Category Archives: Poem

Yesterday, or maybe a few days ago

There was snow on the roof.
Today, in the sunshine, it's gone
Its disappearance an absence,
As if, as if it had never been.
There was snow on that roof.
I remember it, as if, as if it was
Yesterday, or always, as if snow
On the roof was the usual, the 
Appearance I expected to see.
Its disappearance an absence,
Not a fact, not today's reality.
Memory is like that, bending 
The mind back to where it was.
Today, it's gone, its disappearance 
An absence, not today's reality. 
Memories are like that, indelible


A postscript, by way of extension, And a sigh over memory, often mislabeled fleeting, but actually etched…..

Speechless

In deference to Jane Austen, who never would be silent

She would not add her voice
To any discourse, fearing the
Possible controversy of her
Thoughts. Contentious is not
Content nor contented. What
Would do in her circumstance
But to hold silent, to not voice 
The differences in their ideas

Full moon

The full moon, foolish, yet
It takes its hovering and 
Its haunting seriously as
It shines over the sky and
Beams into our windows.
Every month for twelve, it
Takes its plumpest shape
And beams a bright light
My way. Its effects make
Me foolish as if I had been
There, on the moon's face
Lighter in its atmosphere
Less weighty and serious
Myself, ready to play each
Month in the clear bright
Moonshine of a full moon

Winter’s wolf

The sassy moon fulsome and
Full, plump, hanging low in the
Center of my sky, even as the
Morning light begins to clear
Away the night that was never
Truly dark under the shine of
That fat moon or the electricity
From high-rises in its vicinity
Skies at night have no right to
Be so bright, and if they must
Be so, the moon should be the
Only beacon, the only light that
Paves the way, the sassy moon,
The savvy moon, January's light

Dawn

Objects in the half-light of
A dawning day teach me
Lessons I never sought
To learn. Lessons about
Impermanence and the 
Ways in which our eyes 
Deceive, lessons about 
Altered shapes in altered
Spaces. They show me 
How wrong I can be, and
That not everything I  see
Is right there where I think
I put it. They move, they
Change. They are not who
Or what or where I imagine
Or imagined they would be.

Behind the scenes

There's that search for the image
The one word that encompasses
The whole picture I want to paint.
The simile that is just so. The right
Adjective, an adverb to tide over
The thought that ties up the story
My poem wants to convey. In the
End we need more. More words.
More thought. More time to draw
You in. Do you see it now? There's 
The moon, but no, it's just a sliver 
Less than the piece of cake you're 
Always refusing, but so far away, I 
Can't imagine how it got into my
Bedroom window, into my heart.
There's that search for the image.

Whereto

Where does the poetry go
When it leaves us, departs
To parts unknown, perhaps 
Unknowable? May we also
Follow? Should we? Is an
Invitation required? Is it?
Don't I have an open invite
To drop by any time? Can't 
I find the lyric, the tempo,
The reason to rejoice at will?
Isn't inspiration my whim,
My whimsy and the rhythm
In my days, life as it comes
And goes. I can follow along
I can see the poetry. There,
Where I left it to sit, to stand
To rumble in the corners, to
Await a new day or an old night
Never quite gone. It's there.

Poetry

The lyrical soul is
Skipping its beats
Tonight. At a loss
As images wane in
Pedestrian forms,
It hopes; it aspires
But dreams elude
All inspiration. It is
Quieted by its lack
Of transcendence.