercy was absurd in war; only death was logical. The bodies would be left to caution the enemy. It wouldn't help, though. They would return. Like the jungle. Until it was theirs for good. The first result would be stench; the second, compost. When the jungle finally returned, where the lumps were would be just a little greener. That a man's death might produce so little. He took it all in one last time. So this is what a battlefield looks like. Son of a bitch.
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Fever: Fragment, From An Unfinished Novel
He awoke to fever and uncertainty. They blazed and rattled. He recognized them. They were not new. They were old friends come for a visit. They fit together well: feverish uncertainty. The fever came from his dying liver; he wasn't sure about the uncertainty. His body faltered; his mind quavered. Nothing would cure this, but he knew what would help. He knew that words and whiskey and sleep would soothe him. Food was out of the question, as was effort. The day was already over, but he wasn't, quite. He could still build a fire. He could still breathe. He read a little. Something appropriate. Faulkner. He sipped some whiskey, emptied his mind and let sleep approach. Today was accounted for. He wasn't dead yet. Tomorrow was another matter and none of his business. He was busy in the now. Let go. Trust. Surrender. Drift; sink; sleep. Nothing else matters, anymore. He had seen it all before. Everyone dies alone.
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Desire Never Ends
I have been
cold so long
that warmth
is just
a memory.
Come to me,
Lady,
and build
the fire
that will
set me free.
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cold so long
that warmth
is just
a memory.
Come to me,
Lady,
and build
the fire
that will
set me free.
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Asphodel
How I wish I could sail
to that fabled land
where otters frolic
and even the trees
murmur poetry
in French.
But I am ice-bound,
caught, for now,
in this frozen harbor.
We must be where we are.
Still, spring beckons;
soon, the sea will be free.
Unlikely as it may seem,
anything is possible
for a pirate
with a passport
on a mission.
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to that fabled land
where otters frolic
and even the trees
murmur poetry
in French.
But I am ice-bound,
caught, for now,
in this frozen harbor.
We must be where we are.
Still, spring beckons;
soon, the sea will be free.
Unlikely as it may seem,
anything is possible
for a pirate
with a passport
on a mission.
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Death Is A Hunter
- for Kyra
Death is a hunter
who never misses.
He stalks us all,
patiently awaiting
the proper moment,
takes perfect aim, fires,
and thinks we are gone.
Death is a gatherer
ceaselessly collecting,
eternally foraging,
and when he finds us
he slips us into his bag
and thinks we are gone.
Death is a messenger
delivering the telegram
that says our time is up.
He reads it to us
and thinks we are gone.
But death is mistaken.
Death is certain,
but it is not final.
The world we touched
is changed forever
by our journey in it,
however brief or long.
Something of us remains
in a child, a garden,
a painting, a poem,
a kiss or a caress.
Our hearts stop beating,
but breath does not depart.
Those we leave behind
have only to inhale
and once again
we are with them,
and within them.
Bodies die; love never does.
Each life, sacred and eternal,
inspires Creation.
We are never truly gone.
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Death is a hunter
who never misses.
He stalks us all,
patiently awaiting
the proper moment,
takes perfect aim, fires,
and thinks we are gone.
Death is a gatherer
ceaselessly collecting,
eternally foraging,
and when he finds us
he slips us into his bag
and thinks we are gone.
Death is a messenger
delivering the telegram
that says our time is up.
He reads it to us
and thinks we are gone.
But death is mistaken.
Death is certain,
but it is not final.
The world we touched
is changed forever
by our journey in it,
however brief or long.
Something of us remains
in a child, a garden,
a painting, a poem,
a kiss or a caress.
Our hearts stop beating,
but breath does not depart.
Those we leave behind
have only to inhale
and once again
we are with them,
and within them.
Bodies die; love never does.
Each life, sacred and eternal,
inspires Creation.
We are never truly gone.
- mce
Friday, January 15, 2010
A Pirate's Pledge
Only let me
enter your harbor,
Lady, awhile
and I will linger
there, long enough,
to make you smile.
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enter your harbor,
Lady, awhile
and I will linger
there, long enough,
to make you smile.
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Stay Your Hand, Hangman...
As it turns out, the class I thought wouldn't run will. Of course, no one told me, so I didn't show up for the first session. First time in 32 years in the biz that that ever happened.
So I have been reinstated from destitute to merely poor. God Bless America, land where even anarchist poets can eke out a marginal (if uncertain) living...
To celebrate, I'm off to score a fifth of bourbon. Hey, life can be a bitch, you have to celebrate occasions like this.
Later today, I'll nip at the whiskey, tend the fire and re-watch Avatar, which I pirated last week.
All's well that ends well. Oops, someone already said that. How about, money and women show up in their own good time. I said that.
Into the day...
So I have been reinstated from destitute to merely poor. God Bless America, land where even anarchist poets can eke out a marginal (if uncertain) living...
To celebrate, I'm off to score a fifth of bourbon. Hey, life can be a bitch, you have to celebrate occasions like this.
Later today, I'll nip at the whiskey, tend the fire and re-watch Avatar, which I pirated last week.
All's well that ends well. Oops, someone already said that. How about, money and women show up in their own good time. I said that.
Into the day...
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Self/Realization
If I can but
squeeze through
the narrow Bardo
one more time,
perhaps
I'll get it right.
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squeeze through
the narrow Bardo
one more time,
perhaps
I'll get it right.
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Root Song
Somewhere,
not far
beneath this
crunchy white
carpet,
life waits for
light and warmth
to try again.
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not far
beneath this
crunchy white
carpet,
life waits for
light and warmth
to try again.
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Devotional
Reading poetry,
early in the morning,
very nearly
restores my life,
only not quite.
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early in the morning,
very nearly
restores my life,
only not quite.
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Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Consensus Reality
She tells me,
as I unbutton
her dress,
that she no longer
believes in love;
I murmur
feigned agreement,
but stick to
the task at hand.
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as I unbutton
her dress,
that she no longer
believes in love;
I murmur
feigned agreement,
but stick to
the task at hand.
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Legacy
- for my students
Beginning a new semester
once again I encounter
bright, thoughtless faces
staring at me as if
I were a curious, irrelevant
antiquity from a museum
they don't wish to visit.
The earth is fresh to them
and they are unbruised,
for a little while yet,
by the unforgiving realities
that life must provide.
I shuffle papers and make
solemn pronouncements
about the beauty of learning.
They yawn and fondle
the ubiquitous cell-phones
I have so cruelly
ordered turned off.
I no longer envy them
their youth or their future.
They remind me of pigeons
ready to be plucked.
I am tempted to tell them
the necessary brutal truths:
half their marriages
will end in anger and divorce,
others will drag on in despair;
there is no such thing
as true love forever and ever;
the jobs they dream of will
mostly be empty and boring
and obsolete in short order;
the corporations and the usurers
have already captured the world;
that the earth is poisoned
and dying a slow, certain death;
how there are no more secrets
and the government may now legally
read their texts and emails,
listen to their conversations
and learn down to the last moan
even how and with whom
they make love;
that there will be more
than just rumors of war
and they will have to pay for them
in blood, loss and treasure;
that God is otherwise occupied
crushing children in Haiti;
that we have utterly failed them.
But I don't, of course.
They wouldn't hear me if I tried.
Bloody, weeping holocaust
that it has always been,
the world must be rediscovered
by every shiny, new generation.
Mentally wishing them luck,
I do my job, stick to the syllabus,
say a prayer for their possibilities,
turn it all over to them, smile,
and continue to pretend.
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Beginning a new semester
once again I encounter
bright, thoughtless faces
staring at me as if
I were a curious, irrelevant
antiquity from a museum
they don't wish to visit.
The earth is fresh to them
and they are unbruised,
for a little while yet,
by the unforgiving realities
that life must provide.
I shuffle papers and make
solemn pronouncements
about the beauty of learning.
They yawn and fondle
the ubiquitous cell-phones
I have so cruelly
ordered turned off.
I no longer envy them
their youth or their future.
They remind me of pigeons
ready to be plucked.
I am tempted to tell them
the necessary brutal truths:
half their marriages
will end in anger and divorce,
others will drag on in despair;
there is no such thing
as true love forever and ever;
the jobs they dream of will
mostly be empty and boring
and obsolete in short order;
the corporations and the usurers
have already captured the world;
that the earth is poisoned
and dying a slow, certain death;
how there are no more secrets
and the government may now legally
read their texts and emails,
listen to their conversations
and learn down to the last moan
even how and with whom
they make love;
that there will be more
than just rumors of war
and they will have to pay for them
in blood, loss and treasure;
that God is otherwise occupied
crushing children in Haiti;
that we have utterly failed them.
But I don't, of course.
They wouldn't hear me if I tried.
Bloody, weeping holocaust
that it has always been,
the world must be rediscovered
by every shiny, new generation.
Mentally wishing them luck,
I do my job, stick to the syllabus,
say a prayer for their possibilities,
turn it all over to them, smile,
and continue to pretend.
- mce
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Night Thoughts
It's 3:30 AM. Can't sleep. Found out today that one of my classes won't run. Low enrollment.
On the upside, this means 100 fewer inept, boring, pointless soul-killing papers to read this semester. That's a very good thing. On the downside, this will move me from poverty to destitution. Bummer.
What's a poor boy to do? Fret? Be blue? Not I. No, in the true American spirit of initiative and self-reliance, I have chosen a nobler (albeit short-term) solution. I'm getting high, drinking up some borrowed scotch and watching the director's cut of Animal House.
I'm not positive, but I suspect that the Meaning of Life is hidden in Animal House. I've only seen it 20 or so times, but each time I feel I'm getting closer to discovering The Secret. Enlightenment isn't easy. You have to keep at these things.
What about the future? Well, in the morning I'll be beat, bleary and still broke. That would happen in any case. Fortunately, we pirates know the truth about tomorrow. Truth is, there is no tomorrow. It never comes. It's all the same long-assed day.
If there is one thing I've learned in the last three years, it's that moments matter, and at the moment, I'm feeling pretty damned good. Hoist the Jolly Roger. Pour another drink. Argh... matey, call it a victory. Sail on.
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On the upside, this means 100 fewer inept, boring, pointless soul-killing papers to read this semester. That's a very good thing. On the downside, this will move me from poverty to destitution. Bummer.
What's a poor boy to do? Fret? Be blue? Not I. No, in the true American spirit of initiative and self-reliance, I have chosen a nobler (albeit short-term) solution. I'm getting high, drinking up some borrowed scotch and watching the director's cut of Animal House.
I'm not positive, but I suspect that the Meaning of Life is hidden in Animal House. I've only seen it 20 or so times, but each time I feel I'm getting closer to discovering The Secret. Enlightenment isn't easy. You have to keep at these things.
What about the future? Well, in the morning I'll be beat, bleary and still broke. That would happen in any case. Fortunately, we pirates know the truth about tomorrow. Truth is, there is no tomorrow. It never comes. It's all the same long-assed day.
If there is one thing I've learned in the last three years, it's that moments matter, and at the moment, I'm feeling pretty damned good. Hoist the Jolly Roger. Pour another drink. Argh... matey, call it a victory. Sail on.
- mce
Monday, January 11, 2010
Self-Help
Americans scramble about
like hyperactive lemmings
trying to fix themselves.
Vanity; egotistic futility;
pointless self-obsession.
How can you fix yourself
when you are already you?
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like hyperactive lemmings
trying to fix themselves.
Vanity; egotistic futility;
pointless self-obsession.
How can you fix yourself
when you are already you?
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Zen Fantasy
Trying in vain
to keep warm,
he accidentally
burned down
his shack.
As the flames rose,
he attained
enlightenment.
Such brilliance!
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to keep warm,
he accidentally
burned down
his shack.
As the flames rose,
he attained
enlightenment.
Such brilliance!
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Jim Harrison
"To write a poem you must first create a pen that will write what you want to say. For better or worse, this is the work of a lifetime."
Evocation
Come, Muse,
don't be just
another teasing
bitch.
Sing through me.
Time is short.
Everyone dies.
Breathe into me
while I still
have a voice.
No one wants
a song
from a corpse.
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don't be just
another teasing
bitch.
Sing through me.
Time is short.
Everyone dies.
Breathe into me
while I still
have a voice.
No one wants
a song
from a corpse.
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Battle
A hour and a half
of stuffing the stove
and it's forty-two degrees
inside the shack.
Existence has become
hand to hand combat
with the elements.
The elements appear
to be winning.
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of stuffing the stove
and it's forty-two degrees
inside the shack.
Existence has become
hand to hand combat
with the elements.
The elements appear
to be winning.
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Sunday, January 10, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Pedagogical Sentence
- "A college professor is someone who talks in someone else's sleep." - W. H. Auden
Off to teach once again.
Another semester beckons.
Students who don't read,
respect or understand words.
Colleagues mostly
young enough to be
my own children.
Migrant worker wages.
If only I had learned
a decent, honest trade,
like mortician or plumber,
I wouldn't be in this fix.
Oh well, we must all do
what will feed us.
Once more, into the breach.
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Off to teach once again.
Another semester beckons.
Students who don't read,
respect or understand words.
Colleagues mostly
young enough to be
my own children.
Migrant worker wages.
If only I had learned
a decent, honest trade,
like mortician or plumber,
I wouldn't be in this fix.
Oh well, we must all do
what will feed us.
Once more, into the breach.
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Silenus Laments
Silenus, sad
old satyr,
wearied
of seduction.
He'd cultivated
enough nymphs
to last
an immortal
lifetime.
They were
all the same
anyway,
ubiquitous,
their beatific
bottoms lifted
and eager
to be impaled.
He dreamed
of mortal women,
wary and
with wiles.
A bit more of
a challenge.
But a job
is a job,
even for
a demigod.
Onward
he plowed.
Another furrow.
Back to work.
Hard at it.
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old satyr,
wearied
of seduction.
He'd cultivated
enough nymphs
to last
an immortal
lifetime.
They were
all the same
anyway,
ubiquitous,
their beatific
bottoms lifted
and eager
to be impaled.
He dreamed
of mortal women,
wary and
with wiles.
A bit more of
a challenge.
But a job
is a job,
even for
a demigod.
Onward
he plowed.
Another furrow.
Back to work.
Hard at it.
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Anomaly
The sunlight kissed snow
is pregnant with prisms;
they birth colors
that swarm and dance
like graceful children
within the whiteness.
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is pregnant with prisms;
they birth colors
that swarm and dance
like graceful children
within the whiteness.
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Exquisite Impedimenta
Lady, though
it weighs
upon me,
to abandon
the memory
of your eyes
would be
to discard
the very hope
of Magick.
I will carry
this load
a bit farther.
Some burdens
are a pleasure
to bear.
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it weighs
upon me,
to abandon
the memory
of your eyes
would be
to discard
the very hope
of Magick.
I will carry
this load
a bit farther.
Some burdens
are a pleasure
to bear.
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Incantation
He can't afford a sacrifice,
the priests do not work cheap;
he's standing on the lip of Hell
considering a leap.
Will you walk beside him now
to the edge of the abyss,
and stay that final footstep,
preserve him with a kiss?
The moneys gone, the game is up,
he's missed the gleaming prize;
there's cold within his lonely bones,
there's sorrow in his eyes.
He needs to know there's still a chance
to feel the brush of grace,
the lost caress of hopefulness
upon his aging face.
Throw the Tarot, toss the coins,
hear what the spirits say;
he needs a resurrection
on this January day.
So will you walk beside him now
to the edge of the abyss,
and stay that final footstep,
preserve him with a kiss?
For the world is gray and barren,
the land is deep in snow;
he's standing on the lip of Hell
with nowhere left to go.
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the priests do not work cheap;
he's standing on the lip of Hell
considering a leap.
Will you walk beside him now
to the edge of the abyss,
and stay that final footstep,
preserve him with a kiss?
The moneys gone, the game is up,
he's missed the gleaming prize;
there's cold within his lonely bones,
there's sorrow in his eyes.
He needs to know there's still a chance
to feel the brush of grace,
the lost caress of hopefulness
upon his aging face.
Throw the Tarot, toss the coins,
hear what the spirits say;
he needs a resurrection
on this January day.
So will you walk beside him now
to the edge of the abyss,
and stay that final footstep,
preserve him with a kiss?
For the world is gray and barren,
the land is deep in snow;
he's standing on the lip of Hell
with nowhere left to go.
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Friday, January 8, 2010
Conversation
Reading, alone in this
mortuary silent cabin,
the words seem to shout
from the pages.
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mortuary silent cabin,
the words seem to shout
from the pages.
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Autobiography
I move south,
away from winter.
Middle-Tennessee
experiences
the longest streak
of sub-freezing days
in twenty years.
These two sentences
contain the story
of my life.
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away from winter.
Middle-Tennessee
experiences
the longest streak
of sub-freezing days
in twenty years.
These two sentences
contain the story
of my life.
- mce
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Economics 101
I was born poor.
Fifty-eight years later,
I am still poor.
Somewhere in between,
there must lurk a lesson
I haven't learned.
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Fifty-eight years later,
I am still poor.
Somewhere in between,
there must lurk a lesson
I haven't learned.
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Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Only A Memory
Limpid and glowing,
your green eyes
were emeralds
dripping light
into the darkness
of my life.
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your green eyes
were emeralds
dripping light
into the darkness
of my life.
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In Search Of Lost Time
Five years ago today
I retrieved my divorce decree
from a mailbox in the rain.
A marriage begun in light and bright,
ended in damp and drizzle.
Thirty years of life wasted in-between;
the longest, most expensive blind date
in all of history.
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I retrieved my divorce decree
from a mailbox in the rain.
A marriage begun in light and bright,
ended in damp and drizzle.
Thirty years of life wasted in-between;
the longest, most expensive blind date
in all of history.
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Quelle
For each poet,
only one poem exists.
Again and again, we attempt
to write it down, exactly
as it should be.
It shifts and sways and eludes.
This is like trying
to capture moonbeams,
the work of a lifetime.
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only one poem exists.
Again and again, we attempt
to write it down, exactly
as it should be.
It shifts and sways and eludes.
This is like trying
to capture moonbeams,
the work of a lifetime.
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My Job
From the pellucid
night sky,
a waning half-moon
spills frozen light
on writhen branches
of forlorn trees.
Two owls
hoot conversation.
A distant coyote
attempts to join in.
I am the amanuensis
of early morning:
if I do not
write this down,
no one will know;
this useless,
frigid beauty
will disappear
unnoticed
with the dawn.
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night sky,
a waning half-moon
spills frozen light
on writhen branches
of forlorn trees.
Two owls
hoot conversation.
A distant coyote
attempts to join in.
I am the amanuensis
of early morning:
if I do not
write this down,
no one will know;
this useless,
frigid beauty
will disappear
unnoticed
with the dawn.
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Inspiration
If you were here
and warm,
I would inhale
your breath,
hold your spirit
in my lungs
and become
young again.
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and warm,
I would inhale
your breath,
hold your spirit
in my lungs
and become
young again.
- mce
After The Battle
Looking at a stand
of broken trees,
fallen and strewn
randomly about
by the wind,
I remember
the futility of war.
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of broken trees,
fallen and strewn
randomly about
by the wind,
I remember
the futility of war.
- mce
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Hepatitis C Morning
The assiduous virus
spikes and writhes
in my tainted blood
nibbling at my liver,
eating up my time.
Energy disappears;
I shine and glow;
my stomach tumbles.
The mortality worm
chomps and gnaws.
All I did to earn this
was try to save
a few friendly lives.
The lesson learned
is that there is no
lesson to be learned.
The law of unintended
consequences
operates ineluctably.
No one to blame,
not even God.
In the end, we all fall.
Shit simply happens.
Don't mean nothing,
nothing at all.
- mce
spikes and writhes
in my tainted blood
nibbling at my liver,
eating up my time.
Energy disappears;
I shine and glow;
my stomach tumbles.
The mortality worm
chomps and gnaws.
All I did to earn this
was try to save
a few friendly lives.
The lesson learned
is that there is no
lesson to be learned.
The law of unintended
consequences
operates ineluctably.
No one to blame,
not even God.
In the end, we all fall.
Shit simply happens.
Don't mean nothing,
nothing at all.
- mce
Monday, January 4, 2010
Heartsease
Waking to the resonance
of a woman
breathing gently
nearby
in the night:
the irenic murmuring
of the flesh
dispelling darkness.
- mce
of a woman
breathing gently
nearby
in the night:
the irenic murmuring
of the flesh
dispelling darkness.
- mce
"The Real Deserts Are Outside Of Tradition."
The protocols
of morning
engender
resurrection:
rising at five,
coffee laced
with bourbon;
lighting the initial
cigarette;
the sounds of Bach;
urging a new fire
to life;
watching dawn
break from
the frozen deck;
even visiting
the frigid outhouse.
These small acts,
repeated daily,
become rites
that mold
and shape the
random disorder
of existence,
coax meaning
from the bedlam
of being.
Ritual extirpates chaos;
the world returns
to light.
- mce
of morning
engender
resurrection:
rising at five,
coffee laced
with bourbon;
lighting the initial
cigarette;
the sounds of Bach;
urging a new fire
to life;
watching dawn
break from
the frozen deck;
even visiting
the frigid outhouse.
These small acts,
repeated daily,
become rites
that mold
and shape the
random disorder
of existence,
coax meaning
from the bedlam
of being.
Ritual extirpates chaos;
the world returns
to light.
- mce
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Arizona Dreaming
Five AM.
Ten degrees outside,
Thirty-eight inside.
Water's frozen.
Wood's frozen.
I'm freezing.
Thought I'd
moved south.
Instead, I wake
to arctic reality.
The Tennessee
guidebooks never
mentioned this.
Next winter,
I swear,
will find me
in the desert.
- mce
Ten degrees outside,
Thirty-eight inside.
Water's frozen.
Wood's frozen.
I'm freezing.
Thought I'd
moved south.
Instead, I wake
to arctic reality.
The Tennessee
guidebooks never
mentioned this.
Next winter,
I swear,
will find me
in the desert.
- mce
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Fuel
I heat my shack
with wood and whiskey,
absolute necessities
of the rustic life,
and it requires
a good deal of both.
Cedar and oak,
bourbon and coffee,
these are the body
and the blood,
without and within,
sources of warmth,
sustenance of life,
forever and ever,
fires without end
or at least
until spring,
(I hope).
- mce
with wood and whiskey,
absolute necessities
of the rustic life,
and it requires
a good deal of both.
Cedar and oak,
bourbon and coffee,
these are the body
and the blood,
without and within,
sources of warmth,
sustenance of life,
forever and ever,
fires without end
or at least
until spring,
(I hope).
- mce
'Twas The Season
The dreaded holidays recede.
Greed and gluttony,
bogus religiosity,
mandatory jollity,
painful remembrance,
all depart for another year.
The merchandising serpents,
having sold their apples,
slither back to their offices
to count the take.
The usurers smile
and unbutton their vests.
The God of Mammon
is sated for a while.
The possibilities
of real life return
and that is truly
something to celebrate.
- mce
Greed and gluttony,
bogus religiosity,
mandatory jollity,
painful remembrance,
all depart for another year.
The merchandising serpents,
having sold their apples,
slither back to their offices
to count the take.
The usurers smile
and unbutton their vests.
The God of Mammon
is sated for a while.
The possibilities
of real life return
and that is truly
something to celebrate.
- mce
Friday, January 1, 2010
Foolishness
I admit that
I have been
a fool for love.
I don't care.
It was worth it.
If you won't be
a fool for love,
you will always
be a fool.
- mce
I have been
a fool for love.
I don't care.
It was worth it.
If you won't be
a fool for love,
you will always
be a fool.
- mce
Princess
I should have
forgotten you
long ago.
It hurt.
Impossible.
Those green eyes
will never
let me go.
Time passes.
Things change.
We move on.
But even in the
longest silences,
I have always
missed you,
do still,
always will.
- mce
forgotten you
long ago.
It hurt.
Impossible.
Those green eyes
will never
let me go.
Time passes.
Things change.
We move on.
But even in the
longest silences,
I have always
missed you,
do still,
always will.
- mce
Transformations
I am splitting wood
with my brand new
just bought yesterday
eight pound maul.
Gripping its very cool
red fiberglass handle
I whack with abandon.
I am transformed.
No longer just an aging
refugee college professor,
I am become
a mighty woodsman,
a handsome lumberjack,
PAUL FUCKING BUNYAN!
Only now, my back hurts.
I need a cigarette,
a drink and a nap.
Transformations,
they always come
with such a price.
- mce
with my brand new
just bought yesterday
eight pound maul.
Gripping its very cool
red fiberglass handle
I whack with abandon.
I am transformed.
No longer just an aging
refugee college professor,
I am become
a mighty woodsman,
a handsome lumberjack,
PAUL FUCKING BUNYAN!
Only now, my back hurts.
I need a cigarette,
a drink and a nap.
Transformations,
they always come
with such a price.
- mce
Trinity
- for JLB
In his whole life,
he had loved
only three women;
she was the last.
If love
is a Trinity,
that makes her
his Holy Ghost,
the breath of God,
always present,
never visible:
so stunningly
appropriate.
- mce
In his whole life,
he had loved
only three women;
she was the last.
If love
is a Trinity,
that makes her
his Holy Ghost,
the breath of God,
always present,
never visible:
so stunningly
appropriate.
- mce
Resolutions
Eat more often.
Be grateful for breath.
Notice smiles.
Smile back.
Surrender to serenity.
Get a cat.
Split more wood.
Build bigger fires.
Stay warm.
Drown in desire.
Embrace Creation,
flawed but gorgeous.
Walk in beauty.
Taste the breeze.
Touch someone's heart.
Feel the music.
Find the blaze of light
in every word.
Remember the best.
Learn from the worst.
Continue...
- mce
Be grateful for breath.
Notice smiles.
Smile back.
Surrender to serenity.
Get a cat.
Split more wood.
Build bigger fires.
Stay warm.
Drown in desire.
Embrace Creation,
flawed but gorgeous.
Walk in beauty.
Taste the breeze.
Touch someone's heart.
Feel the music.
Find the blaze of light
in every word.
Remember the best.
Learn from the worst.
Continue...
- mce
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