Left BehindIm getting on now,Left Behind in Free Verse More Like This
my body set in all its ancient,
stubborn ways. My mind too.
The corridors of poetry
are carpeted now and dusty.
I shuffle through them
as I fill my slippered days.
You have been dispersed.
I imagined, before that vigil
as your being failed, that
you would have been the one
to arrange a funeral for me.
Completely gone, a puppet
only in such scenes as I create,
those threadbare scenes,
poor attempts to seize our life
anew. When my poor spark
is swallowed, nothing
will remain. Not so much as
a feeble whistle to defy the dark.
ImpulseI stood impassively besideImpulse in Free Verse More Like This
the open grave, as though
I had forgotten who had died,
my face blank as a headstone
that has yet to be inscribed.
There was no more you, nor would
there ever be. Unlooked for solitude
was burying me, unseasonal snow
entombed the pleasure garden
we had planted and shared.
I held the unseemly impulse in check,
that might have thrown my body
to the bottom of the pit where
your corpse was lying neatly boxed.
Instead I dropped in my watch,
useless now that time had stopped.
BreathlessI've inhaled so muchBreathless in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
of your essence, I'm choking
on my love for you.
EtherealMy radio embellishesEthereal in Free Verse More Like This
November's weeping grey
with the harmonies
of far away, invisible choirs
I'm too far gone to pray,
I don't believe in heavens
full of choiring angel song.
But I can listen to the radio. I can
wish I might have been wrong.
TransparencyIs there a message?Transparency in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
No poem can ever be
a clear glass bottle.
Fallen Angel1.Fallen Angel in Free Verse More Like This
A late night wanderer discovered what was left of him,
his crumpled form impacted on the winter sidewalk,
below an open window on the second floor
- the end at last of an angel's interminable fall,
Someone from the hotel covered his cooling remains
with a well worn blanket. Too late to change anything,
too much living heat already dissipating through the night.
In the room with the open window, his trumpet lay discarded,
among a litter of clothes, some coke and heroin. The curtains
stirred on the knife edge of the frosty wind.
In my alienated adolescence, I had loved him from afar,
He filled my damaged heart with that Delphic song his trumpet sang,
In my nocturnal solitude, as the miraculous discs revolved,
it seemed as though Apollo spoke again in North American groves,
through golden Californian days. Already his shining life was cursed.
He had begun his search for chemistry to dull whatever ills
his ethereal music belied. Too often his trumpet was hostage
among the pawn b
HeartfeltAt birthHeartfelt in Free Verse More Like This
at last a
Forget Me NotLest we forget, lest theyForget Me Not in Free Verse More Like This
should be forgotten.
Yet what remembrance
can there be? How could
any one of us have known
the youthful living flesh that
once surrounded this poor
fragment of disinterred bone?
Others might have seen how
tall he had grown, the child
clad suddenly in the uniform
of death. Did their hearts ache
with fear or swell with pride when he
marched out with all his fellows?
Did any still survive to comfort him
as he groaned and died?
UnrequitedDistant, yet so close.Unrequited in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I look longingly at you,
you look straight through me.
SeasideThe rain's sharp patterSeaside in Free Verse More Like This
on the glass, as though tiny claws
without were scrabbling for
purchase. The November light
is feeble. It might not survive
much longer in this gloomy
I remember. The waves
lay dormant at the furthest limits
of the ebb. The horizon was hiding
from our sight behind a sopping
curtain of rain. I remember how
we trudged along the tidal margin,
with rubber boots, with yellow oilskin
coats and hats.
I was puny next to his great silent bulk.
"Look sharp!" was all he said,
"Walk fast, before the tide decides
it's time for coming back."
We collected shellfish
that felt stolen from the sea.