April 1, 2025
A Nap
I want to die like Old King Hamlet
Asleep, in my garden
Surrounded by white azaleas
Heavy, with fragrance
And time
I'll doze
Heavy lids
Cursed hebenon
In the porches
Of my ear.
I'll sleep.
Macbeth
I want to die like Toshiro Mifune
In “Throne of Blood”
Mad, dancing, showered
With long arrows
Defiant
Silent
All
Nana
I don't fold down the corners
Of the pages
Of the books
That I read.
Nana taught me not too.
And then she gave me her name.
The books, its pages are sacred.
Alabaster temples
Polished, sepulchral,
Etched sharply with
Serif font
Type set
Containing worlds.
Like Nana's apartment on
Thoreau Street.
Hot, stuffy
With plastic covered couches
Coffee table books
And Christmas tins
Layered with wax paper
And chocolate chip cookies
Thin and sweet.
April 2, 2025
Texting
I wish i could text my dog.
This world is so unfair.
She stares at me
with baleful eyes,
From the bottom of the stairs.
Her grey squat paws
and jagged nails
clack on scuffed
linoleum floor.
No shape to sounds
Heavy, deep exhales
She wags her bloodied tail.
I start to dial her number.
I draft my text three times.
Until i'm struck
With cold alarm
My dog is just not there.
Dark whimsy
I'm not here because of you
I'm here in spite of you
I hurt because of you
But I stay in spite of me
I’m desperate to be loved
But I’d rather just be free
Free of you, of me
Left alone
A lonely me
April 3
Is Texting Like Writing Poetry?
My favorite ones are silent
Elliptical phrases
Round with truth
And BLUSTER
all caps, not shouting
but urgency
Can you hear me?
Do you see me?
Are you listening? To me?
Brief moments of eternity
Followed by you
And your truths, too
God bless those texts
Messages that mean so much
Messages that flash then disappear
Like me
And you
April 4
Liberation
Today you told me you levied tariffs
On wheat, semiconductors, and basic chemicals,
Like ethylene and sulfuric acid.
When you talk about fundamental building blocks
I think about DNA or blood
Or the tears we shared last night.
I wonder if my heart is sailing back and forth
Across the Pacific
In rusted orange and blue shipping containers
Buoyed by hot bluster and empty words.
What end in sight?
Will Toyotas and televisions be more dear?
Will longing glances be collected at the border,
Held up by customs?
Or can we just settle our arguments,
Find resolve at home
And sleep together tonight.
April 5
Chapel
With a tempo di forte,
In a cold brick chapel
We sing, a hymn of remembering
With notes that declaim why we climbed this hill in the first place,
and why we gathered to pray.
I do not seek god in small places,
or with big gestures like kneeling or prayer.
Instead, i ask for for forgiveness or at least a blessing,
a calm hand on my forehead as i bend my knee at the altar.
I am terrified of god, of all endings.
And I am motionless at beginnings,
holding my breath,
awaiting a word that frees me up to love, to move.
I will find peace if you allow it.
I will be loved if you accept it.
April 7, 2025
"88"
I am not a Jackson Pollock, especially not Convergence, 1952.
Though right now my insides disagree.
Especially the red and yellow bits.
I am nauseous,
with words usually.
Too many in my little cranium,
crammed in, with no room to breathe.
I long for Pollock’s passion,
without the blue wreck, though;
punctuation be damned
Well, maybe the occasional semi-colon,
if I’m feeling spicy.
You can hang me in a cleanly lit gallery,
with purple couches for viewing comfort,
as long as it doesn’t get too crowded.
I don’t like too many people.
Just you, and my mom, and Jackson Pollock
But not the Jackson Pollock that painted
“Convergence”, 1952.
The other one.
April 8, 2025
What if I am the anomaly,
the glitch that skips through time?
What if I can’t be solved,
even though you have tried.
Centuries have passed,
like this summer morning,
with perfect water drops,
extended stalks of long grass
and time. So much time to pass.
The sun warms me,
from so far away
and leaves me cold when it sets.
I will keep looking, but I’m not sure
what I will find.
April 9, 2025
The webs that hold us together, that bind us,
should be as strong as the gossamer strands,
found in early morning dew.
Globes of light, radiant, shining
through us, as we dissolve like
moon light and awaken to
a bold orange glow.
I'm at a loss for words,
but my heart beats steadily,
with quiet longing,
anticipating your return.
April 10, 2025
For years I’ve been told
to face my monsters
or maybe it was your fears
To be honest, I don’t remember
and I’m afraid that I won’t
ever
know
How am I supposed
to be content? At peace, or some Dalai Lama shit?
I shouldn’t curse, but I’m mad sad, distressed
the British would say gutted but that sounds too bloody, like
viscera spilling over the page
I like being happy, I enjoy the flirty feeling of being tipsy
drifty as I
slide
into
bed
But that won’t do. I need focus, I can’t see
all around me
but that might be because
my glasses are smudgy
And the prescription
or just my eyes
are
weak.
April 12, 2025
RAGE
Take off your rape face, boy
put it away
up on the shelf,
next to your patent leather js.
I challenge you to be succinct
less swagger
more sympathy
less blather
add more empathy
to your world.
It is
NOT
YOURS
ALONE
though you probably feel that way.
trust women
listen to girls
be kind
be heart-full
to gay, straight, lesbian, bi, all letters
all sexes, all no sexes
all walks of life
They are you and you are them!
Whitman WAS RIGHT
Oh me, Oh how much
Whitman WAS RIGHT!
April 12, 2025
Has't not thou
dropped from heaven?
I’m talking to my dog, not you
she listens to me, you see
lost in my eyes, with me
she walks and talks, yes talks,
i said!
We have long, meaningful conversations
about sunsets and the bond markets
and she is always
spot on
Well, more dirty gray with a white spot on her snout
spot is wrong, no, not your Spot
She is always right!
in fact, she's told me some things
that you need to hear
right now,
now back to
my Mila.
Did i tell you she quoted Shakespeare to me
this morning?
so darn smart
April 13, 2025
I have a way with words
that set fire to fields of thoughts aflame with acrid smoke
ancient red cedar
before all of us
consumed by hate and
lushly smothered
by yellow green moss
tendrils of my love
and leggy phlox bifida with
pale flowers marking where i fell
aside a weathered stump
scorched with your words
my scars
fresh blood
marked with tears
if i grow again
fresh branch and leaves
will you love me
once more?
April 14, 2025
I’m at a loss for words today
I cannot draw breath
or find my way out of my skin
by ten, most days, I slip past my fingertips
and find a quiet nook to write
I join Emerson on the commons
all legs and one unblinking eye
and I scribble my words
for no one to read or hear
"I love myself, my words, my process"
I mutter like a broken mantra in the dark
so instead I’ll crawl back into bed
broken or maybe bruised
it's hard to say
you see, I’m at a loss for words today
and don’t know where to start
April 15, 2025
Seamus
see beauty where it is
not where you want it to be
crest fallen waves
recede from shores of longing
but leave foamy tendrils
of touch, after sweet kisses
lips unpucker
faces withdraw from whispering
but hushed words buzz
like honeyed bees of affection
ghostly yellowed magnolias
bloom unexpectedly
out of sight
triumphantly
like Heaney and his translation
i will sing
April 16, 2025
Copycat of John Dryden's "Happy The Man"
Malcontent the fool, and disgusted he alone,
He who can see the light that has shone:
He who, desperate within, can say,
Tomorrow I may die surrounded by ignorants today.
Be wise or stupid or foolish alone
The knowledge I possessed, in spite of myself, makes me groan.
Not death itself upon my life has power
But what I’ve seen, I’ve seen, and that has made me glower.
April 17, 2025
Life could be worse
Life could be a whole lot better too
When we bicker
Our egos get hung up on semantics
What modifies the subject
Is it the oomph of a subordinate clause
A clever retort, a casual aside,
Or is it a quiet nod in agreement
We love each other
With our eyes
But we don’t talk about it anymore
Is it better, our life together?
Is it worse?
I guess we’ll never know
That the answer is yes.
April 18, 2025
Neither atoms nor bits,
but dollars, loose change, we lose change
not everybody rules the world
but I'm left wondering
what's left, what's right,
and why is everything so wrong?
can i trust you?
will you wash my feet and pray for me?
I know you won't save me
with anger
so much to tear apart
to rent asunder
brick by brick
quiet by first light
but awake in the dark
listening to the house breathe
April 19 and 20, 2025
Why are the smallest battles the hardest to win?
Rolling Thunder set fire to the night in Khe San
And Willard lost his mind
The RAF flattened Dresden
while Billy Pilgrim wept
clear demarcation of victory
is not mine to claim
in the battles i wage
to find my bottle of shampoo
who stole it?
to pick up the dog's poop
why did i step in it
to answer all your questions when you won't answer mine
or say thank you or look me
in the eyes
when i talk about you or us or love
i slowly bleed out
on love's battlefield
wishing it was 1917
And i was headed for the Somme
Words for poems are hard to find. Not every day words like hello or hat. No, the words I'm talking about hide in strange places. Like in between notes in a Wes Montgomery solo, or after breaths drawn by a Tibetan monk. Sacred, tiny spaces , elusive butterflies, i am afraid to pin them down, i am afraid to lose them. will my daisies blossom? will the snap peas i planted late, right before a frost, will they grow? I struggle with words always, like coffee and love and sadness. They occupy me so often, i ache, my head is sore and i can't sleep.
April 21, 2025
Charles rides his Wayfarer bike to Oldcastle town, chased down by his son who one day has a son himself, named Keenan, Keenan, who is laden with this shared last name and all of its dark burdens: Sheridan.
April 22, 2025
please bury me
in a shady spot
under an old oak tree
evergreen, serrated leaves
like the knife I cut my steaks with
bloody, a bit raw
unresolved
tender to the touch
Some afternoon sun
would be lovely
but not necessary
some days hot
others cold
it matters only
to those that take
a moment to
visit
please vist
April 23, 2025
to all my dear friends
I'm too tired to write
my lids are heavy
and my heart is not right
my shovel won't dig
my pen has no ink
if i sit still or stop
I'm afraid of what i'll think
god bless us all
the wicked, the weary, and the worn
but please dear god
let me make it to the morn'