Jun 12, 2021 | Blank Verse |
Ambiguous privacy of poem What no one knows is all mine It shines in my quiet night It stars in my inside sky Song is made well before song It pours out found and...
May 23, 2018 | Blank Verse |
I understand very little but the hordes coming behind me know so much I admire them and fear them perhaps a few have kinship to me are baffled as I was, as I am I count myself fortunate to see the light that I see, to see by my own lights The illusion of ownership barely lingers in me, I belong to my body, not the reverse There is tenderness for what is and can be easily abolished. The dark of violence frightens me The hordes coming behind me know so much, but do not yet know how little it is, we...
Mar 10, 2018 | Free Verse, Tries |
In the night he played the organ of sorrows whose vast pipes spanned continents and whose music was time, the sea in which he swam and dissolved to become a wail sounding the deep where beginning and end are one note...
Dec 31, 2015 | Blank Verse |
This April we have brought you along with us hiking these headlands you never knew you have been with us each step of the way, sometimes light, sometimes heavy, sometimes a dance of variegated shapes in the fog’s sheen, sometimes transparent, sometimes a suggestion; you have been here and you have been not here, both at once, so I have tried with each footfall to reconcile the two, failing as I knew I would the wildflowers are out celebrating the first spring after you and so many tule elk have gone to join you in this great drought and beauty is everywhere all around including the black hawks that dot the fog and also my joy in each breath we’ll walk some more, then more and then no more, but, while we walk, we’ll bring, sing you with...
Oct 18, 2015 | Free Verse |
The cat licks her paw to a Beethoven piano sonata then lowers her cheek and goes to sleep I sit and wrestle with my strangeness I am and am not all at once and the piano keeps on...
Sep 5, 2015 | Free Verse, Poetry |
Strange anything at all exists. What is, is! Profound tautology, but I can’t find a curtain to pull to let me see behind “is” Wittgenstein snorts like an impatient horse, “Haven’t you ever heard of getting snared in a language game?” This is the form fashionable in the West of what in Indo-Persian lore once was called a “tilism” * a magical landscape that can pass for real and hold you for a very long time, even your whole life. A substantial part of the beam of my attention, is always held in wonder that a pen can be, that I am, that a green shirt can be, that light and robins can be… I’m dazed by what other people take for granted. I’m a child or a fool or both mixed up together. The wonder of water and palm trees and the blue of sky And dark and stars and the ever unrolling scroll of dreams. I admit it: I’ve been lost all my life and this is where I’ve lived and this is who I’ve been An undeclared mystic *See the “Adventures of Amir...
