(H)ours

He took all the credit for green lights and always finding just the right words,

simply sitting there waiting for him, dutifully, right

where she left them.

He had a knack, he knew shortcuts.

Her mind went both ways,

of him, to her, for him, for them and then

perhaps she never said it in the first place,

since it was always his ideas

that she will be thankful for later.

There is a debt to be repaid for a life saved,

there is monetary value in a useful thing,

and a proper place 

she had never seen,

until he showed her the way

and locked the door on his way out

expecting her to be where he left her 

whenever he returns in need

of more perspective, flavor and wit.

But one day she was gone.

He found her 

empty of all things, she was smiling

with a faraway stare

and he felt anxious about his loss

not knowing any more about keeping places and sharp turns of phrase. 

Painting by Frans Hals, 'Portrait of a Man' c. 1650 in [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Thirteen ways of holding one's breath

I

Thru metamorphosis, emergence of

butterflies and frogs, spread and span

red cheeks, the gymnastic belly below

sticks it with

loins lurching

in love

untold dreams discontent 

unwonted wishes, woos and woes,

it comes and grows

infectious.

II

Heavy is the moment-

He is gone,

gone, gone, gone

Gone.

Generations gone by 

that beget her, 

forget her, the family moves on.

A casket, a Triscuit, 

another he dropped it,

and I put it in my pocket.

It is still there, in my jacket,

old as it is, new every time.

He was…

III

The spider, the car trouble, the anger,

the appliances, the curses,

the denial of utterance

which makes it so

makes it so,

laughable

as a bad day, a bad life, a stroke

of bad luck, 

against the odds

I would survive,

still born

dead. 

IV

All in. Cleared the accounts.

It has to happen now. 

It will be, what will be, it will,

still there remains 

doubt in the dregs.

V
Remind me:

You were never about you

were about them never being 

about you being you, or just you

and not them. They needed you

to be. You knew them before you

knew you were just being 

about them needing you needing 

them to be about being themselves and

not you being yourself to be by 

themselves, not you, being by yourself,

which would mean the end of you,
remember-

VI

Sow seeds are the things with feathers.

No, germination was more gentle.

Like television, what harm? What’s on? 

That’s always on.

And on lines, tapped for groundwater, mineral

rights and tracking cookie crumb trails,

I was being watched. 

I was being stalked, like prey, today.

A seed has been sown.

Murder,

she wrote, consumed him 

of her. 

VII

The same thing is

The same thing is

not 

the same thing is 

the same thing in

sanity.

VIII

Poison is in the food

poison is in the fear,

the body shrivels

the body resists

itself

healing.

IX

What has been done? What did you do?

About that-

Excuse us, excuses us,

in liberty, for just us,

to wait and seek happiness

coining it as pursuit

of private pleasures and 

philanthropic altruism,

we donate dirigible good

deeds, after our needs

have been met 

and mingled with resistance.

X

Go. I will 

meet you 

over

there.

XI

The next phase of the moon that wanes

knows how the shadows will fall 

before the darkness sets us in place.

XII

From inside the cave, gasping for air,

before light, 

unafraid of the burn, the yearning to yell

grips the mouthless beast 

hidden herself and longs to fill her lungs

with sound of feeling and exhale 

the pungent stench of death that goes

unheard,

the beast falls and the volcano erupts

with more of itself. 

XIII

If the sky holds you,

you will be carried

the rest 

of the Way.  

Inspired by Wallace Stevens poem "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"

Painting By Alexander Mann (1853–1908) (oil on canvas) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Caught in a (w)rec(k)tangle

When the house becomes too small to move-

Say-the mind a sliver, the air stagnates,

Move, make ninety degrees and push

yourself in the corner as close as you can

                                                    and wait,

settle eventually

                                      into splitting sides.

The edges are solid suggestions.

Only like (a)new angle,                thirty-three

vertebrae stacked spines of letters in cantos

                        Will line up to form new rays,

circular thoughts that roll off to escape

                                                       -common

nodes or intersects by a(n)arrow marginality.

Letterally, let us build this thing out

with meaning and not caulk it up impermeable

Around the double pane windows

Only to trap commas in between

Breath and rain

Between escape and containment

We will just

stay in place and listen

Accepting the sentence

as the last line

Insight. May be make more

empty dwelling spaces

To call a place

None like Home. 


Painting by Michiel Sweerts [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Mi casa es su casa

You dwell in poetry-
A vulnerable Place to linger-
Barbed wire Words on windows
Galvinized steel-for Definition-

Of Places inside, nested under Forest-
In seas of Autonomy-
And to the Horizon
Poetry meets the blurry eye-

Guests-the wandering-
For chance-serendipitous-
The unfolding of another Dimension
Fused within Imagery-

(A mimicry of Emily Dickinson's #466 I dwell in possibility...)
Image by Peleg, Wikimedia Commons, March 2008.