Fit And Counterfeit

Sep 26, 2022 | Sonnet | 0 comments

I am my own true fit and counterfeit, true gold and fool’s gold, their opposition not surviving this life’s intricacy, neither driving out each other’s other   What am I to make of myself but ceaseless forming of unresolvable formlessness, sometimes shameless in its heated heaving sometimes weighted with patient blind waiting?   In possessing myself, I dispossess myself of myself, pass into passing, leaving behind trinkets that mark a path beyond my own way of remembrances   “Am I or am I not?” becomes the sea of “was” or “was not,”,  time’s own shoreless “be”  ...

Slant

Sep 26, 2022 | Sonnet | 0 comments

Slant is how best it goes when it knows not wither or why it goes, truth or not ruth, entertainment or catastrophe, yet slant’s elusive as firmament’s first fire   was there a first photon or were all and awe then self-entangled, then, as now , caught in the net of nothing stretched impossibly to bear being beyond themselves, ah, light   yes light, this light, slant, makes sight and shadow the worrisome wisdom of our delight, the fierce fervor of our burgeoning fright as climate changes, so our climax, too   my self, illusion, to itself is slight and slant as well, star, lost in its own...

In Brazilian Portuguese

Sep 25, 2022 | Sonnet | 0 comments

In Brazilian Portuguese the samba is the sonnet, lovely lazy lively lilt slipping through shoulders, hips, lips, toes, hands to be breath and so smooth how time flowers   Before there were any words, Jobim made sun, sand, sea, saudade, me, and the girl who was completely sound without need of  flesh, she of the slightest  stirrings  of our air   No knowing now, ever,  how samba means outside itself, except it lilts us  let go grip of grasping selves, dance with shadows sculpted from blocking light of this, this… life   ah, sway, syncopated, counting deeper sweeter than any beat,  more…less...

Baby

Jun 13, 2021 | Haiku | 0 comments

Baby   A baby rabbit flushed from the liriope, still, stares, slips back in   The baby rabbit was the Buddha whom I flushed from liriope   All encompassing baby Buddha rabbit gaze summoned me awake   This is everything and nothing, baby rabbit as still as a stone...

The Morning Dew

Jun 12, 2021 | Poetry | 0 comments

In pride my bare feet crushed the dew of the morning field, before life taught me   I was as the dew, nothing more than mist that had cooled into a tiny reflective globe   I apologize for who I used to be, fleeting marauder of what I failed to understand   Remorse is not the end of wisdom, but yet it seems a beginning, as I walk mornings   That I never imagined, my feet more worn and yet more tender as I’m beside the...

Wedding Party

Jun 12, 2021 | Blank Verse | 0 comments

late stages of multiple sclerosis   we lift the wheelchair up over the stone entry steps ruined queen still on her throne   we are her wheelchair bearers who will soon be her pall bearers   inside the celebration goes on full of sound…   does she open even an eye, mother of the...