Friday, July 17, 2015

small batch

Common Plight

Everyday soldier at home with weapons, trained
to kill with them, caught in an endless ceasefire.



Darkness keeps a careful book,
absolutely strict and utterly indifferent to the just.
Whatever walks in light casts shadow,
whether worn by itself or grafted to another’s back.



the pleasure of right action

   soft rain after drought  


joyful    sorrowful            deep




The Danger

(an addendum to Browning)

Always reaching and reaching too far
     too far too far too far
can make of grasp a fantasy act
without power to add or subtract
     or fully attract
     or really bar—


Door Too Fast  

Old man pulling from that side
while I push from this, lost in thought,

not seeing him through the little window.

The door flies open, sending us both                
scrambling to stay upright on the slippery tiles.


August 15 2012

The world is small
and stretched tight like a drum

Everywhere I go                                     
I hear your quiet footsteps beside me


Who has not seen
the glow of loved ones
vanish, never to return?

Who has not seen
each night the pitted moon
rise here, rise there?


It Can Be Hard to Tell                                   

Half-stoned on a new drug, or just
another sleepy being in slow springtime.
Brain-molecules swaddling synapses
in cotton junk, or a seed shrugging
tumid shoulders in damp dark, tuned          
to the rumour of warm, light-filled
presences that will require nothing.


Keeping On 

     vita longa ars brevis

So hard
& rare

to get worse




So many great poems lost                                                     
because an inner voice said That is not
what a poem should be, not what it should contain.

And if for poems one reads: moments, hours, lives?


My gate so narrow,
only rarest diamonds pass.                    

My gate so wide,
diamonds tumble among the trash!

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