Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

In Cloistered Rooms of Trembling Sight

in days of shadow when the sun is bright and the wind is of ill
when all the world beneath the blight feels the fearful chill

in cloistered rooms of trembling sight we shelter from the kill
bodies bowed before the might as this plague works its will

be not dismayed o children of the light
while this tempest has its fill
the master of the day and the night
draws nigh and says
peace be still

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Stuck with Some Bad Company

i am sure my neighbors
get annoyed
but it’s one way i
shout i am alive
i will not
give in to the
fear

the first thing i do
once i get in the
truck is roll down the
windows and crank up the
stereo with some
bad company

i leave for work
electric guitars
screaming
drums banging
bass thumping
waking the neighborhood
with what has become
my rocking prayer

i can’t get
enough of your
love

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Giving Up Air

i wonder if i could be so gracious
if i could stare without fear into the unknown as my lungs cry out for oxygen
like my friend on the phone
who says if he was sick
he would let another have the ventilator
and move on into that other place
where there is no shortage
of breath

such are the choices that may
loom just over the horizon
while some discuss compensation
and the guns they possess
and others make soup and bread to share with those on the edge
i think of my loved ones who may not be with me in the coming days
the sadness that may await on the morrows

and yet i know that the spirit
blows where ere it will
the tops of the budding trees
gently sway before the
brightening sky
and now this morning at least
i feel a sense of peace
my heart expanding
like opening lungs
as the one who holds this
groaning world in her hands
breathes new life
and a love for all
into me

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

All that is Greek to Me

To succumb as did Socrates,

poisoned by hypocrisies,

and disregarded philosophies,

must I make peace with my mediocrities?

Am I enslaved to Euripedes,

a servant to Sophocles,

a traveler in tragedies,

fated to a future of futility?

Or like the ill-conceived bumble bee,

a waxy-winged Icarus cast into the sea,

or the golden-tongued Demosthenes,

will truth forever my guiding sun be?

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Sometimes It Seems All Of The Days Are Gray

sometimes it seems
all of the days are gray
and the doors closed
without a glimpse of the one
who steps across the threshold
you are the one who walks in the rain past the curious stares of dry children in their after school program coloring within
and further along past the empty storefronts waiting for new tenants
you smile at the woman smoking beneath the dripping eaves
the open sign flashing red behind her

inside at home it is warm
the lights cast off the chill
but you know that you can
never ever leave the gray behind

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Success (n.)

to not seek to possess

to be a man of largesse

to be capable of caress

to help others in distress

to not seek to impress

to be willing to confess

to offer redress

when i have transgressed

to not suppress

the need to express

to take time to process

and to decompress

to find the courage to profess

that i am a work in progress

to be steady in faithfulness

to bless

to resist unkindness

this then is my definition of success

more or less

Posted in Musings and Reflections

The Aging Artist Invisible

i awake from deep slumber with thoughts of yesterday’s sadness still raw in my heart and mind. the song break it down again comes to me here in the red light of a cold morning. the weight of what it means to be an aging artist invisible after years of work and where-what now to put my energy towards leaves me curled up in a ball. i have no answers. and yet there is something i think in not becoming overwhelmed by giant thoughts. break it down again. the big picture sometimes just gets bigger and bigger until it floods the senses and leaves me paralyzed by the unknown. break it down again. what are the bits and pieces of a satisfied life. what do i act on. no more sleepy dreaming. break it down again. this is more than success, ego, or legacy. i do not seek the spotlight, but i also am tired of toiling in the shadows. what is my forum. is it time for me to dim, or to burn bright with compassion, to fade into love for the other and leave my dying dreams behind. where can i find in me the beauty of decay.

Posted in Musings and Reflections

Do You Speak My Languish?

I prefer the older definitions. They seem less negative, more nuanced.

(archaic)
pine with love or grief.
“she still languished after Richard”
(archaic)
assume or display a sentimentally tender or melancholy expression or tone.
“when a visitor comes in, she smiles and languishes”

This then is an ode to the languishing. It is a place where one has arrived to find broken dreams, unfinished projects, hoped for successes all for naught.

Mr. Hughes spoke of holding fast to dreams, and mine remain close. Yet, I still feel like a broken winged bird that cannot fly, confused, shot from the sky by the unrealized.

Perhaps the time for holding fast is done.

I wonder if languishing is simply another word for letting go.

I do not like this place.

I am afraid.

I do not want to be labeled lazy.

And yet action for action sake is “sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

The tendency is to move! move, damnit!

Who or what determines a life’s success?

Do I still have a good heart, as she told me long ago? Perhaps I will ask her that today.

As my tongue lies thick in my mouth, while I try to learn this new language of languish.

Posted in Musings and Reflections

Awaiting 2020

last night
after i dropped him off
and made sure he was
comfortable in his room
i returned
through the fog
my world
like his
now smaller
farsight
a mass of white
revealed only
bit by bit
by going slow

i missed my turn off
confused by the changes
wrought by the mist
places once familiar
no longer
the lights adding
to my blindness
yet gradually
i found my
way home

i know not what
the new year holds
the next stop
on the journey
hidden within
the fog of
the not yet
faith keeps me
on the road
the answer
found perhaps
in my love for an
aging man
sitting alone
in a small
room