Poems

Lopped At Both Ends

/| Here I am
|\ There I was

. . . /|\ . . .

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Poems

Reaping Blades Of Sunny Grass

I was outside
Mowing the grass
When I thought,

People have got to go through
So much
Just to be so simple.

Each grown blade
Waiting,
Not a clue what’s coming;

I know what’s coming,
Yet haven’t a clue about it,
Except to say,

People take care
And that
Takes a life
Meant for giving.

Then,
Like a whirling blade,
Like a gunshot,
Like failure,
Like a crawl,
Like splendor,
Like life,

Comes mysteriously calling
Something I think like what I saw as myself
Behind the lawnmower that day.

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Poems

Today Is My Birthday

I saw it laying still
Across the street;
That was yesterday;
Still there today.

A shovel in one hand,
Black trashbag in the other,
I quickly cross the street.

Scooped it up, one hand holding the shovel
And trying to hold that bag open with the other
But the breeze is too strong–
Blows the trashbag closed,
Blows the birthday thoughts
Right out of my brain.

I look down, see its empty eye socket, and think again:
I live a dream
And that cat is dead,
For real.

There’s life,
Then there’s our lives.

But there’s only life.

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Poems

Beauty That Breaks

Beauty
That
Breaks,

The Sun
Goes down
On you, too.

In cold time,
The marrow
Gripped,
The heart’s storied bounty
Wrenched without ceremony,
And the soul’s triumph behind a heavenly body
Plunged from known existence.
(We know this)
But beauty has power
Like a godhead;
Breaks the self,
Fractures wit,
Tricks the mind by a tragic play of hunger laden dreams.

Thoughts build their aegis
Against the radiance
In a room
Under solemn dominion.
“In cold time,
Something else entirely,”
Screams an inner voice down the deep hollows.

In a hungry room of beaten beasts,
Beauty
That
Breaks,
You’re no home for rapacious hearts.
Where high tragic thoughts sired by the seeing mind
Defend their maker,
Beauty
That
Breaks,
I don’t fight, I don’t speak, I don’t move
Even when you move me.

Beauty
That
Breaks,
Love is the shield,
Kept me
From your reach.

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Poems

Men Are Shooting Stars

Men
Are shooting stars
Trying to outshine the moon;

Women,
Bear men:

Nature
Bears
All.

Can you not bear
A few years of
Madness;
Of work, worry and love?
(Ah, but there’s beauty!)

To extinguish your light;
Fall down
A humbled suppliant
Changed irrevocably
By the immutable truths of Nature?
(Ah, but there’s beauty!)

Go gently,
Go raging:
Just foolishness
When you go
All the same.

Know what you are
To be at peace within your power;
To go, naturally,
Without a mask.

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Poems

Says Nature And That Kept Bloody History Of Ours

We all need love and know not what to do with it.

Small storm that, like most everything is from the mountaintop.

Little need looking down,
But to wonder:

Why hide? What is hidden?

Under clouds, roofs;
Behind doors, masks,
Why hide what cannot be hidden?

History says,
What’s hidden is what kills, finally.

Nature says,
Whether to climb up the mountain
Or out of your kept self,
You need only cut a path—

Which is so simple you’ve got to love it.

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