

# THE DEVIL'S PITCHFORK

## _SELECTED POEMS OF_

## _GLEN MARTIN FITCH_

### 2015

The Devil's Pitchfork

Glen Martin Fitch

Copyright 2015 by Glen Martin Fitch

Smashwords Edition

## PREFACE

##  —————————————

**_A word is a wager in thought._** Every one I pick is a bet that it will mean to you what it means to me. That is, at least today, relevant to my race, class, gender, and community. Occasionally in review I have found meanings I did not intend. When in doubt of which word to use, sound trumps meaning every time. When stumped for rhyme, the answer is always more rhyme. Words are magical things, and everything is metaphor.

These words are meant to be heard. Reading a play is a poor substitute for the experience of theater. Ideally your first contact with my poems would be via your ears, and this text would be a supplement to that experience. Most are sonnets, seventy feet of iambic pentameter in various fourteen-rhyme schemes. Since this text is to be read, I have spliced up many lines. In doing so, the reader is encouraged to experience the prose rhythm and not simply read to the rhyme. Each still scans true to the meter. In this way, rhymes become echoes and not milestones. They pace, not halt, a poem's momentum.

It is currently fashionable to omit punctuation. This is unfortunate. Written punctuation is about logic. A sentence is a complete thought. Period. Yet when read aloud, it tells the reader to give a full stop. Likewise, use a dash today and no one raises an eyebrow, but use a set of parentheses and the editorial police show up. Somehow this has come to be a signal for the inappropriate, as in slang and jargon, or a trivial, intrusive insert. For me the use of parentheses is a cue for breathing and speaking. It notes an aside and a lowering of the voice, as in statements the speaker may be making to oneself. One can use quotes for the improper or commas for an inserted clause, but as those are more commonly used for dialogue and pauses, the parentheses make more sense for an aside.

It has been sixty years since Ginsberg's "Howl" was written. A lot of cold bathwater was tossed out with the bath. Perhaps it's time to look for the babies to be saved. In other words, I fear I will not be seen as a faithful contemporary poet. Perhaps along with "Poetry and Prose" and the new "Prose Poem," there should be a new category, "Poetic Prose."

I have written these with a grand tradition in mind. Not only in the verse forms, but in genres and conventions. What some might dismiss as a cliché might be a custom thoughtfully fulfilled. Likewise one can re-turn an old turn of phrase. My poetic license allows me to pun at will. Since the play in word-play derives from being understood in more than one way, perhaps a second look might offer additional rewards. Many of these poems are in the lyrical tradition. The hearer or reader is encouraged to assume the poet is the speaker in the poem. You will often see the pronoun "I." Even so, the "you," as I have had to tell friends, is not you, and rarely is the "I" Glen. I would like the reader not to have to know about me personally to enjoy them. I do not live a life of commentary with my poems as allegories of it, and my personal mythology would be a rather boring narrative to gloss. I hope each reader will feel as if he or she is actually writing that poem. I am not aiming for the greeting card jingle, but for the universal in human experience.

I hope you are pleased by the works enclosed. Some lines were an ordeal, and other lines popped full-grown out of my head. I intend never to explain, as I would be merely speaking as a critic, and a very partial one at that. I lay claim to the labor, but the results seem far beyond me. For me writing is like rubbing a foil-wrapped coin till the head or tail appears. I believe in the Muse.

Glen Martin Fitch

Santa Cruz, California

May 2015

glenfitch6@gmail.com

## _   DISCLAIMER_

##    ————————————————————

FOREWARNED:

All works within

are pressurized

as image, metaphor, or simile.

Mature material!

So be advised

enclosed could irritate complacency.

Proceed with caution!

Do not drive and read!

These may induce

strange daydreams,

fantasies.

Rare nightmare

may occur or

sleep impede.

A blush or gasp

might some displease.

At your own risk

you read between the lines.

You will be teased.

You will encounter rhyme.

Remember,

you can stop at any time.

To reproduce unauthorized—

face fines!

Misread—

you risk the loss of hand or eye!

Misquote—

you're banned!

Dare misattribute—

die!

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _   DIRECTIONS FOR USING THE ENCLOSED_

##    ————————————————————

The best ingredients,

some fresh, some aged,

in new, exciting ways

have been combined.

For your delight and health

they have been gauged

to please your senses,

aid both heart and mind.

The contents packaged here

have been condensed.

When prepped and ready

add discernment, warmed.

A small amount

need only be dispensed.

With gentle kneading

you will feel transformed.

Apply,

let set,

rinse well,

and then repeat.

Discretion:

recommended for adults.

Be warned:

avoid excessive cold or heat.

Do not expect

immediate results.

Assess effect

when process is complete.

(Not pleased?

Reply!

Get refund, with receipt.)

# THE LEADED WEB

## _Poems of Personal Struggle_

# ————————————————

###

### Introductions

### Friendships

### Addictions

### Isolation

### Sanity

### Recovery

##  _INTRODUCTIONS_

## ——————————————

So who are you?

You greet or just retreat?

You rub your eyes

or trust your gut much more?

Respect your heart or brain?

Do they compete?

You leave the cupboard open?

Close the door?

What lessons did you learn

from leers and jeers?

Born first or last?

Were you an only child?

You feared your skin

was darker than your peers?

Too fat?

Too thin?

Too tall?

Too short?

Too wild?

I'll never know your life,

the tears you've shed,

your trials, triumphs, joys,

your secret shame.

But I have cried and laughed.

When pricked, I bled.

On this I dare

to offer you my name.

Though no one lets a stranger

come too near,

each foe's a friend

whose tale you've yet to hear.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

##  _TO A NEW FRIEND_

## ——————————————

Now everything feels safe.

We're at that stage

when trust, respect feel sure.

We sense a link in struggle,

pain, and hope.

As we engage,

things fall in place,

we seem to think in sync.

But someday

I am going to let you down,

and then you'll feel betrayed.

I'll be too late. I'll fib,

put myself first.

You'll see a frown.

Will I then be

the focus of your hate?

As best I can,

I pledge you truth

and vow to you,

within fair limits,

to be near.

Least friendly,

I will need you most.

Hear now:

I'm fallible. I'm flawed.

Be brave. Be clear.

Forgive me.

Treasures lie beyond.

claim

will forgive you

when I feel the same.

> ## ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _MI CASA, SU CASA_

## ——————————————

Hello, come in my friend!

You're welcome here.

I have an extra toothbrush,

towel, comb.

You got here safely.

Hope I sound sincere

as I say I want you

to feel at home.

But I'm not certain

what home means to you

and what if

how I live

to you seems wrong.

Well, be yourself,

and somehow we'll make do.

I only ask you

not to stay too long.

With every year,

we're more set in our ways.

As we grow strict,

we're destined to offend.

So let us make the most

of these few days.

You wouldn't be here

if you weren't my friend.

Sit down,

relax,

be real.

ease understand,

you cannot be

both comfortable and grand.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _WHAT I CAN DO_

## ——————————————

I wish I could undo

what has been done.

I cannot fix it,

Not my place to try.

To make you think I could

would be a lie.

No end in sight,

and this has just begun.

The stress consumes your body

and your soul.

I know

the future things you dread

seem real.

I cannot make you change

the way you feel.

Upon your spirit

this will take its toll.

But dare I say,

I see you

and feel pride.

I, too, have felt

frustration, hurt, and shame.

A different cause,

yet feeling quite the same.

On that,

I am your ally

at your side.

Right now,

I know my needs

cannot compete

against your woes.

But may I rub your feet?

> ❖❖❖

## _OFF BEAT_

## ——————————————

In life we're forced to march,

to step in line.

But ragtime offers

unexpected joy and tension.

Stressing unstressed notes

can buoy us.

Strolling in revolt

can feel so fine.

My friend's a radical

I'm proud to know.

He seeks out ways

to deviate.

To be like other kids

was not his fate.

It started when

he dealt with polio.

One protest,

dressed in drag,

he parked his van.

A hostile cop barked,

" _That's for handicapped!_ "

So full of sass and spite,

" _I am!_ " he snapped

and lifted up his gown.

We laughed and ran.

His graceful gait

of shoulders, hips, and feet

was bouncing to

his syncopated beat.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _BEFORE I DELETE YOU_

### _(if you haven't deleted me already)_

## ——————————————

_... as she saw nothing but young men all day long ..._

_this sight of her fellow-traveler was completely lost_

_in her mind, as the crooked pin dropped by a child_

_into the wishing-well twirls in the water and disappears forever._

— Virginia Woolf, J _acob's Room_

I bet you don't remember me.

Dismiss this if you don't.

The gravity of time

sucks all we know

down deep into a blank abyss.

The wonder is

how much we can recall.

A straight pin

would have fallen down

without resistance,

swiftly in the dark.

That crooked pin descending

circled 'round a little slower

in its spinning arc.

I want to say,

however brief our bond together was,

please note,

before you drop away,

some human bend in you

made me respond.

I wanted here

to honor that today.

My wish for you:

Good luck.

I thought I'd tell you,

while you're sinking,

whirling down my well.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THE REST_

## ——————————————

I later learned

she almost died.

Although she didn't try

to keep the fact from me,

the how and how come

were not mine to know.

My feelings

weren't her first priority.

So when I heard,

I had the time to think.

I didn't call her

just as I was bid.

Another time

I might have forced a link.

She didn't want my help,

yet help I did.

Musicians read staff measures,

scanning notes.

The order, tempo, volume

are displayed.

A rest is more than silence.

It devotes a value, beat,

a presence still conveyed.

My absence, silence

were not crass neglect.

They proved my love,

support,

trust,

respect.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _BREAKING MY FAST_

——————————————

I take a dozen eggs

out of the fridge.

My thumbnail tests

the firmness of a shell.

A world's contained

within each fragile cell.

Is living

not a wondrous privilege?

Yet everything I eat

makes me feel fat.

It seems I've lost

before the day's begun.

The carton cradles each,

and I pick one,

which falls out of my fingers

with a splat.

Do I do this to me,

or is it fate?

" _To me be true!_ "

Each day new schemes

I try, to finally take control,

yet cheat and lie.

I know the soul

I'm working to create.

I ought to stoop

and wipe it off the floor.

Instead I turn

and drop eleven more.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _DEALERSHIP_

## ——————————————

Top salesman here.

I make them

sign away their sad,

installment souls.

They kick the tires.

They haggle prices.

I sense their desires and problems;

Each one I will solve today.

I don't sell vehicles, friend,

I sell dreams,

prestige, and comfort

for that well-paved

course to hell.

They'll cruise awhile,

before remorse sinks in.

I'll hear their echoed

roadside screams.

That guy wants speed.

That girl craves ecstasy.

That mellow dude,

a late-night drive-through run.

That cherried pill

will get the project done.

That loser seeks the means

to score and flee.

I'm cunning, baffling,

powerful, and mean.

There hasn't been a fool

I haven't seen.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THE JOY OF..._

## ——————————————

I stroke the glossy spreads

of dimpled skin.

The flesh so ripe

I want to sniff and bite.

Compulsion, passion, curse,

addiction, sin?

I drool at kneaded mounds

of hot delight.

The money, time

to feed this appetite!

I seek detailed techniques,

exotic schools.

To whet, prolong, and savor,

I recite the age-old rites

and catalogue my tools.

I live a proxy life.

Like other fools,

I file my clippings,

downloads from the net,

trade stained and

greasy books

with secret rules of

what and when and how.

I stare and sweat.

This seems the only way

I can appease

my urge to cook.

I lust for recipes.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _WANTED_

## ——————————————

One Higher Power,

understanding, kind,

all-knowing, patient, wise,

forgiving, near, compassionate,

attentive to mankind,

more powerful than

TV,

pizza, beer,

and sex.

From you I'll ask

but won't expect

that miracle

(the little ones will do).

Just so, I'll pray

you'll keep disasters checked,

for justice, vision,

peace, and mercy, too.

Adore me,

keep me honest,

make me laugh, feel needed,

special, healed, and whole.

I crave your silent help

on my behalf,

to live,

each day abstain,

rebuild my soul.

And what I am grateful for

you'll hear from me

on hold,

while pumping gas,

and as I pee.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _WHEN I GO HOME_

## ——————————————

The ghosts come out to meet me

from their sleep.

Not as my parents

do they watch the door,

but from each photo's frozen face

they peep and haunt the habits

I can wear no more.

They summon up the dead

from letters found,

and jab me

with each name out of my past.

Forgotten thoughts spring

from each scent and sound

to mock me

for my dreams that didn't last.

Yet in the dark,

alone,

they make me start to wonder

who and where and when I am,

as formless faces

that once held my heart

beseech me now

to join among the damned.

They are the beings

that I used to be.

Each cannot yet forgive

each change in me.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _TRAPPED IN THE HAUNTED HOUSE RIDE_

## ——————————————

The speeding carts

in darkness lunge and squeal,

(eyes glow, then fade)

down through a dra

gon's jaw,

past bats and skulls.

Kids shriek with anxious awe,

but, though we duck,

few think each phantom's real.

What scares me

(more than plywood ghoul or witch—

who first, then, we

are forced around, then back)

is what's beneath us

on this endless track,

how hidden wheels

provoke the pre-set switch.

Just so the scent of thyme—

up swells regret.

A train at night—

I'm homesick once again.

A book—

lost love.

Enough!

Not what, it's when and why

that stumps me,

haunts me,

makes me fret.

The shuttle, not the shame,

is what I dread,

this Mobius madness

jolting in my head.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _AT HOME, IN BED, AWAKE,_

## _ON MY SIDE, ALONE_

## ——————————————

Beside him, silent, stately,

on his right,

the old magician's

fair assistant stands alert,

yet selfless,

keeping out of sight

the trove of secret props

held in her hands.

Just so I'd like to think

you're guarding me.

I know you're watching,

fear you're judging too.

You are the first and last thing

that I see.

In darkness, full of fear,

I reach for you.

But once I found unlocked

my father's drawer, and spied

his potions, entertainments, aids

and shut it,

reassured, embarrassed, sore.

Those linger

even as his figure fades.

Protect and comfort me.

I'll kill the light.

Good night, my nightstand

standing guard.

Good night.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _TEMPORARILY POSSESSED_

## ——————————————

Just try to pry apart

an infant's clasp.

" _That's MY toy_ "

lurks beneath a toddler's bite.

" _Mine's better. Trade ya._ "

Everything in sight,

each treasure, trophy, deed,

begs for our grasp.

We crave and save

and shop and cart,

and yet,

how does one keep stuff safe

and find the space?

Devalued, dated,

worn and torn,

we face,

if not default,

remorse and

fear and debt.

You know,

the things you own, own you.

Each year it's what to save,

and what to give away,

and what to loan or chuck or hoard.

Each day you fret and sort,

till that which you hold dear—

a book or photo,

next to where you sleep—

is all the friendly nurses

let you keep.

>   
> 
> 
> ❖❖❖

## _CRAYON TIN_

## ——————————————

I miss their greasy feel,

their subtle scent.

In my hot fists,

they jostled,

trading specks.

I prized the ones

with gold or silver flecks.

Some wear my spit.

I made that milk-tooth dent.

There's almond,

chestnut, eggplant,

copper, or canary,

coral, ruby, sapphire, jade,

or olive, orange, lime,

or onyx shade,

or orchid, rose.

Each hue's a metaphor!

I learned which ones to use

on pad or page

for waxy waves

or soapy skies,

chalk rocks.

Some broken in their sleeves,

by use they age.

    For years most stood attention

in their box,

a rainbow of potential

all infused.

Like me,

they wait unrealized,

unused.

> ❖❖❖

## _ENDGAME_

## ——————————————

I try not staring at the guy

who stares at me all day.

These cubicles get stale.

I keep out

of our company's affairs.

One sight of HER,

we all turn pale.

Can't even look back at the boss,

I'm told.

I see them shifting past,

some bounding stud

or biased holy,

rookies buffed and bold.

Not work,

it's war.

They're out for blood.

They say

they'll treat me royal

if I make it through the ranks.

Across,

the other team's new guy

—the rumor says—

is out to take my spot.

I ask,

" _Who sets up these extremes?_

_Who moves the mover_

_of us pawns?_ "

Next I expect to hear

The queen is dead!

The king's been checked!

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _EAR WORM_

## ——————————————

Just stop and listen.

Don't you have some song or other

all day running 'round your brain?

Why THAT tune?

Each one driving me insane.

Some dawns I think:

Did THAT go all night long?

And worse yet,

there are voices in my head.

" _You dassen't do that!_ "

How she'd pinch my ear!

_"A nigger might have touched it._ "

I still hear my grandma shout again,

though long since dead.

And I confess

I hear your voice as well.

I'm thinking thoughts

I'm sure that are my own

but hear them spoken

in your rhythm, tone.

I'm glad.

I guess it's just part of your spell.

My life is moral,

sound, and never dull

while you are living

burrowed in my skull.

>   
> 
> 
> ❖❖❖

## _HAPPY MOTORING_

## ——————————————

Some driver cut me off

in my commute.

I swore.

At work I told a friend—

still mad.

Said she,

" _I scream, 'God BLESS you_.'"

I fell mute,

incredulous,

then foolish,

hopeless, sad.

" _God BLESS you?_ "

What the fuck!

Just belch among your friends,

your lack of manners they'll deride.

But arch and huff,

spew out with germs

far-flung

and others act

as if you almost died.

Perhaps this isn't

'bout that stupid lout.

(Well, can controlling others

ever really work?)

Perhaps

myself is what it's all about.

'Cause next mile

I don't want to be that jerk.

I wish we all would truly

seek to please.

Perhaps rude driving's

just a moral sneeze.

>   
> 
> 
> ## ❖❖❖

## _TERMINAL_

## ——————————————

I got here early.

Now I pace or sit.

I don't know when I'll leave.

I can't go back.

I'm not in pain,

Just bored.

It's hope I lack.

No interest, intrigue.

Make the best of it.

It's cold here.

Over there, it's hot.

The air is stuffy.

Gross graffiti on the wall.

My goal?

A meal, a nap.

The cleanest stall.

I want a quiet table,

cushioned chair.

Where lingers here injustice,

left to right?

What wisdom lurks

within this magazine?

What unmet friend?

What beauty yet unseen?

What daydream still

can get me through the night?

Whose life is happy, healthy,

long, and great?

I'm stuck here

seeking comfort

while I wait.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _DOING MY DUTY_

## ——————————————

A neighbor let her dog

shit on my lawn.

I saw her,

bag in hand,

just walk away.

" _Give up,_ "

" _Forget about it,_ "

my friends say.

But still

my anger pulses

on and on.

" _It really doesn't matter._ "

But it does

I saw it when I left

and smelled the stink.

" _Confront her._

_Make her pick it up,_ "

I think.

I can't pretend

as if it never was.

I shouldn't have to

deal with this.

I live for peace,

keep my stuff straight,

and do my share.

I care that this is wrong.

It isn't fair.

Yet it's in my best interest

to forgive.

Not off the hook

or blanked out;

to be free,

I have to

get this shit turd

out of me.

>   
> 
> 
> ❖❖❖

_  
_

_  
_

## _A HARD HABIT TO BREAK_

## ——————————————

While walking down a street

behind some guy,

he flicked his cigarette butt

in the air.

It arced

and almost landed in my hair.

To say I wasn't pissed

would be a lie.

A harmful habit,

hurting others too,

I couldn't just ignore.

I stooped and picked it up.

He sat down yards ahead.

I licked my lips.

I paused,

not certain what I'd do.

As if:

Hey buddy, check your fly.

I said,

" _I think you dropped this._ "

Left it.

Walked away.

I wasn't going to shame him.

I can't say he'd stop it,

but now,

I am in his head.

For power isn't always force.

I think he felt my kindness.

Gentleness has strength.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _PROBLEM SOLVING_

## ——————————————

It's like the way

I run all day in fear,

or how, impatiently,

I stomp and kick

or bend and stretch

(that nimble hiding trick),

or stand and shift

until the end draws near.

I sense the ache,

and yet, it isn't till

my feet are up, relaxed,

I feel the pain.

The pressure's off my heart,

no muscles strain,

yet still the torment swells

beyond my will.

So I apologize,

admit I'm wrong,

commit to follow through

to make things right,

because I AM sincere

and not contrite,

yet still your anger glares on

ust as strong.

All's fixed, and yet,

we're back where we've begun,

'cause nothing's finished

till the feeling's done. _  
_

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _IT_

## ——————————————

"Come on," you said.

" _It's worth it. Go ahead._ "

Your "it"

just might be all

that I crave most,

or all that I have settled for instead,

or what will keep me

in my shame engrossed.

How easy it would be,

the letting go.

" _Why not?... A little..._

_Just this once...I can._ "

The old familiar senses

I still know.

But then I'd have to face "it"

once again.

Do you know

what MY "it"

still means to me?

My "it"

is one sane thought

in my sick mind.

My "it"

is my last chance

to be set free.

Excuse me,

fuck your kindness, so unkind.

You couldn't say so,

if you knew my lot.

When you say,

" _It's worth it,_ "

I say, " _It's NOT!_ "

> ## ❖❖❖

## _BREAK TIME_

## ——————————————

Consumed with anger

and self-pity, too,

I heard

my wounded inner-toddler whine.

Before the vending shit machine,

I knew to poise above the C,

to thumb the 9.

As good as chewed and flushed!

Oh God, I hate myself!

I fed the bill.

Without a doubt, it sucked it up.

I thought: Now it's too late.

My chin dropped

as it spit the dollar out.

The jones-ing was still running

in my skull.

I pray to God to show his love

and then...

My second thought

was: It's a miracle.

My first was:

I can't put it in again.

I bought a diet drink,

Then pinched my jaw.

Left feeling weird,

yet with a kind of awe.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _MY SECRET PRAYER_

## ——————————————

Strange, super-human powers

I possess.

I know what's hidden, where,

and I can guess your history

from your breath,

and what things weigh.

My ears can hear a rip

from rooms away.

I know what's in your fridge,

your cart, your bag,

what's missing from a shelf,

what's on a rag.

Pie diagrams

my inner eye divides.

I never asked for this.

Besides, I'm powerless.

I fret to see folks frown.

Observed alone,

a guest, or on the town,

they think me rude.

" _What nerve!_ "

" _What gall!_ "

They watch me stare

and drool and scheme

at all that's gulped or

sucked or licked or bit and chewed;

I pray then:

" _Thank you, God,_

_that's not my food._ "

> ❖❖❖

## _EVIL TWIN_

## ——————————————

Two bullies—brothers,

ugly, friends to none—

identical,

but not in every way,

confront me often.

I hear what they say,

and I've determined

who's the toxic one.

I dread the first

because he's in my mind.

Whenever I do wrong,

I sense him near.

Though harsh,

he preaches

what I ought to hear.

By showing me

my sins,

he's almost kind.

Far worse

the other brother

jabs my heart.

My secret self's assaulted

by each slur.

Infected mortally

without a cure,

believing I am bad,

I fall apart.

For Guilt speaks truth

that hurts yet makes me wise,

but Shame,

his brother,

always speaks in lies.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _HOSPITABLE_

## ——————————————

Once, standing

in a patient parking lot

with jumper cables

held out in my hand,

all passed me by.

I'm thinking,

They understand

my battery's too weak.

The watchman got his car.

Exhaust soon filled

the cold night air.

Above, my dad—

too weak to lift his head,

attached to tubes and wires—

lay in a bed.

The guard said,

" _No one here_

_has will to spare._ "

We prayed our barter bribes to God

and lost.

That guard, the car, my dad,

are long since gone.

Night nurses, aides, and cook

punched out at dawn.

They cared.

I now can comprehend the cost.

Benign good will connectors

never viewed.

For those who toil I pray

my gratitude.

>   
> 
> 
> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _AIR TIGHT_

## _——————————————  
_

Mom saved Dad's eyeglass case

safe in her room.

Closed thirty years ago,

he thirty gone.

I opened and inhaled.

I tried them on.

His life within

this rediscovered tomb.

My mother nursed him till...

a gruesome task.

The hiss a mason jar gives

when it's pried

is what I heard

at " _Was it hard?_ "

She cried.

In all the years since,

no one ever asked.

I have an antique desk,

stained, carved, and tiled

that has a secret drawer

I never use.

I've hidden letters

I fear I might lose.

At work I picked a toddler up.

He smiled.

The gusts of unlocked joy

grew bitter, sad.

Dried hope, fresh pain.

At me he whispered,

" _Dad._ "

> _  
> _
> 
> ##  ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _A THANKSGIVING PSALM OF GRACES_

## ——————————————

##

###      i

The table is set.

I'll have all the food I need,

All the time I need.

### ii

The sacrifice begins.

Like a priest I wash my hands.

My meal awaits me.

### iii

Sitting in my chair

I regard my naked plate,

My empty stomach.

### iv

My feet touching the floor,

My mind free of distractions,

I view my choices.

v

I grasp my napkin.

In thought, in spirit, body,

I'm truly present.

### vi

My eyes are open.

My heart beats with excitement.

I feel overwhelmed.

### vii

With platter in hand,

I pick what will sustain me

And keep me healthy.

### viii

Gifts from rain, dung, sweat.

Bless the hands who brought these here.

Gifts of sky, earth, sea.

### ix

From spade, hook, hearth, knife,

Live worthy to receive each

Root, fin, crust, and wing.

### x

We ask forgiveness

Of all taken in its prime,

Giving life for life.

### xi

I pause. I focus on

Favorite dreams, memories

To aid digestion.

### xii

Even when alone,

For bites to chew and swallow,

I take small portions.

### xiii

I slowly raise my fork.

Each time I know I must do

Justice to each bite.

### xiv

My teeth gnaw and tear.

I taste, smell, feel, and savor

To appreciate.

### xv

Scents assault my nose.

Embracing life with intent,

I stop again to breathe.

### xvi

Though others hunger,

I choose to leave these morsels.

I am satisfied.

### xvii

Here and now I sip.

Mind and body dwell as one.

I made wise choices.

### xviii

Full of gratitude,

Our hands to wash, teeth to brush.

This meal is over.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _LAUREL_

## ——————————————

The woods grow smaller every year. My leaves

Fall green and withered. Bitter water stings

My shrinking roots. Yet I am Laurel still.

I am the tree that one time was a maid,

But that was long ago. Poor Daphne! She

Wanes dimmer each time I recite her name.

But I remember running, how we nymphs

Outraced the wind. And when my branches feel

The sun's rays, I remember basking on

The banks to dry, each other's hair to braid.

And even though it's many years since he

Has touched my bark and wept, I can recall

My father when he'd look at me with pride

And beg for grandsons...and I would have borne

Them too, and gladly, had I found a man

With half his sense. (Leucippus!

He thought he'd violate our hallowed grove

And woo me in a maiden's frock. And oh,

That stupid smile of his when from beneath

The dripping linen all of us could see

His penis swell. No hunter ever split

A hart as fast as we dismembered him.)

Apollo, Lord of Delphi, brat of Jove,

'Great God of shepherds, music, archery!

Physician...you, who could not even cure yourself,

Do not blame Cupid for your wanton deeds.

By your own oracle you were deceived.

As stubble burns till mountains are consumed,

Your love-at-first-sight fancy swelled to lust.

Struck speechless, I could not believe my fate;

Of all the women in the world, why me?

But you persisted, forcing gifts on me.

And then I thought it must have been my fault,

If only I were ugly, sickly, old.

I whined. I cried. I tried to hurt myself,

Until at last my anger came. I raged,

" _Is there no justice?_ " Panting, you pursued

Me, as a hound, who scents a hare, is mad

With craving. Even when at last transformed,

You sought to win me, calling out my name.

When you could hear my heart no more, you left.

But just because you ceased, it does not mean

It's over now for me as well. I still

Feel fear. I can't, will not forget, excuse.

And I will see my story's told to all.

Vile brilliance, hated lover, witless God,

Now hear me! I renounce you still, and will.

I'm sure Olympus knows your sighs, your smirks.

You wear my leaves, a trophy for your crown.

You tell your pals that you're the victim of

My beauty. NO! You sought to take my flesh

With force against my will. You can't pretend

It didn't happen. You know what I know.

I didn't like it either, and you can't

Pretend I did. I never led you on.

In words both firm and gentle, I said " _No._ "

Avoidance, frowns, and stares said so as well.

And then your tone began to change, and like

The hare, I started. You then played the hound.

And off we raced, through grove and brush and field,

Until I felt your breath upon my neck.

I stopped. I cried, " _Oh Father, rescue me!_ "

And then my aching legs grew heavy, bark

Encased my breasts, and from my temples, leaves

Came trailing down my trunk, my toes took root,

I saw my arms branch out before my eyes.

No longer Daphne, Laurel I became.

And I should not have had to, but I did.

I wince no more with every woodsman's stroke.

Now sap, not blood, drips from each lover's knife,

And many maidens fill this grove with tears.

This forest's more a home now than my home.

These years I've learned much I'd have never known.

I can't say I am happy for my fate,

And yet I am resigned, accepting that

The last indignity imposed on me

Is this: it is in my best interest to

Forgive you. And I won't. This bark has kept

Me safe. These limbs, each twig, have served me well.

But need I stay so? Dare I be a maid

Again? Were I a crone, would I be free

To run and swim and flourish as I please?

And could I ever learn to laugh again?

I do not know. And so I stay a tree.

_  
_

# THE SPIRAL CODE

## _Poems of Personal Change_

# ————————————————

###

### Parenting

### Re-Parenting

### God

### Subversion

### Changes

## _   HOW I SURVIVED_

## ——————————————

First fact of bitter life:

all parents lie.

Not only loss of Santa

made me grieve

I was a fool!

That I could not deny.

How could I've been so stupid

to believe?

Humiliated,

shamed

I grew morose.

My parents feared

I wanted to be cruel

as I absorbed the gruesome

and the gross.

I mastered farce,

sarcasm,

ridicule.

Years later,

overwhelmed by sex,

the lewd gave me relief;

with death,

through satire, wit.

We learn what's cool, what's crude.

Those jokes of puss and barf

and snot and shit

were more than mere rebellion

on my part.

It's all absurd!

Just laugh.

We belch!

We fart!

> ## ❖❖❖

##  _IF ONLY I COULD HAVE SAID_

## ——————————————

Hey, parents.

Back off.

Thanks, but leave me be.

I've got a mind to stretch and

flex and tone

to challenge speed,

test time, tease gravity.

I've got to do it now

and on my own.

You want to help?

Okay. Hear my demand:

Safe space, all day,

some friends, and

open air.

Please trust me.

Let me build

my what-if land,

a stage to act out

triumph and despair.

Those hyper ads

would make me beg and

yearn to hoard

the moving, plastic,

painted stuff.

The more each does for me,

the less I learn.

For pure imagination,

it's enough to give me

mud or snow and

sticks and rocks.

Return that gadget,

but I need the box.

> ❖❖❖

## _A DADDY'S LULLABY_

## ——————————————

Your daddy can do many things for you,

Yet there is one he can't, it seems.

Alone, alone, you must alone

Go find the land of dreams.

And I have taught you many things, but this

May be the hardest of our games,

For each of us must every night

Go find the land of dreams.

But I'll be here to hold you till

You're on your way.

I'll tell you what to do, my child.

Abide by what I say.

Pull your pillow to your cheek, child.

Tuck the blanket in under your chin.

Lie still. Be calm. Close your eyes, child.

Breathe deep, la, la, la, la. Good night.

And if you wake tonight, alone in darkness,

To shadows and moonbeams

You'll know now, how—yes, all alone—

To find the land of dreams.

I need you now to sleep, not laugh, child.

The night's no time for toys and schemes.

Your daddy, soon, himself, alone

Must seek the land of dreams.

But I'll be here to hold you

Until you're on your way.

I'll tell you what to do, child.

Abide by what I say.

Pull your pillow to your cheek, child.

Tuck the blanket in under your chin.

Lie still. Be calm. Close your eyes, child.

Breathe deep, la, la, la, la. Good night.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _FROM THE CAR-SEAT BEHIND ME  
_

## ——————————————

Enthroned within her realm

she asks me, " _Why?_ "

(Can't recollect now

what she wants to know.)

I answer logically.

" _But why?_ "

I lie this time

(a phase? a game?)

And let it go.

" _But whyyyyyyy?_ "

She asks again.

I feel attacked.

My face turns red.

I glare.

I clench my jaws.

(If I were you,

I would have gotten smacked.)

I use the default setting,

" _Just because_."

Well, why indeed.

Don't we all fret and strive to know?

But get the answer nothing's solved.

I've seen

injustice and addictions thrive.

    Small comfort,

waste of time,

and what's resolved?

But asking,

(Joy!)

her learning has begun.

" _Not all 'Why' questions_

_have an answer, Hon'._ "

> ## ❖❖❖

##   
_   OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES_

## ——————————————

It ended

with each fighting off a smile.

Although relieved,

not knowing what to say,

back in their cars

both quickly drove away,

embarrassed,

grateful for each passing mile.

It started

with two bumpers in one place.

My friend was heading homeward

after lunch.

The car ahead had stopped.

Then came the crunch.

Each, righteous, stood there

yelling face to face.

My friend had been

familiar with the law—

the wrong way.

Worse, he saw a little kid inside.

Their blood was hot.

Their nerves were raw.

He couldn't end this

as he always did.

When from the car seat,

louder than a slap,

the toddler shouted,

" _Someone needs a nap!_ "

> ## ❖❖❖

## _MY FRIEND TOLD ME..._

## ——————————————

The beers and tears

it took me to forgive myself

for having needs,

disowning shame.

The years I spent

while learning not to blame myself,

how it was brave of me to live.

So much of what Dad did

was not a crime back then.

Then, any accident appeared,

to him, defiance on my part.

I feared his buckle,

thinking: will I die this time?

But Mom,

by her I felt the most betrayed.

She hurt us too.

And yet she wasn't blind.

To keep us safe

was ever on her mind.

I see her courage,

knowing why she stayed.

She didn't tell him stop,

yet she was wise.

She yelled out

" _Watch the eyes, dear._

_Not the eyes._ "

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _SO WHAT ARE YOU TEACHING ME?_

## ——————————————

My sister, five,

stuck gum upon the door,

then left.

What next she heard,

but couldn't see.

I, seven,

touched it.

Dad saw it and me,

and with a batter's slide,

slid 'cross the floor,

unbuckling.

Then he hit me with his belt.

" _I didn't do it, Dad!_ "

My sister hid.

She opened up the door

and told who did.

Humiliated,

oh, the rage I felt.

" _Son, sorry._ "

But he didn't then spank her.

Are doorknobs sacred?

So what is being taught?

If punishment means pain,

then don't get caught?

That power rules?

Your hurt you just transfer?

Disciples learned from Christ

to love not sin,

and doing as he did

is discipline.

> ❖❖❖

## _MY KIND OF TOWN_

## ——————————————

The men's room closed,

I waited with no choice.

I saw two lesbians,

both elderly.

The older of the couple

seemed to be androgynous.

Their love made me rejoice.

The younger waited

in a shopper's daze.

But then a girl with Down's came out,

Face red with rage.

" _I saw a MAN in there!_ "

I said, " _But women can be_

_many different ways._ "

Yet she was sure, and

she began to shout.

" _He TOUCHED himself!_ "

Fine people raised her well.

If something's wrong,

find grown-ups,

tell them.

Tell until you're heard.

I said, " _I'll check this out._ "

I'm proud to live

where women can be strong,

and safe and brave and

know that they belong.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _FIFTH GRADERS AT PLAY_

## ——————————————

They roll the dice.

The thimble, cannon, boot

creep 'round the board.

Three ten year olds at play.

" _Let's NOT pay rent._ "

" _Let's go the OTHER way._ "

" _A motel FIRST._ "

" _Let's pass out ALL the loot._ "

At eight they tried to grasp

this complex game.

By twelve they'll master it

and take their turn.

Right now, by every what-ifs

they will learn when things go wrong,

who, how, and what's to blame.

But if you're twenty-one,

there's no defense

to land on Marvin Gardens

and NOT pay,

skip Go-to-Jail,

claim bankrupt,

and then play.

And where's the proper,

timely consequence?

At ten they play not BY

but WITH the rules.

At twenty-one, they're either

crooks or fools.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _MANO A MANO_

## ——————————————

How does a child learn

what is right, what's wrong?

The cartoons stage

the magical and cruel.

Our parents preach.

Our peers know what is cool.

We're taught one must be

clever, quick, and strong.

My elders tried

to slap in me some sense

re: pregnancy and drink

and drugs and crime,

the consequence

of living in a time

of foreign wars

and local violence.

Once, with my dad,

I watched a western,

when a cowboy felled a bad guy

with one blow.

My father caught my eye.

His words were slow,

"I tried that once.

I learned my lesson then."

And more than that advice,

I won't forget:

the ring of honesty,

his deep regret.

>   
> 
> 
> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SAY THIS_

## ——————————————

_The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt_

_for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in_

_place of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of_

_their households._

— Attributed to Socrates

Our parents tried to

teach us to behave.

I know we kids

were often angry, sad.

It seems now happy children

parents crave.

But are they?

Often they seem awfully bad.

Who's pleased

to hear a toddler's harsh lament?

But I improved

from feeling my distress.

What did I learn

when I was pleased, content?

Through service

I gained skills for each success.

Though, when my will was thwarted,

I felt stung.

Safe limits

helped me find my own delight.

To suffer is the cure

for being young.

I made mistakes.

I learned to do what's right.

Of course

I would be happy if I could.

Keen consolation comes from doing good.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _MY WARNING CITATION_

### _(after being stopped after my day-care shift)_

## ——————————————

Exhausted, overwhelmed,

confused, upset,

as when a toddler

bellows on the rug,

so small and powerless,

her needs unmet,

she fights me,

but I know she needs a hug.

(My loving parents

would have belted me,

or worse, ignored my plight.)

Though she resists,

my arms encircle her.

She can't get free.

" _When you relax,_

_I'll let you go._ "

She twists and bends

and yet I know

she craves restraint.

She longs to know

that someone's big enough

and cares enough

to answer her complaint.

    So we need others

constant, careful, tough.

" _Thanks, officer,_

_for making me slow down._

_Our town is safe._

_I'm safer in our town._ "

>   
> 
> 
> ## ❖❖❖

## _CONFESSIONS OF A FIVE YEAR OLD_

## ——————————————

Upon the cellar door,

I wrote my name in chalk.

(I scrawled it backwards

to avoid detection!)

Bored,

I did it as a game.

My parents guessed.

Once more they were annoyed.

How tempting was

the dust upon your shelf.

I wrote my name

without a second thought.

I'm sorry.

I was only thinking of myself.

I meant no harm

nor thought that I'd get caught.

You guessed that was my nasty way

to say that you're a slob.

If you did that to me,

that's what you'd mean,

I fear.

But can't you see

perhaps my only motive

was to play?

No, I'm not minimizing what I did.

It wasn't me!

That was my inner kid.

>   
> 
> 
> ## ❖❖❖

## _AGE INAPPROPRIATE_

## ——————————————

I wish I had

more heinous sins to hide

for all the grief I suffer,

and for what?

Reflecting back

past follies pierce my pride.

Aflame in shame,

my heart hides in my gut.

Who in their twenties

isn't foolish, lewd;

at thirty, striving;

forty-five, irate;

by fifty, overwhelmed;

at sixty, rude;

by decade seven, bitter;

scared by eight?

We act polite, mature,

refined, and fair,

but under pressure

we go just so far

until we snap,

each soul stripped bare.

At every moment

we are who we are.

We're liable forever,

but to live

we have to stop,

reflect,

ourselves forgive.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _ELVIS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING_

### Braccae Tuae A Periuntur

## ——————————————

Ya, this is really awkward,

I confess.

I'm glad you're friend enough

to let me know.

Perhaps my troubled mind,

some sign of stress or chance,

uncovered what one mustn't show.

What I've betrayed

comes from my inner core.

It's vital to myself

and to my pride.

Though I sense your discomfort,

most abhor what's dear to me

and will not be denied.

I am no fool.

I keep a constant watch

to hold in check

what I have hardly tamed.

Perhaps I had

to take me down a notch.

Though I'm embarrassed,

I am not ashamed.

Forgive my human self.

I don't know why,

somehow, I've left undone

my moral fly.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _NOT AN EXCUSE, BUT..._

## ——————————————

Adults are pleased and proud to see

their child behave so well,

so cute in party dress.

Forgotten are their years

of pain and stress.

It's THEIR shame

when their kid is acting wild.

But cherubs make me nervous.

Little elves are busy testing

in their quest to learn.

It never stops.

Our souls we have to earn.

They're surest

when they are their messy selves.

But party clothes still chafe.

I grew amiss.

My imp-self sought

a witness, yard stick, sage.

In my distress,

my tantrum showed my age.

Why you?

Why then?

No consolation this:

Though I betrayed your trust

and broke your heart,

I did feel safe enough

to fall apart.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _EVERYONE'S FAVORITE SPORT_

## ——————————————

Though seldom warm,

more often bracing cold,

I soon adjust.

Uplifted, blissful, freed.

My skin feels numb.

Inhaling long,

I hold my breath,

exhale, then pause,

once more proceed.

The surface ripples

as I stretch and turn.

I flex, relax, and

sense my body glide.

I let my mind

drift off without concern.

Secure, I close my eyes.

All fears subside.

Invigorating and

restorative,

I sneak a dip in,

if the time is right.

But focused sessions

meet my need to live

a self-respectful life.

And so each night I,

like a swimmer,

with a leap,

dive deep in bed

for laps and laps

of luscious sleep.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _INTERVENTION_

## ——————————————

They toddle.

It's a phase.

Each used to crawl.

They watch and try and

master how to climb.

A little more they'll learn

with every fall.

Soon each will run.

They'll speak in their own time.

They bite.

Get bitten.

It's a phase.

We pick one teacher to observe,

intrude, prevent.

Once Mouth was all and

minds are quick.

Complex emotions

words must represent.

The bitten need words too.

So much to say, and then,

to learn to listen

to what's said.

I'm full of feelings

I would wish away.

I bite.

But now I bite myself, instead.

Where are the arms

to hold me and appeal?

" _Nope._

_Use your words._

_Speak out!_

_Say how you feel._ "

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _NEXT LEVEL_

## ——————————————

So am I still your friend if—

if I poke your eye?

A toddler's bold experiment,

that's existential

without mean intent.

What if I grab or share?

I bite or stroke?

Am I your friend

if I go spread

a lie about you?

High school trials:

who's in? who's out?

What actions, words

yield pride

or guilt or doubt?

What's private?

What is trust?

Respect? And why?

Am I your friend

if I move in your house?

I drink your booze?

Or steal the cash you earn?

Or punch your face?

(I guess I didn't learn.)

Or start a rumor?

If I bed your spouse?

The game is still the same,

but if you're wise,

you'll sense the pain

as consequences rise.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _FAMILY FEAST_

## ——————————————

It's not enough

to learn from each mistake.

We grow up being

someone else's test,

to see how we react

when teased or stressed or hit.

We learn to lie

for our own sake.

But on the social stage,

we play our part

and strive to act adult

at every age.

We feed our grievances

and nurture rage,

and try to hide

our bitter, battered heart.

Yet at the table

for a family feast,

we eye a parent,

grown-up child, or sib,

an ex (or should be),

till the age-old fib won't hold.

Out roars our inner beast.

The napkins fly

at those we most despise,

confronting liars

to protect our lies.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _WAITING FOR A REFILL ON CHRISTMAS EVE_

## ——————————————

Who lives the glittered lives

of greeting cards?

Old Santa's but the first

of many lies.

Who dare resists

when every song bombards us,

makes us spend, consume,

our life despise?

What if your past

was filled with scenes of strife,

of feasts of gall, betrayal,

unsettled scores?

What if, a captive kid,

you lived your life a hostage

trapped in dinner-table wars?

If mandatory cheer

still makes you mad,

escape allotted bonds,

genetic chains,

renounce the bad,

refuse what makes you sad,

create traditions new

of what remains.

How can you feel included,

safe and calm?

Just call that late-night diner waitress,

" _Mom._ "

##

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _SNIT_

## ——————————————

How dare you take away from me

the love that others gave me,

leaving me alone?

We're trapped.

I gnash my teeth and groan.

We're pushed around.

I wince with every shove.

We're not like you.

Our world we can't control,

ourselves as well.

Addictions feed our face.

In pain, inflicting pain,

we stay in place.

I won't give up

but cannot save my soul.

I hate you.

Hate myself.

I stink of gall.

Let's have it out right now

and then be done.

I have my hostage

pinned against the wall,

and at my temple, look,

I shove a gun.

I'll shoot!

No?

Yes?

I want to see you nod.

I dare you!

Show me that you love me, God.

> ## ❖❖❖

## **_LET'S MAKE A DEAL_**

## ——————————————

Though seldom seen

he's always hanging 'round.

You're never safe.

He'll elbow his way in.

I fear if I deny him,

he'll confound my plan, surprise me

with his fiendish grin.

I keep out of his way,

because I hope

if I ignore him,

he'll ignore me too.

I tease him sometimes

(it's a way to cope),

a moth-and-flame game,

one cannot undo.

I fear he likes his humor

gross and grim.

I've lately thought,

Should I make him my friend

till he gets bored with me?

I bet the end will come too soon

when I've forgotten him.

I ask

(though I seem morbid,

prying, rude)

what deal have YOU made

with that Reaper dude?

> ## ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _THANK GOD_

## ——————————————

I can't undo

what stupidly I've done.

To face embarrassment,

I'd rather die.

I've lost their trust, respect.

We cannot lie.

I know from this

my friendship they will shun.

But one's response

defines integrity.

Confronted I did NOT

deflect,

deny,

discredit,

minimize, or

justify,

manipulate or

claim the hurt for me.

I listened,

took responsibility,

apologized,

accepted all the blame.

I sought support for change

and in my shame

did NOT

retreat or

act addictively.

One seldom gets momentum

at a start,

a stinging slap

from God

to make me smart.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _DEAR SIR OR MADAM_

## ——————————————

Here's my complaint, and

I want your reply,

ASAP.

I got this as a gift.

I never asked for it.

I know that I have used up

more than half,

which has me miffed.

I'm hooked on it,

but it's not all that good.

It doesn't keep.

It's cheap, and yet so dear.

I'm not excited by it,

but I would not want

to give or lose it.

When I hear instructions multiply,

they contradict.

I wouldn't mind a thrill or

glimpse of bliss.

It seems so overrated,

I feel tricked.

But mostly I feel bored.

So tell me this:

can you replace

the years I've wasted or

inform me

what this product

—LIFE—

is for?

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _STORM_

## ——————————————

Wind stirs.  
    The shadows merge

and darkness spreads.

As silence swallows sound,

the flagpole tolls.

Fast flash! Forked etching.

Stomach growling rolls.

One fleck. Grey spots.

A gust. Quick steps.

Bowed heads.

Mist, drizzle, shower,

deluge, cloudburst roar.

A pounding volley

slashes reborn streams,

wind-rippled lawn,

or crosswalk lake

that teems and churns,

and splashes in the endless pour,

as pelting bullets

pummel speckled panes,

and arrows pierce,

spring crowns,

strew puddle rings.

Then spurting gutters,

black pools,

leaf-dammed drains.

Sniff pine, rosemary,

sopping wool that stings.

Drenched dripping boughs.

Street mirrors.

Fading marks.

Then sunshine!

Rainbow!

Double rainbow arcs!

> ❖❖❖

_  
_

_  
_

## _LESSER LAWS OF KARMA_

## ——————————————

We live our life

the hero of our tale.

We suffer, conquer

as we face our lot.

We try to write our script,

perform our plot,

and sometimes we succeed,

sometimes we fail.

We make mistakes.

Our innocence is scorned.

Each action

has a consequence to face.

What's gained

if we don't try

and risk disgrace?

"Be careful what you wish for,"

we are warned.

Each dream's adventure

is a fantasy.

I am the hero.

I too am the foe.

As every aspect

is some part of me,

my shadow self knows

what I ought to know.

Be careful what you dread.

You'll summon near

the very obstacle

that you most fear.

> ## ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _AND MY GOD SAID (Part 1)_

## ——————————————

I am.

And I am love.

And I am near.

You have a mission to fulfill,

or fight.

The What? or When? or Why?

you needn't hear.

When stymied, stop and pray.

You'll know what's right.

I also promise you:

you will not face more grief

than you can stand.

Yes, pain's your lot.

Mistakes are how you learn.

You can embrace your tasks

You are that strong,

though fear you're not.

You doubt me.

Every hurt seems my betrayal.

You think me angry.

Dread I wish you ill.

Before you were,

I loved you,

    And I will forgive you, too,

before you fail.

As I forgive,

Forgive yourself.

Be true to Love

and love yourself,

as I love you.

> ## ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _AND MY GOD SAID (Part 2)_

## ——————————————

You fail a test

and then ask me to cheat.

If only WHAT?

You pray for sun or rain.

Most times you think

you call on me in vain.

I know your strife.

No, Death's not my deceit.

I'm here for you.

I know what life demands.

But comets, quakes, and floods

are not my flaws,

'Cause gravity and time

have their own laws.

So at the curb, look twice.

And wash your hands.

Your spouse,

your job

are always on your mind.

I'll hear your woes

but try this:

stop sometime and listen.

Love and courage

    you will find.

Life isn't fair,

but life can be sublime.

So don't blame me for war

or dirty tricks.

Shut up.

The mess you make

is yours to fix.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

_  
_

## _OH NO IT'S NOT_

## ——————————————

_A man was crying. He said they make buttons and soap out of us._

— Giosué Orefice in " _Life is Beautiful_ " by Roberto Benigni

A film, a fable:

Guido tells his son

the Nazis' camp's a game

with points to gain.

I know through humor

one can deal with pain.

But all is falsehood

once this lie's begun.

Reality can leave

a fatal bruise.

It seems so cruel.

Deceit instead, most use.

But lying to a child's

a coward's crime.

Fit to their age,

kids need to know

what's true.

He might have said,

" _The sea becomes the snow._

_Hot lava turns to rock_

_that's worn to sand._

_From pear to poop to root..._

_I understand it's scary_

_and you're miserable,_

_but know that I_

_will always fight_

_to be near you._

_We too become_

_all other things in time._ "

> ## ❖❖❖

_**  
**_

## _**ALLERGIES**_

## ——————————————

It doesn't have to be

a germ at wait.

When anything

my body thinks is strange

—some substance

I inhaled or touched or ate,

and instantly

my body starts to change.

My skin grows hot or cold.

I sweat or shake.

My head

becomes too heavy for my spine.

I gag.

I gasp.

My muscles cramp and ache.

All this

for what may really be benign.

I marvel at

each ready white blood cell.

I'd give them

shiny metals to parade.

They're on patrol

for agents to dispel,

defend me well

and seek to be of aid.

We must maintain the best defense,

and yet,

our fear might be more harmful

than the threat.

> ## ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _MY RIGHT BIG TOE_

## ——————————————

My mother taught me

how to clip my nails.

One more parental duty,

I suppose.

Self-care creates self-worth

with such details,

and how you treat yourself

shows in your toes.

She had a nail, I know,

that went astray.

(It's funny how kids

never miss a flaw.)

I clipped away

and suddenly,

one day,

same nail on me

had curled by nature's law.

Today I noticed

that one had turned black,

but when and how it bruised

I can't recall.

It had to have been

quite a nasty whack.

It's weird

I don't remember it at all.

Though,

while in three months' time,

it will be gone,

the mystery of what and why

goes on.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _SHEA'S BUFFALO THEATER 1955_

## ——————————————

_No animals were harmed during the filming of this production._

— American Humane Association, 1980

Across the screen

a cowboy rides the plain.

We watched.

He stops.

I bounced on Grandma's knee.

An arrow flies.

His horse rears up in pain

and falls and dies.

I cried.

She laughed at me.

Now, tell me,

did her German cousin

chide the Nazis' rise,

or praise it out of fear?

And did my father's mother's cousin

hide a slave or own one?

Now the choice seems clear.

At five I knew injustice.

Didn't you?

(At every age we think

we know it all.)

Which thoughtless act

we do, without a clue,

will bring us shame,

our grandchildren appall?

Those innocent but wise

may show us how to be

tomorrow's honored hero now.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _AN 'ELEGY' FOR IRONY_

## ——————————————

Sharp trickster,

how we loved to watch you tie

our muddled minds

into a knotted maze.

Your jests and jokes

did twist each question,

"Why?"

till heart and head

were drugged in deadly daze.

Wise cynic,

never have you had such praise

for tense distortion,

farce and helplessness.

With hope abandoned,

darkest night betrays

"dead" land,

"dead" minds,

and only Death to bless.

And yet in spite of Lethe,

I must confess, my heart still beats

and wiser have I grown,

for,

while I have no spirit left to guess,

I know the constants

even you have known.

And so if queer queens love

and scapegoats die,

won't spring reveal the truth

of every "lie"?

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _GARDEN PLANET_

## ——————————————

Above our spinning orb,

the satellites observe

the galaxies of swelling space,

watch weather, weapons, waste,

see darkness chase the dusk,

our growing web

of roads and lights.

Below I lie awake

at night and pray

those fools who think the world

is theirs to fuck will fail.

I stumble to the fridge

and pluck an orange,

spongy soft and bluish-gray.

There's death in life,

but seeking comfort's

brought us burning skies,

dead dirt, and toilet seas,

minced mountains,

forests scalped

and baffled bees.

Extinctions!

All the greed

of man hath wrought.

And by the lunar lightbulb,

I behold the orbits of

the spinning spores of mold.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THOUGHTS AT THE BEACH AT NIGHT_

## ——————————————

Can cells sense something's wrong

when cancer starts?

The body as a whole

is self-contained,

complete,

compatible in all its parts.

Its function, features, fate

are all maintained.

What is this maverick madness,

counter-fate,

a tyrant spirit

rending all awry

to sap and warp,

confound and mutilate,

a manic mayhem

forced to multiply?

What kind of baneful guest

is so engrossed

within the selfish meeting

of his needs

to damn his future,

jeopardize his host?

Now everything that eats

and shits and breeds,

the very stars and waves

and wind and sand

must dread our gaze,

the moving of a hand

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE_

## ——————————————

Hell-O and thanks

for reading this odd note.

I've surfed the currents,

bobbed with kelp and fish.

Who knows how far,

how long I've stayed afloat?

I wish you well

but can't grant any wish.

My hope is

that you're safe and well and free

from bombs and famine,

plagues and drought.

I fear you've found our mark

on all you see.

That you have sore resentments

I've no doubt.

For if you've plucked me

from a sea of slime,

a peak of plastic,

or a clawed-through pit,

you'll know as planet stewards

we were all unfit.

Too soon the chance was lost.

There was no time.

When gone,

we only then conceive real worth.

Forgive us if

we sacked and trashed your earth.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THE PROFANE AND THE SACRED_

## ——————————————

_You green shit._

— Koko in _Dragons of Eden_ by Carl Sagan

My father said

he knew he loved me

when he volunteered

for my first diaper change.

It wasn't something done

by men back then.

"Your poop was green and gooey.

Really strange."

All life seems one long,

time-consuming quest to separate

the good things from the bad.

We hoard the precious

then discard the rest.

Please tell me I'm not THAT

and I'll be glad.

Alas, shit happens,

much to our dismay.

We often panic trying to stay calm.

We search in vain

to find some other way.

But ask a farmer,

artist,

healer,

mom:

in life

there is no Me or You or It,

'cause everything is sacred,

even shit.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _SHE SAID 'SAVE YOURSELF_

## ——————————————

My friend,

if you mean save my mortal soul

(before the pass/fail test,

when I decay

for prepaid bliss

or face the heated hole),

I'll run the risk.

I'm sorry,

I won't play.

Or do you mean

I ought to hoard my goods to barter

in the market of the tough?

Or how I should survive

the world of shoulds?

(Addictions say

there never is enough.)

Or do you mean

I ought to bide my time,

as if I am a resource to conserve,

for all too soon

I will be past my prime?

(I doubt if I am worthy

to preserve.)

Do I need rescuing?

It's plain to see

that no one's saving me,

my friend, but me.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _A CONFESSION_

## ——————————————

As if we had been plundered,

we went room to room.

" _That's gone!_ "

_Just look at that._ "

_"And there!_ "

In time we all rebuilt.

Yet we assume disaster

will return,

so we prepare

with batteries and matches,

water, gas.

We keep our family photos

by the door or somewhere

near the bins

for paper, glass,

or lost amid

the useless crap

we store.

God!

Avalanche my magazines

and rain away my relatives,

old clothes flambé;

tornado through commitments,

hurricane me clean,

tsunami all my shit away!

Yet, even as I ponder all at stake,

I sometimes really wish

the earth would quake!

> ## ❖❖❖

## _PRIVY THOUGHTS_

## ——————————————

At dawn I crawl and

plop down on the pot.

How long?

I face another day of dread,

of tedium,

bored,

wishing I were dead,

as if

persistent terror

were my lot.

My quiet desperation

is a rut.

Self-pity is the leash

that keeps me stuck

and in my place,

expecting change

through luck.

I daydream victory and

scratch my butt.

Or

I could rise and

find the truth I knew.

That's not heroics,

just an attitude—

the one thing I can change,

if it's pursued.

And so I ask myself:

What can I do

to earn my health,

to act the useful way,

to hear and see and feel

this special day?

> ## ❖❖❖

## _CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY_

## ——————————————

Look, no one's watching.

Even if they stare at you,

they're thinking about debts,

or pain, or moments lost

they never will regain.

You're no one special.

They don't really care.

And if they dare,

you meet each stupid leer,

you show them

you have courage,

strength, and will.

And if you fail,

your laugh will make them ill.

So fuck 'em

if they're paralyzed by fear.

Now, take the risk

to earn a memory,

to spin past gravity,

transcend the grave.

Lightheaded, weightless, giddy,

bold and brave

through movement, music, magic

you'll feel free.

If life is dying,

why not take this chance?

Get off your ass,

you fool.

Get up and dance.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _NEVER COMPLAIN, NEVER EXPLAIN_

## ——————————————

You ever notice,

if you break your arm,

each friend shows such dismay

at your account,

and then

(though you're the one

who's come to harm),

each tells THEIR tale of pain,

the type, amount?

You ever notice

how they know

so much about the ins and outs

of treatment,

share the symptoms, warnings,

firm advice, and such,

as if your doctor

doesn't know your care?

They mean well.

But they wonder why I stall,

as each detail and clue

they try to learn.

It's really not

about MY health at all.

Their OWN health ought to be

their main concern.

I'll not report, excuse,

take heed, or whine.

Now all you need to know

is that—I'm fine.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _BUFFING MY SOUL_

## ——————————————

Okay! I feel the pain.

So where's the gain?

We limp through life.

Some keep the march.

Some crawl.

Avoiding hazards,

longing to complain,

we scan our scars,

while hoping death to stall.

We all want bliss.

Aroused, entranced, we think

the gross, the grand, and

everything between

will fill the void.

And so we eat.

We drink.

We screw and shop

to try to feel serene.

Of course,

there never really is enough.

Too soon

the overloaded senses fade,

and faced with anxious fear

we bluff, evade, and

    leave our hidden needs betrayed.

I often think

I'd rather die than feel.

At least, with every wince,

I know what's real.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _I AFFIRM_

## ——————————————

I am alive.

And even when alone,

I have the skills and peace

and all the stuff I need to thrive.

I'm more than good enough.

I value,

honor

all that I have known.

My love's immense.

My humor is profound.

I show respect

in everything I do.

I see the best in all.

My word is true.

I now embrace my health.

I'm strong and sound.

I will be gentle

with myself today.

I will fulfill

commitments I have made.

I will confront,

forgive,

and be of aid.

I will pursue my dreams

and pray

and play.

Right here,

right now,

I claim and own what's mine.

I am prepared

and this day I will shine.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _I COMMIT  
_

## ——————————————

To change my life today,

I'll not ignore injustice,

covet what I haven't got,

repress or

pity myself,

placate,

plot.

I can,

no matter what I've done before,

create the person

that I want to be.

I'll look for lessons

when I feel attacked.

I'll own my feelings,

think before I act.

I know I can live

should-less, shame-less, free.

Today I will not take or

risk my life,

nor harm myself

by little suicides.

I'll shun what sabotages me or

hides my worth or

aggravates my inner strife.

And as I dare today

to show my face,

I vow to make our world

a better place.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _S.A.S.E._

## ——————————————

So, if you're reading this,

we made it through another year.

I'm grateful

we survived to make our mark.

Our end has not arrived.

By next year,

this is what I wish for you—

you'll need to hear once more

for our own good:

Please breathe.

Don't shovel, savor.

Exercise.

Get sleep.

With safety never compromise.

And look your best,

because you should.

But have you made the world

a better place?

Risk ridicule.

Find allies.

Lend a hand.

Confront injustice.

Make a battle plan.

Now, go make change.

To fail is no disgrace.

Fulfill our dreams, my friend,

but while we're here,

be good to us.

We'll make it to next year.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _FOSTERING: AN ODE_

## ——————————————

### i

I wish this baby

flannel, oatmeal, bells, balloons,

a kite, a cat, a bike, a phone.

I wish her tryouts, outfits, ocean swells,

and dances, love notes,

babies of her own.

But dare I wish her fevers, bruises, tears?

Who knows what trials life will make her face?

(Strip searches, sirens?)

When you hear her fears, I hope

you'll help her try

(or not help,

as the case may be)

until she fails and then despairs

and asks and learns and tries again.

### ii

Your burden's great.

Some parents can't adjust.

A few (indignant, ignorant)

deprive their own

(as they were once?),

betray their trust.

(In hunger, silence, filth

some fail to thrive!)

Kids cower, cringe from curses, glaring eyes.

The slaps and belts kill confidence,

pierce pride.

If we are only what we know,

then lies and threats they'll learn (and teach).

Some bold, some snide,

their spirit wastes away while wasting time.

Souls cursed to cruelty,

cowardice, and crime.

### iii

I'm sure you wish this baby

Party clothes, recitals, ribbons,

cars, diplomas, deeds.

By now I'm sure her nursery

overflows with books and puzzles,

years beyond her needs.

It's tempting

(gardeners graft and florists dye)

to change, improve

(each flaw makes you despair).

The best are mere cosmetics feats.

(Why try?)

Because her first milk tooth,

her first gray hair

(and when and where)

already are foretold within each cell,

within the spiral code.

### iv

Some babes are colicky,

some chatty, dumb.

She'll walk, she'll talk

(no matter what you do)

when ready.

(No doll. No slate.)

She'll become her own self

with (or else in spite of) you.

So while there's much you cannot do,

there's much you can

(and must).

Good goals, safe limits,

fair, respectful choices

(just your ear, your touch)

all help.

She might (with your concern and care)

transcend misfortune,

sail through strife, create her chances,

master skills, transform her fate.

### v

Her needs are simple,

water, food, and air.

Her tasks, to eat and shit

and sleep and dream (or scream).

She needs you now

(while in your care)

to keep her warm and dry.

All she'll achieve in life

is based on these.

So let her be,

because her business now is to perceive,

test time and space

and distance, gravity

to learn to sing and count

and climb and slide and spell,

to learn to value, judge, decide.

### vi

If not from you,

from whom will she begin

to master brushes, thank-yous;

learn to live with others,

right from wrong,

and how to win, to lose,

confront, apologize, forgive?

No gift or gadget

could inspire her to inspire herself,

help her experience the world,

create her memories.

For you can make her feel she matters,

find a sense of worth, of family;

and (knowing she is loved and loving)

dance her destiny.

# THE SORDED SHRINE

## _Poems of Personal Encounter_

# ————————————————

### Pursuit

### Fools

### Unrequited

### Jerks

### Discord

### Longing

### Loss

### Love

## _   BE MINE_

## ——————————————

Dear Valentine,

list on the space below

the three things you won't eat,

won't do in bed,

one joke,

two dreams.

Describe when "No" means "NO!"

Five quirks

(and what you ought

to do instead).

Why YOU love me.

Define your need for space

—not just alone—

including closet, shelf,

the proper length of time

for an embrace,

to punish,

sleep, and

to forgive

yourself.

Note with your binding signature,

you vow to be on my side,

demonstrate you care

to look at me and listen,

starting now,

talk openly, and

promise to be fair.

So "Are you true or false?"

To end this quiz, check:

" _yes_ ___ or _no_ ___."

I will take you

—as is.

> ## ❖❖❖

##  _MY INVITATION TO YOU_

## ——————————————

We're all alone.

Sit down. Relax.

Lay back.

I'm here for you

and, yes, for me as well.

Adventure's what I'm offering.

You lack experience, excitement.

I can tell.

A bully makes one small,

to seem more tall.

I don't seek private joy

at your expense.

I won't make you

do anything at all.

If safe, if free, if fun,

it does makes sense.

I think there's part of you

who wants this too.

Let's get past shame,

embarrassment, and fear.

At every step,

there is a choice for you.

Your every secret wish

I want to hear.

Come feel. Come taste.

You want to.

Why merely guess?

It's ripe. It's sweet.

It's here. It's yours.

Say, YES!

> ## ❖❖❖

##  _NOT AVAILABLE IN ALL STATES_

## ——————————————

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Act now!

Redeem this coupon for my heart.

It's priceless, precious.

Please don't miss this chance.

Your interest will gain interest.

So be smart!

You too

can have security, romance.

Your satisfaction guaranteed.

Supply is short.

(Note: Some exclusions may apply.)

> ## ❖❖❖

## _LINES WRITTEN ON A PAPER NAPKIN_

## ——————————————

If you think

I'm just gonna go away,

then you've got me all wrong.

And if you bet

I'll take offense

or get discouraged,

say, "I'm done. I quit,"

then you don't know me yet.

'Cause I'm a salesman.

Selling's in my core.

And in the end,

no matter what you sell,

"You have to sell yourself."

Yes, I'm a bore.

This is the only thing

that I do well.

But I'm not like

the others of my tribe,

'cause I'm not one

to pressure or misguide,

intimidate, or bargain,

beat down, bribe.

But shark or saint,

a salesman has no pride.

I'm still here.

Even if you grow irate,

'cause as a salesman,

I know how to wait.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _NOTE LEFT ON A PLATE AT A BUFFET_

## ——————————————

I like the way you eat.

It says a lot about a man,

your way with fork and knife.

You're careful,

cautious of what's hot,

but with each bite,

I watch you relish life.

My God,

if you could see yourself

right now as I do.

Did you know your eyebrows

dance each swallow?

Others munch and gnaw

like cow or pig at trough,

like zombies in a trance.

You savor,

pace yourself, and

wisely pick.

You breathe.

You drink,

not greedy gulps,

but sips.

And when just now

that sauce I saw you lick,

I thought,

if only I could kiss those lips.

But now your face

reveals dismay, surprise.

Look up

and see the hunger in my eyes.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _SOUL STONE_

## ——————————————

I picked a pebble

from a gritty shore.

I licked it.

"Tell me of your molten birth,

Your journey from a crag

to ocean's floor,

of layered time,

of floods and quaking earth.

His eyes have flecks of mica, gold.

Like you he's hard and quiet,

full of mysteries.

So, hold you?

Toss you back?

What should I do?

Can I display you

near my coins and keys?"

I kissed behind his ear

and smelled the sea.

From whom his chin,

the gullies on his brow,

each scar,

I want to know its history,

I loved him then.

I want to love him now.

I'll place you

on my dresser's sordid shrine,

Perhaps he'll keep his wallet

next to mine.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THE SHOW MUST GO ON_

## ——————————————

Back there are storage rooms

crammed to the beams

with trunks of costumes,

coats, and shoes and hats,

old scripts and notes in boxes,

powders, creams, and

tables, chairs, and

thickly painted flats.

This stage is set.

It all has been arranged.

Whichever role I pick to play,

I know my lines, my moves,

what must be changed.

I'm planning

quite a lively, moving show.

For many years

I've fought off my despair,

rehearsing what I could alone.

I bought this nice cologne,

here's naughty underwear.

Which lights,

which sheets,

which wine

took lots of thought.

I hoard these props,

still hoping to attract

another actor

for my opening act.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _GIFT HORSE_

## _——————————————_

Romance would have us

never question love.

To barter for affection

does seems crude.

One needs surprise and magic

for the mood.

It seems we're all on show.

To keep above the market value

is the goal.

I've tried to find

companionship,

acceptance, peace.

We act our best,

but like that horse from Greece,

we all have hidden warriors inside.

Though love makes lovers' quirks

appear sublime,

to heartache

every human heart is cursed.

When left to luck,

we always pick the worst.

It's unromantic

but I take my time.

I kick the stool.

I poke the gums.

You bet!

Pursuing love,

I scan, I plot, I vet.

_  
_

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _TOYING WITH YOU_

## ——————————————

First, ears: I would like two.

One either side,

I'm not a cubist.

Eyes:

the same as mine,

though others have their charm,

however dyed;

and all, if spied,

reveal a soul's design.

A nose:

but often that's the problem part

(there are so many).

Lips: both fine and full,

to make a smiling face,

to move my heart.

Desire's ever vigilant

amid the push and pull.

How many of us are consumed,

obsessed, with other,

secret parts,

and private glands,

and drool at genitalia,

butt, or breast?

Yet having all the pieces

in your hands

(and none of them impaired),

the real trick?

To find that

not yet rotten spud to stick.

Note: MR. POTATO HEAD by PLAYSKOOL now includes a plastic potato, which says something, doesn't it?

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _MISSIONS IMPOSSIBLE  
_

## ——————————————

Our hero: Super?

No! Disguised as me.

Love interest?

You, confused

and unaware.

The villains:

Space and Time and Gravity

and Luck and Fate,

Lost Confidence, Despair.

The scene:

A speeding train.

I have to leap upon another

racing near, and

use my strength and wits,

unseen through cars to creep,

unlock the coded door, and

light a fuse.

Pressed flesh to flesh,

I feel you stretch and moan.

You sense yourself

all powerful, divine.

Just as you realize

you're not alone,

I have one sec

to light your heart with mine.

Too soon and

I'll be crushed

beneath the train.

Too late?

You're changing hubcaps

in your brain.

> ❖❖❖

## _AN EPISTOLARY ROMANCE_

## ——————————————

Papyrus, parchment, paper,

email, tweet.

Forbidden or betrothed,

all lovers quest to find

the means to see their love

expressed, accepted, cherished

through their pledges sweet.

Once passion filled

a perfumed billet-doux.

Now teens

who once searched racks of

Hallmark hearts

will tempt another

sexting private parts.

So what's an old romantic

left to do?

We've flirted,

yet we haven't even met

We chat,

although I've never heard your voice.

Will Skype reveal

your smile, your wink?

Please let us meet.

At our first kiss,

     I will rejoice to feel your touch.

I am,

do not forget,

the Valentine

you haven't opened yet.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _BILLETS DOUX_

## ——————————————

The bar was loud.

One couldn't speak or hear.

This fellow looked at me.

So cool! So cute!

He signed.

(I thought he might be deaf or mute.)

But I can only sign my name.

Once near, he penned directions.

(Should I drive away?)

His mattress on the floor,

we wrote entwined.

Seduction isn't bullying,

It's kind.

It's overcoming fear

to make one stay.

His frisky fingers

started on my lips,

Then everywhere!

I melted 'neath his touch.

Those sounds of lovers

when flesh grinds and slips!

At dawn,

like fallen elm leaves,

I saw spread

a ring of post-its

circling his bed.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _TO AN UNCOY "MISTRESS"_

## ——————————————

I've met the virtuous

and they are rare,

and many others seem so,

but are not.

(Their words are cool

and yet their blood runs hot

to feed the lust

beneath that pious air.)

I'd like to think I try,

like most, to do the right things.

Carnal motives

you can tell in words and deeds.

They have their place as well.

(Have fun and

yet be good.)

And then there's you.

The rumor has it

you sure get about,

so fast and loose and free

(I hear you love to flirt

with old or young,

a girl or boy)

but in the end,

somehow

you don't put out.

Why die, dear,

with the reputation of a whore

and never really know the joy?

> ## ❖❖❖

## _JACK ASS_

## ——————————————

So just how stupid

do you think I am?

Did you think

you invented sex or crime?

Do you think

I can't spot a fib or scam?

Your silence,

jokes, and jabber

waste my time.

Today your body

may be at its prime,

but, trust me, not so

is your growing mind.

Your nasty wit's not wisdom.

Mostly I'm annoyed

by all the many woes

you've whined.

I'd rather have a mule.

Though unrefined,

they're sterile,

your smile, your wink?

and don't shit where they eat.

I'm sure less stubborn,

lazy, or unkind,

not prone to blame,

sarcasm, or deceit.

It walks the day it's born.

Your life ain't rough.

Mere nine months?

Twenty years is not enough.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _YES BUTTING  
_

## ——————————————

I hear your pain, my friend.

You do seem stuck.

With every effort thwarted

you're depressed.

Yet, while you blame

your fated, lousy luck

you veto

every option I suggest.

You either have a god

you must appease,

who seeks to do you ill

at every turn,

or else

each time you do

just as you please,

creates a consequence.

It's what you earn.

You cannot change the past,

although you try.

You cannot change the weather

or your lot.

You cannot take

because you haven't got.

You cannot win

because you rage or cry.

You pout,

yet seem invested in your mood.

You have the strength to change

your attitude.

> ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _IF ONLY_

## ——————————————

If only what?

So what's the cross you bear?

If fools and tyrants

stayed out of your way?

If only you possessed

straight teeth, more hair?

If cancer, heartache, beer

would go away?

Perhaps you suffered

feeling different, strange?

Your parents nailed you up

for every flaw?

Your buddy boss man

sold you off for change?

Your lover cheated,

left you with the law?

You want life perfect.

Lacking beauty, wealth

might help, not hurt,

you hone an honest heart,

whet courage facing

conflict, grief, ill health.

In Christ's life,

Judas played a crucial part.

Be grateful.

Don't begrudge the luck you lack.

When Judas kisses you,

you kiss him back.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _MISTRESS MARY_

## ——————————————

I bought a suit

then gave that suit away.

" _It goes with everything!_ "

so said the clerk.

Not so.

My brown belt

made the pants look gray,

but then the black belt

somehow didn't work.

I swear by day

I'd call the color stone,

but underneath a lamp

it could be sand.

In photographs

it had a purple tone.

It seemed by plan, perverse

but then looked bland.

Please tell me

why you contradict your boss;

claim yourself vegan

at a barbecue;

at " _Daddy's temple_ "

wear your " _Mommy's cross?_ "

You must know

it's a pain to be near you.

Your answer to each offer's

always " _Nope._ "

Go die.

I bet your cosmic aura's taupe.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _RIGHT OFF TRACK_

## ——————————————

I skip the orange

and grab the salty snack.

I'll take the lift,

though I should climb the stairs.

I'll have a beer and chips.

I mean, who cares?

Would that I cared enough

to keep on track.

But all the healthy choices

seem so dull.

Why jog? Why walk?

When I can sit right here

just killing time

with all my vices near,

and never feel them

rot my chest and skull.

So who am I to question

whom you pick?

Guess running after fools

is exercise.

Give up on love.

Go gorge on smiles and lies

until you're sad or crazy,

wretched, sick.

I'd be your healthy choice,

but there's the curse:

I could do better too,

but you'll do worse.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _ILL WIND_

## ——————————————

Oppressive, inescapable,

inflamed,

you suck all reason

right out of the air,

and under that incendiary glare,

we broil and bake

in singeing gusts,

untamed.

No matter how we hide,

we have to hear you howl

and screech and rant

till you prevail.

We wilt and whither

in a toxic gale of filth

that bellows

in each bullied ear.

You blast us on and on

relentlessly

oblivious that we might be

annoyed or want to speak

or else sit quietly.

Guess you think conversations

fear a void.

How can you talk so long,

talk crap, and why?

Be silent, silenced,

lose that voice, or die.

> ## ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _PRIORITY_

## ——————————————

Whatever! Sure!

What's your bizarre request?

I've worn assorted panties,

briefs, and thongs for others,

sitting still as they've obsessed

of life, of love,

and catalogue their wrongs.

Like there's the guy

who had me call him "Dad."

I'm cool.

So what's your preference?

"Sir?" or "Son?"

Come on.

It's no time to feel tired or sad.

You paid for this.

The evening's just begun.

We all pay.

God, by masters

I've been trained in guilt,

betrayal, denial, and jealousy.

Intimidate or plead.

Your choice.

Your feigned concern is nice.

Tonight's 'bout you not me.

No matter how mistreated,

tricked, or scarred,

right now,

it's all 'bout you

and keeping hard.

> ❖❖❖

## _PLAQUE  
_

## ——————————————

Used wrapping paper,

plastic cups, faux hair,

cliff hangers, instant coffee,

childproof caps,

repeated jingles,

static, squelch, dead air.

Oh, every other driver,

cell phones,

snaps, all polka dots,

and potholes, power lines,

stringed lights, long cords and cables,

tiny type, those packing pellets,

pop-up windows, signs that flash,

most garnish, all election hype,

those cards that fall from magazines,

stuffed birds,

chewed gum, cheap sandals,

copy ink, frayed ends,

words mispronounced, misquotes

and made-up words,

my friends' ex-lovers—

worse! ex-lovers' friends—

all surveys, pet hair,

floral-scent shampoo,

rude waiters, shower scum,

cigar smoke,

you.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _STUD_

## ——————————————

In denim blues, his t-shirt shines.

No tux could strut so fine.

With dirty hands as if he worked,

Few care he cuts in line.

> Oh, he's bad,

He smells of brimstone, sweat, and sex

With stubble on his chin.

What hides his cloven hooves and tail?

Are horns beneath his skin?

> Oh, he's bad,

but bad never looked so good.

He eyes the exit. Eyes my soul.

Which is the better bet?

He'll pick a fight. He'll kick a dog

And never feel regret.

> Oh, he's bad,

He'll charm a waitress, skip her tip

And never look the fool.

He won't say sorry, please, or thanks,

Yet comes off looking cool.

> Oh, he's bad,

but bad never looked so good.

He'll peel his tread, ignore all signs,

But damn, I feel the thrill.

He'll take my seat. He'll steal my cap.

I'm pissed, but linger still.

> Oh, he's bad,

He pees off porches, spits on food.

Loves breaking dishes, clocks.

His cards aren't good. He fibs for fun.

He's always testing locks.

> Oh, he's bad,

but bad never looked so good.

Once he said to me:

"I want you to be my friend.

_I don't know why yet,_

_but someday I'll need you, and then_

_you'll owe me, Sucker,_ "

then gave me his naughty grin.

What am I missing? What's it like,

Those things I don't allow?

He rubs his crotch. He curls his lip.

He wants, and wants it now.

> Oh, he's bad.

But I feel guilty lacking guilt.

I know what's right, and yet

Am I the gutless fool 'cause I

Regret I can't regret?

> Oh, he's bad,

but bad never looked so good.

He's fearless, bold. He takes the lead,

Yet never takes the blame.

I envy how he takes his fill,

And takes off without shame.

> Oh, he's bad,

And when he falls, he lands on top.

Then off. He can't be found.

His luck will leave. But he'll be dead

before he's caught and bound.

> Oh, he's bad,

but bad never looked so good.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _TENNIS, ANYONE?_

## ——————————————

I envy them.

I watch them serve, receive.

The forehand, backspin, smash,

each smacked with care.

Except to rest or

stopping to retrieve,

the volley rhythm

builds between the pair.

Engaging conflict

would be a delight.

I stare and wait.

My racquet arm is sore

from bouncing balls

against my guts

strung tight.

The mystery to me

is how to score.

More couples come.

I shift and scratch.

Pretending my approach,

my slice,

I pray to find a mate and

maybe meet my match.

Hey, I don't have to win.

I need to play.

It's all a game and

I should be a sport.

Guess love means zero

on and off the court.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _CAVAFY IN CARMEL_

## ——————————————

Is there anything more embarrassing

Than the telltale wreckage of love

The morning after?

My accomplice and I might smile,

But an intruder's smirk

Would make me blush.

He struck me at first sight—classic form,

Eternal youth, such thoughtless beauty,

A careless gesture.

At once I felt the urge to grab, to hide,

To weep, to pee, to die, to bite,

To shout for joy!

As Alexander I'd have bribed him,

Made metal, marble sing this warrior's praise

And be his slave.

Mid-glance his eyes pierced mine.

I felt redeemed. He saw right through me

And turned away.

His face was on my pillow last night.

(His downy cheek against my scratchy chin,

encircled in my arms,

In that other world we seek to conquer,

All night my love was mine.)

How the feathers flew!

> ❖❖❖

##

## _TWO MOTHS_

## ——————————————

I know I see

what others cannot see.

I've spied

the desperate frenzy

in your eyes.

My love is not the drug

that makes you dance.

It's heat and light

that draw you ever near.

But do you see

my yearning to be free?

If you could hear

the fantasies and lies that feed

my deep addiction

to romance,

you'd sense

how trapped I am

by my own fear.

Your fate?

To be consumed.

(You long each night

to kiss the glow

the clever glass contains.)

My fate?

Abandoned here

with growing fright.

(These portals, clear,

reveal, yet each retains.)

At dusk you fly more frantic

'round the light,

as I spin slower

trapped between two panes.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _STUBBED_

## ——————————————

Surefooted, nimble,

stable, sturdy, swift,

so I present myself,

and so I've fared.

I do so much.

Endurance is a gift.

Does anybody know

I'm running scared?

You swept me off my feet

the other night.

We hugged and kissed

and fucked and talked till dawn.

Doors opened bravely

(God, it felt so right),

I dared to cross.

I tripped.

I found you gone.

I still kept right on going anyhow.

(Perhaps that night together

never was.)

You're free.

Perhaps you'll call

and I'll be glad.

I've no regrets.

It doesn't hurt right now.

I know it will.

Not yet.

But when it does,

real soon,

it's gonna hurt

and hurt real bad.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _SHY PERCH_

## ——————————————

Soft and firm, but cold,

I see you slide about

Kissing everything below,

Even what the sun can't see.

He must be part fish too.

How he bobs and sinks and bounds.

Yes, I could splash with him,

But I don't.

If I were you, I'd move in close,

Offer him your back to ride,

Show him where his gills should be

And how to flick a tail.

I'd nibble at the moss

Running 'round his nipples,

Trace it down his chest,

His navel and beyond.

If I could get that close,

I would.

Instead I linger here,

Torturing my toes.

But you! What's stopping you?

Don't dally here with me.

Make waves with Neptune's pal

And kiss him, since I can't.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _PLUCKED_

## ——————————————

I'm sure you've seen a man

in hot debate or

roaming lost in thought,

as in a trance,

reach out,

snap up a bud to mutilate,

then quickly toss it off

without a glance.

Did you feel empty,

desperate,

deep despair?

Or was it boredom, rage,

frustration, fear

that made you kiss me

more than I could bear

and leave me,

with this bruise

beneath my ear?

I mean,

why bother reaching out to me?

Why crush me close

and then run on your way?

I sought to give you joy,

but could it be your joy

arose from feeling

my dismay?

That bite left on my neck

will cease to smart,

but what about

the hickey on my heart?

> ❖❖❖

## _5000 PIECES_

## ——————————————

It's like a quest.

A test of patience,

skill,

a chance for us

to scratch our heads

and rap our fingers.

It was fun!

Oh, what a thrill,

surprised and satisfied,

to hear that snap.

No competition here and

nothing scored,

I offered you an edge

to fill a gap.

I didn't want to think

I'd been ignored.

A few I tried to force in

with a tap.

The picture's incomplete.

Did you get bored?

Lose interest in the helpful clues

I tossed?

At first I didn't want to think

you'd hoard the ones I sought.

I know they're hidden, lost.

Yup, you're not here for me,

and I concede I'll never have

the pieces that you need.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _TENDER_

## ——————————————

I stared and thought,

How small, how strange, how plain.

Displays my memory

knew so well and

took so often,

never stopping to retain.

I felt a fool

and yet I had to look.

What I beheld

I once held constantly.

I guarded,

trusted,

valued nothing more.

So what was most surprising

was for me to see,

as if I'd never seen before.

Just so it was

when I was months abroad,

a fellow Yankee

flashed at me a buck.

I sat dumbfounded,

reassured,

yet awed.

Just so last night,

well-healed I thought,

ill-luck stuck you

before my eyes.

Too shocked for pain,

I stared and thought,

How small, how strange, how plain.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _MOUNT RUSHMORE_

## ——————————————

The faces stare out—

chiseled, proud, and bold,

with polished cheeks,

their character defined.

No monument shows

heroes silly, kind, or frail.

These giants look down

stoic, cold.

You face the world,

resolved to make your day.

You strut and lean in

to intimidate.

If charms won't trick,

you'll then manipulate or bully

to ensure you get your way.

But as geologists

who chip, then name each strata,

I have tracked your faults and

mapped your self-contempt,

your molten fury,

trapped deep pits of prejudice,

frustration, shame.

Your fierce facade

is like a thick veneer to hide

your guilt,

your cowardice, your fear.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _IT'S NOT YOU_

## ——————————————

You had no choice.

It's I who set you free.

'Cause I'm the jerk

who turns the green lights red,

and I'm the scary monster

'neath your bed.

The one responsible

is always me.

You didn't want

to let me in your life.

It's I who keeps

the mice and roaches fed.

'Tis I

who spreads gray mold

around your bread.

I made you hurt me.

Made you live in strife.

You're blameless.

I plead guilty by default.

Since I'm the nagging voice

inside your head,

It's I should suffer

endlessly instead.

So blame me.

    ME!

You're not the one at fault.

I must have magic powers

over you

to make you do things

you don't want to do.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _ABOUT THAT BLISS_

## ——————————————

I had a constant daydream.

I could see a task

I knew would call

upon my skill.

With guidance and support,

I had the will

to change the world,

fulfill my destiny.

And for a while,

but after many tries,

I reached a place

where everything seemed right,

and I made good mistakes,

and I grew wise.

Just who the hell were you

to tell me "No!

That can't be done!"

Prepared to fly or fail,

I wondered,

Did you fear

I might prevail?

Or was it change, itself,

that is your foe?

Without review,

my vision you dismissed.

Deliberately

on my sweet bliss

you pissed.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THE SALOMÈ PLATTER_

## ——————————————

I'm not sure you'll get this.

I'm not sure I care.

As if you care!

Who knows?

This is just to tell you that

I broke that dish

You gave me years ago.

I'm sure you know the one.

How strange. Looking down,

I saw a piece in each hand.

I was merely washing it

And thinking of you.

God, I lugged that thing around.

Displayed it. Hid it.

Lent it. Retrieved it.

Thought: they'll put it in my grave!

So now it's gone.

Dumped in the trash.

And someday I'll forget it.

And you.

Oh, I forgot!

Before I threw it out,

I put it in a sack

And smashed it to bits.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THE X FACTOR_

## ——————————————

I took you at face value,

though unknown.

But if you count

each sacrifice I've made,

add every night

I should have left but stayed,

times all those times

you left me on my own,

your rudeness, squared,

your irresponsibility,

less my respect

you let depreciate,

and take away from that

the food you ate,

from that deduct

your negativity,

divided by my paycheck

split in two,

you tally less than zero.

That's a fact.

You are the kind

of loser I attract.

The latest ex in my life

now is you.

    Too late to add your heartache,

needs, or wrath.

Here's proof!

Remember, you said,

" _Do the math._ "

> ## ❖❖❖

## _GETTING PERSPECTIVE_

## ——————————————

A blind man told me

what he thought of sight.

" _As if you open up a Russian doll_

_and place each front to back:_

_if you have light,_

_the near one's big,_

_the farthest one is small._ "

We learn from decibels,

from rods and cones,

from sour, sweet, and

rough and smooth,

begin from heat and cold,

from scents and pheromones

to recreate the outer world

within.

So you think you know me.

Well, you've got nerve.

Each synapse gives sensations

but no clue.

It's clear

you never listen or observe.

The me inside you

isn't me, it's YOU.

I hope someday you'll see

why I won't stay.

Watch me get smaller

as I walk away.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _CANOE_

## ——————————————

" _We won't get lost_ ,"

he says, and I,

" _Or sink? Or drown?_ "

I trust him.

" _Hey, we'll have some fun._ "

(So how did I get into this, I think.)

Our journey down the river has begun.

(What will I do to be with him?

I scoff.)

" _You hold the side for me,_

_and I'll for you._ "

We're in!

" _Sit still!_ "

And with a thrust we're off.

The gliding calms

the trembling canoe.

"You paddle on the left.

It's not an oar.

_And not too deep_

_and not too fast._ "

(I guess, "You're thinking

what I'm thinking...")

I suppress a groan.

He jokes:

" _Tomorrow we'll be sore._ "

(God, what if he loves me

a little more than I love him

or worse, a little less?)

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THAT MOMENT WHEN..._

## ——————————————

Things happen.

Wrinkles, stains, obnoxious jerks.

I'm late. They're late.

A scratch. It's spoilt. That's stale.

Annoyed we curse or fret

to no avail.

For most of these,

I find "Whatever!" works.

But when your pocket's picked,

you're scared and mad.

When cuffed and booked,

your keys sink out of sight,

a breeze-fed flame

fast makes the drapes ignite,

a tree jumps out at you:

"God, this is bad!"

So when I told my joke

and looked at you,

I noticed first

your eyes avoided mine.

Your silence shamed me.

Then you stretched your spine

and stared at me

with empty eyes,

I knew it's gone.

Yes, this is how it ends.

Damn, this is it.

As consequences flash,

I sigh, " _Oh shit!_ "

> ## ❖❖❖

## _RE-CREATION_

## ——————————————

We each have our ideal,

a waking dream,

the sum of all desired.

The hands of dad,

the heart of mom.

We splice the joys we've had

distorting everything

to our extreme.

The problem is

when flesh meets flesh,

how can you match

your vision to a brutal truth?

Sweet innocence

sends wafts of smelly youth.

One wants to hack

and graft and mold to plan.

Although I tried,

you could not make me

be the one you wanted.

I ignored so much.

I fell apart

when you denied my touch.

A monster, not an idol's

what you see.

Hope lies,

if it can't find that love divine.

But we're not God,

just Dr. Frankenstein.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _SPINACH_

## ——————————————

We formed a bond

we want the world to bless,

but differences

in politics or age,

experience or faith,

or race or wage,

ability or health

bring added stress.

Too often we compete

to be the best,

or grow dependent

just to meet our needs.

Who's parent?

Who's the kid?

Which often leads

to everything seems

like a power test.

" _I shouldn't have to_

_point that out to you._ "

You think but do not say.

You wait to blurt that out next fight,

the more to shame and hurt.

I need to know:

If not from you, then who?

And who more so than you

to speak the truth,

if I can't see

I've spinach on my tooth?

> ## ❖❖❖

## _GO FLY A KITE_

## ——————————————

Once more.

Please notice how

I keep it taut

by only letting out a bit.

So try to keep it high enough.

Then, once it's caught,

let go.

I'm certain we can make this fly,

and once we get it up,

you'll see how long the tail is.

Sunshine makes the panels glow.

Don't stand there!

Come on! Run!

The breeze is strong.

You changed your mind?

You could have told me so.

'Cause I'm prepared

to fix a flimsy frame or

untie knots,

face winds that gust or shift,

and I'm not here to play

the game called "BLAME."

But I can't do this

if you let it drift,

or drop the spool.

Oh hell!

So cut it free.

It can't fly

if you don't believe in me.

> ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

_  
_

## _SAILING THE SOUND_

## ——————————————

We shove off.

I take starboard,

you take port and rudder,

I, the jib.

The rising sail puffs proudly,

slackens, then inhales in sport.

Will we have

shifting gusts or calm or gale?

Above the ribbons,

one on either side,

take turns,

to flutter, fall, flash red or green

to signal changes in the wind and

guide us where to steer,

which way to shift and lean.

I want today

to be a special day,

and yet I fear

I'll see your anger flare.

If we can stay in rhythm,

task, and play,

perhaps you won't observe

my jealous glare.

By dock

will there be tears

amid the brine?

I scan your face

I want today

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _FILTHY LUCRE_

## ——————————————

All I have mined and melted,

minted, stored,

I offered you,

and yet I can't compete.

Does my attention

leave you cold and bored?

My heart's locked coffer's key

lies at your feet.

I've seen him with you,

callous if not cruel,

and yet you're thrilled,

no matter what I say.

(Had he a brain

he'd play you for the fool.)

He dumps his problems,

then goes on his way.

I wonder

if you'll ever change your mind.

Today I wonder

more about your taste

(and mine!).

I wonder

when and how you'll find out

what an ass he is.

(Am I unkind, my love?)

I wonder why

and with such haste

you gaily shovel up

his stinking waste.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _INTERNAL DIALOGUES_

## ——————————————

I heard it isn't hard

to pen a play.

Divide your mind in parts,

then let them

act out conflicts,

state with feeling

every fact or fib.

You get to write

the words they say.

I replay conversations in my head

"I should have..."

or "I'll tell..."

when next we speak.

You talk so seldom.

When you do,

you tweak my words

or quote some phrase I never said.

I feel as if I'm stuck within a scene,

one more reluctant villain

in your cast of

parents, foes, and lovers

from your past,

all victims of

your self-esteem machine.

Since you're not fighting fair

and I feel gypped,

please go away.

Remove me from your script.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _IT'S ALL ABOUT WHOM?_

## ——————————————

We cracked the code!

Not every problem's solved,

but now at least

this much we understand.

I wake up feeling blue.

I hadn't planned it,

no one's fault.

In this you're not involved.

The things I'm grateful for

should give me joy.

Your hug would help.

No hug? So I feel worse.

I frown and sigh.

Your words become more terse.

If I am hurting,

why would that annoy you?

Now I see

you start to wonder

(while with someone

constant, clever, cute, and kind,

who loves me for my faults

and lives resigned to forfeit

all you prize

to make me smile)

how in your presence

I dare NOT be glad,

as if in spite

I've chosen to act sad?

> ❖❖❖

## _DOUBLE HOMICIDE_

## ——————————————

The cops will find

two bodies on the floor.

The stabbed one

took a while to die,

the other's flesh still warm.

They won't know why

both killers snuck out

through a different door.

If I must kill you,

let me pick the way.

Perhaps pour lies and bile

into your ears, or

drown you in a tub

of spit and tears,

inject resentment's gall

for quick decay.

It's sad when love dies

one heart at a time.

The love you had for me

you won't revive.

In spite of all your hate,

mine's still alive.

I guess I must reciprocate your crime.

It hurts.

You won't look back,

and you feel fine.

Since yours is dead,

I'll have to murder mine.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _TO LET_

## ——————————————

You're moving in

where I moved out,

oh, please enjoy.

Still warm, though worn,

you'll be surprised.

I slept there, entertained, and exercised.

I leave with many

private memories.

The owner was attentive at the start.

I made it mine

with incense, linen, down.

Too soon things changed.

I faced a glare or frown.

When told I had to leave,

it pierced my heart.

Here's my advice:

though given space and peace,

if issues rise—

in late, too loud,

not clean enough

(such criticism does seem mean)—

FOREWARNED

this lord of land

will break your lease,

and you'll be exiled

from beneath that spread.

Don't lose the sheet!

Guard YOUR side of that bed.

> _  
> _

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _THROUGH A LOOKING GLASS_

## ——————————————

The end. A coffee shop.

We're sitting side

(not close) by side

before a mirrored wall.

The "we-not-we"

glare back within their stall.

Our faces show we tried.

We sighed. We lied.

We sit.

To look each other in the eye,

we'd have to turn.

I spy the you my mind creates.

Alas, it's not my love I find.

It's spite, resentment, and regret.

Then "bye."

I see two pair of hands, palms down.

And then you

check your image,

scoot your chair,

and leave.

Now we're alone, me-two.

I can't believe

we'll never see

the likes of you again.

But, damn it,

even if my eyes went blind,

your vacant stare

is etched upon my mind.

##

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _TO SEARCH ONE'S HEART_

## ——————————————

To search one's heart

is not an easy task.

I took a stand

on what I still assert.

I must do this.

I can't do what you ask,

not even

if you make yourself be hurt.

Yet each complaint

still breaks me down again.

You catalogue

each sacrifice you've done.

Your pleas show so much fondness

through the pain.

Why do they all assume,

on my part, none?

The more you call me stubborn

when we fight,

the more you tell me

your love I repel,

the harder it is for me

not to write

as if it's true,

when I would wish you well.

You tell me how you suffer,

and you do.

Yet sometime you might see

I suffer too.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _DE GUSTIBUS NON DISPUTANDUM EST_

## ——————————————

I'm writing

with carnations at my side.

On one pinked, ruby rim

I press my lips.

Its musky scent

I sniff in gentle sips.

Have I some rule

of tact or taste defied?

The intimate

is earned through modesty.

Who breaks

a strict taboo or sacred rite?

One person's dread's

another one's delight.

Will you explore

forbidden realms with me

with blushing cheeks

on tablecloth or sheet?

I seek to taste and feed

illicit bliss.

Forgive me

if I'm forward, indiscreet.

Please don't deny me.

You will be remiss to bar me

from the privilege

just to kiss the puckered bud

you're pressing to your seat.

> ## ❖❖❖

##

## _TO A STARLING_

## ——————————————

Shut your mouth, bird!

I know what you saw.

You needn't squawk about it

Or chase me though the wood.

You followed him as he approached.

Snow sparkled in the moonlight.

Like wings his arms stretched wide.

I kissed his frosted beard.

Anyone would think, to hear you chatter,

You never gussied up your tail

Or helped another build a cozy nest.

So why this moral tone?

You sure were quiet then,

When he and I were lying in the snow.

Oh, his warm breath on my neck!

Then that shudder up my spine!

Any bird above would guess

Two strangers' paths had crossed.

Do you have to tell them

How two lovers came and went?

Footprints swell in sunlight.

Our secret all will know.

Quick, shake the clouds above

And hide my angel in the snow.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _FIG TREE_

## ——————————————

Strolling in a garden, I bent

and stooped beneath a branch.

Looking up I saw

two swollen sacks, swaying,

with darkened skins unwrinkling,

tapered above but bulging below,

suspended before my eyes.

Sagging with the burden

of their sweet seeds inside

about to burst,

I cupped one in my hand.

warm bulb, heavy in my palm,

I dared to stroke my fingers down

as my thumb rolled up

in a gentle squeeze and whispered:

"Dare I pull you close to me,

_  
_

_to tease you with my breath,_

_draw you in beyond my kisses,_

_hold you captive with my teeth,_

_and caress you with my tongue?_ "

" _Right now, would you again retreat_

_(instinctively to hide,_

_unable to endure such pleasure_

_and NOT be in control) or_

_surprise me with your trust?_ "

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _GROOMING_

### (Poem Left Below the Bathroom Mirror)

## ——————————————

Such sharp and brittle fingers

comb my hair.

Within the narrows

of each pit, the Speed Stick

leaves its scented spit.

I turn and stare.

" _Behold a wet_

_but lucky fool, indeed._ "

Free of its cap,

fat in my palm,

I grip the toothpaste tube.

It gobs out with the stress

till with a squeeze

it spurts.

I take a drip.

The bristles

fail to mold to my caress.

I've shaved

and yet again

I gently wipe stale, foamy cream

that's seeped out of the spout.

And leaning to the mirror,

fog I swipe

to see if kisses

show on lips I pout.

I'm off to work.

You sleep.

I have to fight the urge to crawl back.

Thank you for last night.

> ❖❖❖

## _PERINEAL RAPH_

## ——————————————

What did enduring Atlas think of his earth?

Did he ever give it a good look?

Stretch his Titan shoulders of the burden

and peer at the seas and islands and peaks?

My love, you are my world to cherish.

Every dimple, every hair is my delight.

I long to embrace you from behind

and hold you as we drop to our knees.

As Atlas I'd push Arabia and Asia aside,

Kiss India with the monsoon of my lips,

and explore from the Himalayas to the pole

the curious Ural seam with my tongue.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _SPECIAL INTERESTS_

## ——————————————

I expect

to play and sleep

and without fear,

at night to not feel nervous

when I walk,

to pass a group of teens and

not hear "Queer,"

to wed

and not change pronouns

when I talk,

to not have landlords

not return my calls,

and I don't want a nurse

to block my way,

look down,

avoiding kids

I know at malls,

or not get hired

just because I'm gay.

I'd like to think

my neighbors value me,

that I'm unique,

acknowledge what I do,

to feel I'm part

of our community.

Yes, these are what I want.

I ask: "Don't you?"

But most I want to kiss him

when we greet, and

hold his hand

while strolling

down the street.

> ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _N.S.A._

## ——————————————

Once bride and groom were bound.

Each marriage planned at birth.

Of course divorce was not a choice.

Romantic love

has finally found a voice.

Now gender, past, or race

walk hand in hand.

Today it seems the vogue

to find a "friend with benefits,"

get pleasure without grief,

keep busy at our tasks,

and snatch relief,

and hope we won't feel lonely

at the end.

But aren't we also yearning

to connect?

To find a special one?

Feel special too?

Share private jokes and rituals to do

that strengthen love

and foster trust, respect?

We all crave freedom,

peace, some time apart,

and yet we need those strings

to bind our heart.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _PERIPHERAL VISION_

## ——————————————

So like a child

I always long

to be with you,

and when I'm not

I fret and sigh

until I finally turn

my head and see you,

busy, in the corner

of my eye.

And like a teen

I fight so to feel free,

I push away

and yet I also

try to keep you trapped

in case you start to flee.

Stay busy in the corner

Of my eye.

My sadness seeks

to have you linger near

because I sense that

somehow you're not real.

My pride claims all

until you disappear.

But whether close or far

don't ever feel you're bound

or you're abandoned,

when you spy me,

busy, in the corner

of your eye.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _MY BIG SIR_

## ——————————————

### i

Where sleeps the Trickster who carved this sacred land?

In his slumbers when HE tosses, we shake in fear.

He, who clawed the deep canyons

Beneath the spindrift waves

And scooped up the Pacific floor

To pile on the Santa Lucia peaks.

As beads of sweat shine on a forehead,

The cliffs of Pico Blanco sparkle in the sun.

Above ruddy manzanita and chaparral scrub,

Over deergrass and dusty sagebrush,

Where poppies glint like ore

And lupine flash, then fade,

Beneath the honking harlequin

And the sun-stirred monarchs,

The rising haze vanishes.

The ocean drizzle disappears.

As sweat glistens down an armpit,

The thickets collect the dew from the mist.

What snow may fall on the mountain slopes,

On perching cypress and blood berried madrone,

On crags of twirling fir and pungent pine,

Melts down dells where still redwoods sip the fog,

And divides into the Surs, Little and Big,

To race down hillsides of sprawling laurel,

Where hovering hawks and owls spy field mice,

The downy woodpeckers pound for beetles,

Where mountain lions stalk the deer,

And yapping coyotes chase wild hare,

And the live oaks stretch branch to branch.

As lashes hide the sleep in the gully of an eye,

The leaf meal and needles gather 'neath ferns.

Down river beds to lagoons the salmon commute,

Down ravines to marshes the stickleback swarm,

Where spray and surf pound the beach sand,

And foam and froth stir the tide pools.

Here sea lions bark and bask

And otters pry mussels and abalone

And kelp forests sway with the current

And algae bloom red and green and brown,

Above the alley of sharks

And the boulevard of whales.

As pink and pale as the nail of a finger,

The secret sides of the shells are revealed.

With every step I glance down, in case—

Left lost on a high outcrop or

Exposed by the tides in the mud of a creek—

I find an arrowhead.

### ii

Once the Esselen filled

baskets with berries and acorns.

Once the Ohlone made boats

of tule with lines and nets.

They had their wars.

They dumped their waste.

But they lived on, not out of, the land.

They made peace with the elk

and the bear they killed.

Like Cabrillo and Drake,

I want to survey your form.

Like Portola and Father Serra,

I seek to possess your soul.

Like Pfeiffer and Figueroa,

I lust to own you.

As if I could map the waves,

As if I could fence the skies.

Who am I to clip a lock from your head?

It is my desire I must conquer.

### iii

You nap now in your splendor

and know me not,

You sleep in stillness

ever quick to quake.

Arise and accept my devotion.

Like a spear you pierce my heart with your gaze.

With my tears I ache to erode your brow.

I long to tongue the crease of your chin,

The stubble on the crest of your cheek.

I yearn to nuzzle your walnut nipples.

With my lips let me kiss you, with my breath

The hard knot of your ankle,

The hollow dent of your breastbone,

The milkweed down of your ass cheeks,

The bracken in the gorge of your butt.

Deny not my eyes

The riverbed wrinkles of your scrotum,

The shaded, shy burrow of your anus,

The oak cap of your foreskin,

The burl root of your shaft.

Stretch out your wings to embrace me.

Like a hovering hawk,

Like a soaring condor,

By my neck, lift me up in your bite.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _REASON 17 OF 28_

## ——————————————

You tutored me.

Can still recite by rote

the who and whom begats.

On details drilled, I mastered cues

to quote the anecdote

and when to laugh or sigh

'mid tales distilled

of rogues revealed,

a fateful curse fulfilled.

Can catalogue the foods

you love and hate,

the stars, the styles.

In dos and don'ts

I'm skilled in guessing

traits that later

you'll berate or praise.

And I've complied without debate.

The times I bit my tongue,

you can't believe,

while on your final judgment

I'd await.

God damn you!

Where'd I fail you?

You can't leave me.

Can it come to this?

What will I do?

What good'll be

my PhD in You?

> ## ❖❖❖

## _CHARLIE HORSE_

## ——————————————

We drove to see a play

I'd only read.

I'm really glad

my seat was on the aisle.

Act 5, scene 3,

all eyes were watching

while old Lear holds in his arms

Cordelia, dead.

The only dry eyes in the house

were mine

(all tears

were beaten out of me

when young).

Instead, a hamstring knots.

I jump.

I'm strung out on the carpet,

bent,

with bouncing spine.

It's years since you have gone,

not months or days.

Not every thought's

disheartening to me.

Not every ache

springs from a memory.

I feel your loss

in many different ways.

Yet there are times

I find the slightest strain

can zap and twist my soul

in wrenching pain.

##

###

> ## ❖❖❖

## _A LULLABY IN TIME OF PLAGUE_

## ——————————————

Crawl in my arms and rest your head.

My love, I will not lie to you.

We both know we might soon be dead.

Beneath my chin, love, tuck your head.

There's nothing we can do instead

And every day bring sorrows new.

Above my heart now rest your head.

You know I cannot lie to you.

> When you awake I won't be here.
> 
> When I return you might not wake.
> 
> But till you're fast asleep, my love,
> 
> I'll hold you for love's sake.
> 
> My love, there's nothing we can do,

So why not get a little sleep?

My love, I cannot lie to you.

There just is nothing we can do,

But tears and hugs can help, it's true.

So feel my arms, my love, and weep.

You know there's nothing we can do.

Let's try to get a little sleep.

> When you awake I won't be here.
> 
> When I return you might not wake.
> 
> But till you're fast asleep, my love,
> 
> I'll hold you for love's sake.

You're frightened, weary from the pain.

If you feel pain you're still alive.

Let's hope, when dead, it won't remain.

I know you're desperate from the pain

And wine tonight would numb the brain,

But numb our love as well. So strive

To feel my love, and feel the pain,

So we will know we're still alive.

> When you awake I won't be here.
> 
> When I return you might not wake.
> 
> But till you're fast asleep, my love,
> 
> I'll hold you for love's sake.
> 
>   
>

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _   GONE_

## ——————————————

I thought I was prepared.

I should have known.

For me, you weren't the first

nor last to leave.

I'm bitter, empty, lost.

I can't believe

you won't return.

It hurts to be alone.

Again come all the stinging questions,

"Why?"

I've often cursed your picture

right out loud.

I thought I saw you once

lost in a crowd.

I've called your name at night

with no reply.

No touch,

no call,

no note,

no sign from you.

It's so unkind,

so painful,

so unfair.

How can you hurt me

    when you know I care?

But someday

I'll slip out an exit too.

By this, no loss of love

should be construed:

but it does seem to me

the dead are rude.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _   MY ARTHRITIS_

## ——————————————

If once more

I could move the way I please.

Some days are not so bad.

Some days I cry.

You know, I feel it

in my fingers, knees,

my body's breaking down.

I don't know why.

And thinking of the past

makes me more ill.

A future life of pain

seems cruel and strange.

And yet there comes a time

when sitting still hurts more

than getting up

and facing change.

The past is gone.

I know it in my heart.

And yet I long for you

throughout the day.

I have to face a life

with us apart.

This is the hardest thing

I'll ever say.

I must move on.

I need to set you free.

I have to ask you

not to talk to me.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _   TIES_ _  
_

## ——————————————

I fix the Windsor knot

as did my dad.

You said, _" Oh no!_

_The style is now the half._ "

Debated often,

I would not get mad.

I hid my meek defiance

with a laugh.

I found the perfect tie

for you today—

your colors,

flashy, playful but not bold.

I set it down

but couldn't walk away.

So strong the urge,

I bought it just to hold.

It's "Shop until you drop"

(then shop some more,

but now by proxy,

as it were, on cue).

The last tie I picked out

you did adore.

Like Dad,

I won't see it again or you.

Enough of fantasy,

denial, and lies,

I know the truth is

dead men tie no ties.

> ## ❖❖❖

##    TRASH OR TREASURE?

## ——————————————

A string of buttons

(but for what?),

a cord, a pen

(no point),

a jigsaw puzzle piece,

(impossible to chuck,

inane to hoard).

Toss when I die.

I'll not cease till I cease.

A bottle stopper,

watchband

(ostrich hide),

eleven eyelets

(none for seven hooks).

Should I have dumped this box

the year you died,

while sorting out

our closets, drawers, and books?

That snotty clerk,

the secret place I kissed,

our favorite meal.

(Tell who now? How and why?)

Shared spite,

shared worries,

all the things I've missed.

(A look from you, I laughed,

one word, you sighed.)

Lost lock,

when will you know again this key?

(What does one do

with half a memory?)

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _   TWO LEGS OR THREE,_

## _   IT'S ALL ABOUT ME_

## ——————————————

Each night in dreams

I face a knight or snake.

I seek a maiden, fair

or hermit, kind.

I fly or fall or flee

before I wake.

It's said each is

an aspect of my mind.

My boss is not my shadow,

not my dad.

To see him so

becomes a mental fraud.

I've seen myself

within the grocery lad.

Like me,

they're foolish,

fallible, and flawed.

I thought I loved you.

Yours for me seemed real.

But was it more about

my loving you?

I grieve,

    but is it still your loss I feel?

Or is my grieving

all about me too?

"How can I know another?"

I complain.

"The Devil's Pitchfork's

twisting in my brain."

_  
_

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _   HIS SPIRITUAL JOURNEY_

## ——————————————

I had to ask a stranger

for the dirt.

" _Things change._

_He's moving on._

_He's doing fine._ "

" _If only I could have some word,_

_some sign._ "

" _He's in a peaceful space,_

_so don't act hurt._ "

" _But there's no better place_

_than next to me._ "

I need his help,

while helping him as well,

with joy, devotion, memories.

" _Please tell me:_

_why he prefers_

_to wander free?_

_I can't read minds like you,_ "

came my attack.

" _How dare he leave me_

_lost, alone,_ " I cried.

" _He's got his work now_

_on the other side._ "

I raised my eyes and screamed,

" _I want you back!_ " I snapped,

" _He's grown so selfish_

_since he died._ "

" _So HE'S the selfish one?_ "

the psychic sighed.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _  
_

## _OUR FIRST ROAD TRIP_

## ——————————————

I've not been one

to tell you how to drive.

It's your car, your gas.

I'm here for the ride.

Right now,

it's up to you

when we arrive.

But this is what I'm seeing

from my side.

When fearing that

we're moving way too fast,

you panic,

citing doubts and finding fault,

as somehow, something here

reflects the past,

which brings our journey

to a grinding halt.

I don't expect

you'll trust me with the wheel.

Not asking!

You can navigate this maze.

And though I cannot change

the way you feel,

I'm here for you.

    You have my faith and praise.

Believe me,

objects in the rearview mirror

are much more wonderful

than they appear.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THE TRUE TEST_ or

## _OUR SECOND DATE_

## ——————————————

We'll enter an arena of delight

to satisfy a primal need.

But while excited,

yet, my love,

I dread tonight.

We'll meet each other's

sense of taste and style.

Our histories

and our future

will unfold in every gesture.

Start this, you or I?

The old traditions

now no longer hold.

We all can be a Master

or can try.

Trust intuition?

Risk repast critique?

By now we're well past

going by the book.

Will knowledge, judgment,

or technique decide,

or just a pinch

or twist or look?

Our first adventure.

Well, it's me or you.

We'll see now,

who's the chef, and

who's the sous?

> ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _THE MUTABILITY SONNET_

## ——————————————

Though no one really changes,

many try,

or say they will.

Some mellow,

freed from strife.

A lot betray themselves,

yet feign and lie.

And most adapt to loss

with scars for life.

It seems we all get more set

in our way.

The bold grow bolder

till they're grandiose.

The frugal seem

more miserly each day.

The quiet don't grow chatty,

wax morose.

As kernels linger

for the sun and rain,

an avalanche

awaits one falling flake,

believe me

change can come,

transform, remain.

With kindness,

love,

a new man you can make.

I'm stuck.

Ignore my gut,

believe that hunch,

grab hold my ankles,

curse me as I crunch.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _LATENCY_

## ——————————————

White and sticky,

I let it dry on the inside of my wrist.

It was years before I knew

what else was white and sticky.

But not before I knew love.

Slouched in my chair,

trapped in first grade,

I hid from our teacher,

daydreaming of Dickie Jamieson,

the Cub master's son.

I twisted the rounded top

and squeezed the bottle

till it squirted warm, creamy glue.

I waited for it to dry on my hand,

to peel off in one piece.

You are on my wrist.

I'll wait for you to dry.

Sleepy now in your arms,

I recall Dickie Jamieson.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _ON MY KINDNESS_

## ——————————————

When I consider

how our income's spent

as aimlessly

we wander far and wide,

or find receipts and bills

you tried to hide from me,

I wonder where our money went.

Good reasons for each purchase

you present,

if I object or

whine or tease or chide.

The swelling of our debt

we've both denied.

I'm sure we're doomed.

Yet how can I prevent you

buying things

we simply do not need?

It's my fault too,

I know.

I try my best to be supportive,

yet our sorry state,

I'm sure,

grows worse each day

with greater speed.

In line I am as guilty as the rest.

They also shop

who only hold and wait.

>   
>

> ## ❖❖❖

## _BEDDING_

## ——————————————

If I could be your blanket,

I'd hug you through the night

to keep you safe and warm.

Say, would it be alright?

Please let me be the pillow

where you rest your drowsy head.

I'll kiss behind your ears.

I'll catch the tears you shed.

I want to breathe as you breathe,

I want to turn as you turn.

Let me linger close beside you,

For your touch I yearn.

And let me be the sheets

around you all night long.

Rub your thighs against me.

Oh, how could that be wrong?

But I'll be cold and rough,

If you let another in your bed.

That you might love another

is the only thing I dread.

I want to breathe as you breathe,

I want to turn as you turn.

Let me linger close beside you.

For your touch I yearn.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THREATS: A LOVE POEM_

## ——————————————

Out of a crowd

you picked me for your love.

I'm happy, grateful,

proud, yet without pride.

Your happiness

is all I'm thinking of.

It's we against the world now,

side by side.

Know this,

I'm here for you

for good,

or bad.

It won't be me

who says we have to part.

And if you ever bid me go,

I'll be so sad.

I will not leave,

I've given you my heart.

I'll be the tune

you'll notice when you yawn,

repeating on and on,

do what you may.

I'll be the shadow

at your feet all day.

At darkness

I will hold you all night long.

Try all you might,

I'll be the booger on your finger

that you cannot flick away.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _WHAT I NEED FROM YOU_

## ——————————————

I need to know

you're really here for me,

that I can be myself

and you won't mind.

I need to know

it's safe for me

to be exposed or

silly,

furious or

kind.

Like cloudy days,

please tolerate my moods.

Be playful,

patient

as we learn our roles.

I'll need some privacy.

Ignore my feuds.

Respect my time,

as I too have my goals.

And tell me that you need me,

often, please.

When I'm at my worst

I'll need you most.

I need the truth;

watch how you scold or tease.

What joy to break my fast

with tea and toast,

and see you raise your brow

without a word to bust me,

as I'm reaching for my third.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _WHAT I'M OFFERING YOU_

## ——————————————

First, my attention.

You will have my time,

my thoughts, my energy.

Soon all I'll seek

will be to meet

your unmet needs,

for I'm committed to your wants

before you speak.

Next I'll embrace your family

and your friends.

Your teams will be my teams.

Your schemes my schemes.

If I offend,

I vow I'll make amends.

My dream come true

to see us live our dreams.

You'll have my ear.

Your secrets I will keep.

When asked,

you'll have my feedback,

frank but kind.

You'll have my hand,

my lips

when you're inclined.

    My body heat

will warm you when we sleep.

By day, your back

I'll cover on the street.

At night, your back

I'll cover with a sheet

> ## ❖❖❖

## _WASHING PATROKLOS_

## ——————————————

This isn't right. This isn't how it was

To be. Oh Cousin! Years ago when we

Shared jug and javelin, hammock, jerkin, harp,

And horse together, we had it all planned.

We knew my fate. We played it endlessly.

For I was to be he who died too young

But bravely. You were to be he who sang

The dirge before the pyre. What trick of fate

Is this? Now I mourn you. Here on your brow

I see it still, your badge of bravery,

The scar carved by my wooden sword, like that.

I thought you dead. I wanted so to die.

I didn't know how I could live without

You then. I don't know now. I stand alone.

They hate me. I hate them. But they loved you.

No, no one else on earth could tell me what to do.

With you the finest part of me has died.

I care not what they say. I killed a boar

At six. The Centaurs taught me all I know

Of weapons, courage, skills, and manliness.

And I whipped every man who dared to sneer

The name of Pyrrha. Yes, my mother sought

To hide me with the maidens from my fate.

I stayed. No, not from fear, but joy. So dressed

What ease I knew to woo and win my wife.

And how my mother cried when trumpets blared,

To see me strip the veil and grab a sword,

Myself revealed for war, my destiny.

Achilles! First in everything he tries.

In strength and speed no Ajax can compare.

And second only once, in this, the first

To land on shore was fated first to die.

No glory there. The second down was I!

The praise of mouthy Menelaus I.

Don't need, not he who needs an army just

To catch his wife. Nor well-wrought words from wise

Odysseus. Such talk is women's work.

No, I speak with my hands. And least of all

Our rich and greedy Agamemnon, King.

How can I care what he who stole my prize,

My glory, says of me? Nor care I now

What any god may say. Like cocks they pit

Us for their fight! I cannot care. Your slap

And smile meant more to me than all of Troy.

My friend, I fought, I lived for you, your praise.

Impostor, traitor, cheater, liar, thief!

The only man I loved. What did you mean

To do? I let you take my armor just

To save the ships. But did you think to take

My glory too? They thought you me, and fled.

Perhaps before Troy's gate you thought so too.

Good soldier, you were you, but better for

My sword and shield. You did it, doing as

I've done. The glory's yours and my respect.

But had I known, you never would have gone.

Now every soldier, slave, and general

Sheds tears of grief for you. I miss you so.

So happy, humble, wise and caring, kind,

The kindest man I knew. A friend to all

And every ounce a man. I envied and

Mistrusted you. How could you leave me so?

If only you could see me now! At dawn

My mother brought this armor to replace

What Hector took from you. You'd love it. He

Who's lame and scorned by all the gods, yet strong

And skilled, Hephaestus crafted this last night.

As he works metal, I work battle. Love

And wealth once won seem useless, rot us, fade.

Perfection, praise, supremacy (pursuits

So endless and elusive), that's the life

I choose to live. Yes, short but valiant. Yet

What honor is there when dishonored? Strength

Not weakness seems absurd now. Gods must mock

Me too. Die young and foolish, I die twice.

And now to die alone. I could have faced

It all, while I had you. In dying you

Were brave. In living, loving, braver still.

I've only crafted glory; you, your soul.

Oh, would that I had imitated you!

You've got your glory now, and now you're dead.

Much good! You can't enjoy it, nor I you.

Well, you died once and bravely. That I know.

I guess I'm glad I'm not immortal. Soon

I'll die. Each act of bravery might be

My best, the last. I don't fear dying, death

(I race in battle only to that end),

But little deaths destroy me endlessly.

For anything save death, save glory must

Be failure. Mortal death cannot be worse

Than that. When dead, no more will I know pain,

Affront, embarrassment, or jealousy.

No loneliness, remorse, or guilt or grief.

To live is brave. I'd rather die than feel.

Soon I will be with you. Our ashes I'll

Have mixed, then never will we part. By Zeus!

Tomorrow I will kill the man who wears

My armor, he who slew you, Hector, Prince

Of husbandry. He'll die. Then Troy will die

And I will meet my fate. Two hounds, four steeds,

Twelve Trojans, sons of Priam, I will toss

Upon your pyre. Then glory will be yours.

I swear I will have vengeance now! I will

Have glory, but of satisfaction, none.

You're gone! Farewell, fine friend. Now everything

That's near enough to touch me I will kill.

# THE SIX-SIDED CELL

## Verse in the Poetic Tradition

### Poetry

### Advice

### Words

### Myth

### The Effects of Art 

## _    TO THE MUSES_

### _     Consider Yourselves Invoked_

## ——————————————

Oh, welcome sisters of the sacred well,

Who married Cadmus, mourned Achilles' soul.

You guard the chest of endless unsung scrolls,

What greater tales have you yet left to tell?

Between your magic horse's rhythmic wings

Each anxious novice begged to hear some word.

You teased dull minds with chanting overheard

To make weak-witted Ancients humbly sing.

Now poets talk. Deriding tongues demand.

They lie if they affirm. They plot to teach.

Untempered frenzy, chance alone in hand,

No magic in their words, their poems they preach!

They know you not. Your spirit I'll defend.

Through me, I thank you, this poem you have penned.

> ## ❖❖❖

##  _MY ARSENAL_

## ——————————————

I like to stack them tall

or end-to-end,

but dread I'll find

a blank or dud I've penned.

Each syllable feels heavy

in my hand,

a sharp, click sound

to pierce and then expand.

Like shrapnel,

multi-meanings pack each shell.

A shot with match-grade words

set to propel incendiary sentences.

I use the slightly fraying phrases

as a fuse.

And oh, the satisfaction,

oh, the fun,

to set with care, then hide

the tripwire pun,

or plant an ode or sonnet meadow

with no hint

of mines of symbol,

clustered myth.

Believe me,

no offense meant on my part,

but every bullet's

aiming at your heart.

> ## ❖❖❖

##  _MY THEORY OF GARDENING_

## ——————————————

Ideas sprout.

Words shoot out of my pen

like unsown seeds

that never knew a hand

but lie about

to crack the untilled land

with desperate roots,

who know their how and when,

emerging,

digging fast and deep

as up a stalk's staff soars.

Ere leaf and bloom expand,

I cut them back

again and yet again.

Some favor weak-willed vines,

some value weeds.

Their pens are free to roam

as they compose.

I plan. I prune. I graft.

This poet breeds each precious bud

as if a perfect rose.

Curse not the barren branch,

the fallow yard.

To write is easy.

Not to write is hard.

> ## ❖❖❖

##  _A PERSONAL HABIT_

## ——————————————

That brilliant paradox

on Keats' Urn would seem

the pinnacle of art.

But truth is rarely beautiful

I've learned,

and beauty's seldom truthful—

ask my heart.

In some way

every simile is true;

yet faced with truth,

we mostly ask for lies.

While often pretty things

please me and you,

an ugly image

can be fresh and wise.

I get a metaphor.

I pick at it for days.

Perhaps it rose up

from within—

a mental boil,

or maybe something bit me

in my sleep,

or scarred my soul's thin skin.

And when I pull it free,

oh, such delight,

relief as well;

that's one less poem to write.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

_  
_

## _PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT MAN_

## _BEHIND THE..._

## ——————————————

You're looking for a wizard?

Don't look here.

(I'm no Professor Marvel.

I'm a sham.)

Whenever I sense

someone's need or fear,

I play the part.

I let them think I am.

It's true I lie,

but as a poet lies.

We both were boring Kansas

born and bred.

(I think it's black-and-white life

we despise.)

We long

for rainbow-tinted lands instead.

To raise an Emerald City

was their dream.

Don't hurry back too soon,

for as you view it

so you build it too,

and it would seem the old

(if I've done my job well)

is new.

So make your own Oz.

Find your own way home.

Now go.

Don't trust this poet,

trust your poem.

> ## ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _ADVICE TO A YOUNG POET_

## ——————————————

But Poetry's dead,

they say,

And Song and Drama, Painting too!

No Muse. No Bard.

To write in verse and meter's

simply wrong, and rhyme

is only for a greeting card.

There's nothing more to say.

It's all been said.

Not so!

If you, like me,

must answer to the call,

we have to reach

beyond the blasé-bred conventions

of the unconventional.

Say I,

Keep writing.

Read.

Don't borrow, take.

Revise.

Scan jargon, slang,

but keep it true.

Record your dreams.

Re-heed mistakes you make.

Clichés are lazy.

Tweak the old anew.

And overhear

a girl with doll

declare her sorrows.

Hark when drunken sailors swear.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _HERE'S HOW THEY DO THAT_

## ——————————————

When senses meet

a newfound work of art,

the grace notes, patterns, textures

dazzle more than

backdrops, platforms.

Structures we ignore, because

it's on the surface that we start.

Good tailors know the stitches

to conceal by inner folds,

frayed edges hid within.

It's when a mystery's solved

that we then begin to check

each clue and herring

now revealed.

No landscape painter

dabs the details first.

The background must

define the depth of space.

Delight, surprise, dismay

are put in place.

Perception and creation

are reversed to make

the finished outside

come about,

from working backwards,

thinking inside out.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _REJECTION_

## ——————————————

" _There's nothing in your entry_

_we can use._

_You're not a porn star,_

_victim, zealot, prince, or teen._

_Though you're sincere,_

_you can't convince me_

_this will sell._

_Go find a different 'muse.'_

_You're boring._

_Not your work,_

_but who you are._

_Try bondage, drugs, disease,_

_religion, crime._

_It's taste._

_You need profanity, not rhyme._

_Think calendars._

_Think mugs._

_Then you'll go far._

_No profit without sequels!_

_Man, it's tough to build_

_a hot new brand._

_So where's your HIT?_

_In our portfolio_

_this doesn't fit._

_I'm sorry,_

_being brilliant's not enough._

_Now change your style and bio,_

_or, instead, come back and see me_

_when you're twelve years dead._ "

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _RECLASSIFICATION_

## ——————————————

Once poets chanted

epic tales,

dark rites.

A country's pride,

its glories past were kept

in verse,

not megabytes,

so rituals, and

lineage would last.

As custom keeper,

master of the school,

a poet then

was held in high regard,

and worshiped

as a Prophet, Hero, Fool,

a place was kept in honor

for the Bard.

Consensus now determines

what is just,

as politicians cut and paste

the law.

The loud and fast

now manufacture awe

And lore's

on backup files.

So work I must.

If only God

would ease my first complaint:

to live

on grace WITH substance,

ike a saint.

> ## ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _SAYS WHO?_

## ——————————————

You ever notice

when folks ask, " _How do?_ "

You start

but they can't wait

until you're done?

Before you've stopped,

it's their tale they've begun.

They want to talk.

Who's listening to you?

So why?

Why bother doing this?

Why now?

Perhaps you seek to learn

Some truth of life,

to solve a mystery,

to conquer strife,

to make you snort or tear,

say, " _Yes!_ " or " _Wow!_ "

I thank you.

Thanks for your attention,

time, concern.

Yet praise does not fulfill my dreams.

For if you hear a thought

that seems to be your own,

like fate fulfilled,

like well-worked rhyme,

then I feel satisfied.

If you would rob my words

as yours

then I have done my job.

> ## ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _DEADALUS_

## ——————————————

King Minos sought

to cage his Minotaur.

Ambitious Icarus,

my son,

had plans:

a dancing pathway

carved by hasty hands,

a pen to hold a bull,

but nothing more,

A hero needs adventure,

deeds to do.

What's proved

by slyly slipping in and out?

My coil was so

complex

I gave devoted Ariadne's

Theseus

a clew.

With phrases,

forms,

with tones and beats and shade,

each artist crafts

a labyrinth to snare.

The curious confront,

for those who dare,

their monster

guarding truths

that still evade.

Entrap your beast.

Then wander all the ways.

Get lost

within your maze

built to amaze.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _INCLEMENCY_

## ——————————————

It's like in summer,

when your throat is dry—

your lips draw tight,

your lungs refuse the air,

it's all you think about.

You dread the sky.

Your ears are singed.

Your lids can't shield the glare.

Just so

when traveling in a foreign land,

you find yourself

seem stupid, lost, alone,

because to eat or shop

or understand directions,

all you do is shrug and groan.

Oppressive, daunting, endless,

feeling trapped within

an age-old nightmare circumstance,

to cope seems futile,

let alone adapt.

But oh, that moment when,

by gust or glance,

in curse or whisper,

whether slurred or sung

that soothing breeze!

You hear your native tongue.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _A HEALTHY SERVING_

## ——————————————

A sentence should be hard to the tooth,

never brittle,

never mushy,

but soft to the tongue.

A sentence should be long enough

to stay on the mind,

but never so long

it fights with you.

A sentence should hold a thought.

Too many, too short

fall off the tongs.

What's the point?

A sentence should be sticky

enough to hold the sauce.

Use wisely oily adverbs

and spicy adjectives.

Pause your pace to savor each.

Nutritious, filling,

easy to digest,

a sentence should be enjoyed.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _FAUX PAS_

## ——————————————

It's like

we're hand in hand

to cross a stream.

At first we hope,

if careful,

we'll stay dry.

Each step we test,

and next, another try.

But then, to stay on course

becomes our scheme.

The deeper pools

demand a slower pace,

until by toe and heel

our feet get wet.

The current hugs our ankles, calves.

I bet you'll end up

on your ass

or I, my face.

" _So marry me?_ "

But you, " _Ya, probably._ "

Not quite what I was hoping for

from you.

" _Wrong answer._ "

Quickly you knew what to do.

Your " _YES!_ " and kiss

soon won a grin from me.

How does one speak

and not soon feel regret?

Our well-worn words

are slippery when wet.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _OF USAGE AND MISUSAGE_

## ——————————————

I have his pliers,

hacksaw,

ruler, sledge—

the tools my father

taught me to maintain,

and which to pick to cinch,

or torque, or plane,

and when to grab a chisel

for a wedge.

I have her grater,

pitter,

rolling pin,

utensils mother

used for every need.

She said,

" _You picked the right one,_

_then proceed_

_to whisk, or slice,_

_or chop, or strain, or skin._ "

They were so skilled.

Each gesture was concise.

They often said " _You can't..._ "

How I'd resent it,

chided " _hasty, lazy, ignorant._ "

I learned to spot the cheap,

the imprecise.

Just so you can't rely

on what you've heard.

You have to think and

pick the proper word.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _FLESH_

## ——————————————

My palm fits curve to bulge.

So heavy, firm,

your freckled skin conceals

a softer spot.

Your spicy scent

betrays a hint of rot.

Your pentagram

protects the magic germ.

I pull you close

to view your nether side.

I fear I'll find

a flaw or wound or scar.

Below I spy

the sun-shy withered star.

Within the past and future both reside.

Once grateful hunters

asked the beasts they'd slain

to grant them their forgiveness

with a prayer.

Just so I close my eyes.

My teeth I bare.

My body, breed, and spirit

to maintain,

I lick my lips with enzymes.

I prepare for gritty,

crisp, and gushious

bursts of pear.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _THE TALE OF THE HUMBLE SMITHY_

## _TO CALIPH HARUM AL RAS-HID_

### _As He Told His Son_

## ——————————————

Yes, for a lowly slave much danger lies

In any act that others find too bold.

And certain death awaits the one who tries

To find the famous hidden caves of old.

Yet one had dreamt of secrets never told

And of gem the color of the skies.

Soon he escaped in stolen garments old

To journey safely in another's guise.

Though never seen before, the path he knew,

And when within the cave the stone he spied,

He watched as every artful image grew.

No fear he felt. He knew no dream had lied.

He took the gem. This was his only thought:

Without a means how is a vision caught?

So with this stone a perfect ring he made,

With flawless ease as if it had been planned,

And chance was there had trembling hands betrayed

His gift to grace the Sultan's mighty hand.

Wise Sultan made him smithy of his land.

But first an answer from the man he bade.

" _Though this seems new, it bears an ancient brand._

_How did it come to you, by theft or trade?_ "

" _Lord, in a desert pool I saw it glow,_

_And as I looked, I dreamt a vision true_

_Of how your father lost it long ago._

_I knew I must return this ring to you._ "

So son, think not of glory, love, or grief.

An artist is a liar and a thief.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _A CLASSIC HOMECOMING_

## ——————————————

Well, look who's here!

I remember you,

Ya flea-bitten piece of shit.

Home at last!

Seen the world?

You and your mangy pack,

traipsing gutter to gutter,

looking for a fight

or still wild with the itch,

panting breath, raving mad,

following your nose,

chasing every bitch in heat?

Well, hail, hero! Guardian!

Leaving us at home, alone.

Hard time I've had of it,

keeping everyone in line.

Been gone so long

you don't even know your pup,

and every mutt in town's

sniffing at his mother's tail.

She knows I've done my best.

It's sad. All her waiting,

all her whining—for you!

Poor Penelope.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _APOCRYPHA_

### _"Tunc praecurrit comis..."_

## ——————————————

Years ago,

(Don't give me that look!

I'm NOT off the subject

and this is NOT a shaggy dog story,

though there IS a dog in it.)

Saint Jerome

(I'm trying to tell you.

You want the truth,

and you want it "Gospel"

but you take me "Apocryphal"

before I even start.)

lied,

but he didn't really.

(And neither did I.

It's just sometimes

the truth needs a little help.)

Hey, hear me out!

You see, long ago,

(Whether it happened or not

is NOT the issue,

though right now that IS the issue.)

this guy, Tobias*, went on an errand

and he brought along his dog,

(No, he was NOT shaggy.)

and he met an angel.

(Well, this MIGHT be true.)

You see, years later

poor Saint Jerome is translating

this story into the vulgar tongue

and he can't find out

what happened to the dog.

So honest Saint Jerry

(falling into the translators' temptation)

CORRECTED the Holy Bible

and wrote that

the dog came back too.

Now that wasn't in the Greek,

and so that wasn't the Truth.

But it wasn't a lie either,

get it!

It still HAD to be true.

I mean, what happened to the DOG?

See, these things just happen.

Even the Word of God

might need editing,

sometimes.

* Then the dog, which had been with them in the way, ran before, and coming as if it had brought the news, showed his joy by his fawning and wagging his tail.

— Tobit 11:9

> ## ❖❖❖

## _TO EDMUND SPENSER_

## ——————————————

Oh, land of fluid 'scape and timeless time,

Where gardens shine in beauty far more bright,

Where terror lies in dungeon path to climb,

What better place for men to find their might?

Oh, land of high Romance, where heroes fight

'Gainst inner dragons for their ladies fair,

And lovers pine just for their loved one's sight,

And villains plot a false fair face to wear.

Oh, blessed dreamer how you work with care,

Your multi-leveled polyphonic quest

In interlocked rhyme and language fair

To lure enchanted readers through each test.

Sweet honeybee in your six-sided cell

Who else could tell of once dreamt scenes so well?

> ## ❖❖❖

## _A HARVEST ODE_

## ——————————————

_Truly the blessèd gods have_

_proclaimed a most beautiful secret_

_death comes not as a curse_

_but as a blessing to men._

— An Eleusinian Epitaph

### i

How long we waited watching every deed

So fearful of the failure of the seed.

We eyed our priest, "Thrice-daring, the devout."

To him she taught a simple farmer's creed,

The rite of burial for a puppet reed.

Yet memory of her wrath increased our doubt,

For once she brought us only cursèd drought.

Then nothing grew, no child, no sheaf, no weed.

This gift she gave all bounty to exceed.

At last we saw the long-awaited sprout.

### ii

In sorrow we are born, that is our plight.

Yet soon our hearts grow light in warmth and love.

See with me now a bower domed above,

Therein a gray-eyed woman dressed in white

Receiving three red buds still folded tight.  
     Is she, who seems so regal yet so meek,

Not Demeter, the guardian of the Bride,

Now crowned of corn, green tresses o'er each cheek?

The slender-footed maiden at her side?

'Tis Kore, whose new name we must never speak!

###

### iii

'Twas Kore's return that finally brought the Spring,

For from their separate sorrow they unite.

No thought of past or future do they bring

Into the vale, where nymphs oft' hide at night

To hear the echo of their laughter ring.

They walk about all morning hand in hand

And often do they o'er a blossom stand

To whisper hints to aid the helpful bees

Or check the hue and scent of vines and trees,

Collecting dew from flowers o'er the land.

### iv

Here gathered at Eleusis once again

Let us now sing a song of thankful praise.

With life and growth she's blessed each citizen.

Accept the Kykeon cup and cake we raise.

These first fruits now we taste and are as one,

And yet, decay can never be o'er crossed.

The poison on our lips kills as the frost.

We see the longer shadows of the sun

And sadden, for the crane's flight has begun,

Remembering it was here that Kore was lost.

###

### v

Here daughters of the tide and Kore were seen

At twilight all about the crags at play.

To harvest sweet Narcissus, she did stray.

The Dark Lord rose and saw his future Queen!

'Twas then she felt a freezing grasp unseen.

Down darkened ways he made his chariot fly.

Kore cried, but soon fell in a deadly daze.

In vain her mother searched the sea and sky;

Each bough she draped in sorrow's brilliant sprays

Till veiled in black, she stripped them with a cry!

### vi

When Demeter her daughter's fate had learned,

So strong her wrath she made Olympus quake.

In Hades heart both love and anger burned;

The captive Kore lived for her mother's sake;

How bitter grew his love when none returned!

He let her free, but first his Queen to save

As token of His love, a pit he gave.

Her mother's joy was crushed when she was told

Of Hades gift. She knew that Kore was sold

Into a cycle, bound to be its slave.

###

### vii

Our fate? Decreed to rot our tale must tell

But maybe picked at prime. Yet think of she

Who sits beneath the barren olive tree

Where maidens come to linger o'er the well,

In endless joy and sorrow she must dwell.

And Kore, 'neath poplar white on bended knee

Who weeps into the Pool of Memory

While from a casement dark eyes sadly swell;

Yes she, the seed, whose path must always be

So like a mortal's but immortally.

## ———❖ ❖❖———

## _  
_

## _TO VIRGINS_

### _If There Still Are Any_

## ——————————————

or

Musings on

"The Unicorn in Captivity" Tapestry

He thinks he's captive by some strange device,

But he's imprisoned in or out of cage.

Like Eden's Adam, bored with Paradise,

By trick he may be killed but will not age.

How awkward is the horn above his mane.

He thinks he's bound. He fears the fence, and yet,

Like Eve, he doesn't know enough of pain

Or wrinkles, age, or death to know the threat.

But mortals are not unicorns, my dear,

And doom, not death, came with the apple bite.

Within your cave of innocence you fear

You're fettered. Leap now! Let your heart take flight

To seize the day, before you lose your prime

For each new love will be a new first time.

> ## ❖❖❖

##

## _A DREAM_

### _(Having Fallen Asleep on Top of an Electric Blanket)  
_

## ——————————————

Well, no one really got the joke at first.

As fields burnt brown,

as birds fell from the sky,

as winds blew hotter,

children cried of thirst.

We lied to them,

but they knew we would die.

Then trees went up like matches,

rivers shrank,

the cities crumbled.

Shaking grew too much to stand.

The day was night.

The geysers stank.

By then the ground

became too hot to touch.

"We're moving!"

someone yelled.

Then each gut felt that tugging sense

as bumper cars collide.

Just so, the earth,

undone at every welt,

abandoned us

on molten seas to glide.

The joke?

Who first perceived

amid our screams

the world had come apart,

right at the seams?

(Is this the surfacing of repressed anger or my fear of accepting the theory of continental drift?)

> ❖❖❖

##

## _CONTRARY REALITIES_

## ——————————————

In dreams

I often go back

where I've been

to visit buildings

long since left behind.

There,

well beyond thought,

I again begin to reenact

the Zodiac of my mind.

But why,

I wonder,

do I often find that

through some strange new door

I've gone astray?

Or to this passage

were my eyes made blind

when last I saw this wall

by light of day?

By night

this altered vision

has its way of shining

just as true as any star,

and yet by dawn

this door cannot delay to fade

     into the wall without a scar.

But rival 'scapes

I only see at night,

as stars at noon

are absent to our sight.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

## _THE REAL REASON I LEFT_

## ——————————————

I go into the staff room

on my break.

I open up the fridge and

climb inside.

The door slams shut.

That makes the bottles shake.

Good sign at least,

the light stays on.

I try but fail

to find a latch.

First thought:

Cold trap!

To yell

would use up all the air in here.

To sleep

I might not wake or

I could tap in hope

that someone, sometime

near might hear.

I woke without a scream

but wet with sweat.

The trap was not my job

but my despair of doing

what I someday might regret.

To get such good advice in life

is rare.

I faced a truth

I never would admit.

With no excuse

I said,

" _I have to quit._ "

> ❖❖❖

##

## _MOURNING_

## OR

## _THIRTY YEARS AFTER_

## ——————————————

The room is crowded,

somber, stale, dark.

A wake?

No, shiva!

(And I am not a Jew.)

The widow's look at me

a question mark.

I don't know them or

what I ought to do.

" _And who are you?_ "

I blurt,

" _I'm Marty's boy._ "

Then from the back,

" _Wait. Marty Fitch?_

_That guy with duct tape_

_saved my life._ "

Such sudden joy.

I stand mid handshakes, hugs,

about to cry.

He was a handy man

who knew each tool.

From holding things for him

I'm often deft.

He wanted better things for me,

like school.

I'm older now

than he was when he left.

I woke up feeling grateful,

glowing, glad

I was his son,

and proud he was my dad.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _ON FIRST LOOKING INTO JUNG'S_

## MAN AND HIS SYMBOLS

## ——————————————

Before my birth

words showered down on me.

Before I spoke

I understood.

I tried. I called. I named.

I chatted thoughtlessly,

engulfed in rapid discourse,

surging pride.

Before I read

I knew the picture book.

From letters,

sounds and syllables arose,

till I was swept away

at every look,

immersed in verse

and dialogue and prose.

Since birth

(before?)

I've dreamt.

But I forgot the horror,

wonder, bliss

before dawn's glow.

Yet after reading Jung

hot visions shot and spewed up

geyser-like from deep below,

infusing my primed conscious mind

with awe, like Keller

at the spigot

shouting " _Waaaaa..._ "

> ## ❖❖❖

## _ENTOMBED_

## ——————————————

Down deep,

down steep, dark tunnels I descend,

till statue, scroll, or frieze appears.

I scan the gilded images.

Might each portent

grand rites and mysteries

as old as man?

Behold a cat, a boat,

a frozen scene of sacrifice,

a priest in bird-faced cap.

A coiled cobra,

could that mean a Queen?

Rebirth's a scarab?

Life, a sandal strap?

I've read how old reliefs

can crumble, fade, or rot

from light of day

and human breath.

These works were wrought with hope

to outlive death.

They die

by those who sought

to give them aid.

Just so,

though I would hoard them,

yet it seems: each dawn arrives

to dissipate my dreams.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _MULBERRY CIRCLE_

## ——————————————

Jack's back.

That jack's an ass.

He's so damn crude.

He's all I hate.

He'll catch me unaware,

embarrass me,

make me look crass and rude.

He'll itch me

till I scratch and people stare.

He got me in such trouble

in my youth.

Around and round we go.

But he's no fool!

The stupid grin's on me

as he speaks truth.

He must be very wise

to be so cruel.

At night his weasel eyes

invade my dreams.

I'm calm. I'm cool.

He's planning his attack.

The better I become,

the more he schemes.

I'd kill him if I could

but I am Jack.

I ought to let him out,

yet I buy locks.

One hand on lid

I shove him in his box.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _THE LORD OF MISRULE_

## ——————————————

I'm at a funeral.

We're solemn, sad

and though I want

my thoughtfulness expressed,

out rips a laugh

that will not be suppressed.

I meant no malice,

feeling shamed,

yet glad.

We lock our box

to keep our Jack inside,

and yet,

a misspoke truth

offends our guest.

Some Mongol

pays a whore

to whip his chest.

We smell so fresh.

Who knows what farts reside?

Once long ago

the jester took the throne

and peasants for a day

broke all the rules.

The beggar played the priest,

the scholars fools.

Your shadow is a self

you have to own.

We don our masks.

Our secret selves are seen,

revealed at Mardi Gras

or Halloween.

> ❖❖❖
> 
>   
>

## _PATCHWORK_

## ——————————————

Back home one night

I felt a steady draft

and found a bundle

on a closet shelf.

My mom had treasured

her mom's handicraft.

My grandma was

a comforter herself.

A flannel field,

a denim sky,

no waste!

Each frayed and faded piece

a mystery.

No scrap was ever

tossed away in haste.

Each old-time print

contains its history.

That night

like almost every restless night

strange vignettes flash

of faces, things,

yet switched in time or place.

Haphazard remnants

stitched together,

merely nonsense

come dawn's light.

These crazy quilts of dreams

I can't explain.

I seek a blissful

land of counterpane.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _  
_

## _WHAT A NEW PINK PEARL ERASER_ tm

## _MEANS TO ME_

## ——————————————

I've sworn off holidays.

The treat's the trick.

Renewed resolve caves in

with each excuse.

From racing year to year,

I'm dizzy, sick.

Red hearts, green beer, brown eggs

try to seduce me

in their festive joy.

They all induce my self-contempt

from "Auld Lang Syne" to "Yule" with rites

of food and alcohol abuse

in every culture, nation.

Call me "Fool,"

my favorite time of year

is back to school.

Unsharpened pencils, notebooks, pads,

the smell of flannel, swish of cords,

what's new, what's cool,

I wander down the aisles

as in a spell.

I'm anxious,

yet potential fills my heart

for fresh adventures,

yet another start.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _LIKE A VIRUS_

## ——————————————

On shelf or counter

they will latent lie.

In supermarkets,

boxes 'neath the stairs,

or from a friend,

through ear or eye,

the sly, contagious germ

will enter unawares.

And once infected

no help can you find.

First you'll deny it,

try to carry on

until the fever bans work

from your mind.

Your hands are hasty.

Appetite is gone.

You might as well give up.

Go home to bed.

Take phone off hook.

Turn heater on, or fan.

Put coffee at your side.

Lamp overhead.

For, though you'll toss and turn,

you're quite resolved to end

the mystery novel while you can,

'cause you can't function

till the murder's solved.

> ❖❖❖

## _TO JOHN KEATS_

## ——————————————

Dear priest and prophet, cantor of sweet time,

Grand dreamer of delicious lore and fame,

What e'er you viewed that spirit you became

To sing its joy and sorrow in rich rhyme.

And when the frenzy wrought a poem sublime

Each line reveals the soul you sought to claim.

But now unto Apollo songs you frame.

For us your hymn fell silent ere its prime.

But in the sacred bower of your mind,

Before the timeless font of pleasure-pain

Will you not say a prayer of soft design

To make his Muses mold me in your kind

And by your saintly chants have me ordained,

If unsung rhymes in Faerielande remain?

> ## ❖❖❖

## _SLEAZY_

### _(Note Left in a Returned Paperback)_

## ——————————————

How dare you!

You thought

—no, you assumed—

I would...

because you did...

that I might too.

And if I don't?

Just because you flirt at bookstores,

wander the library stacks,

scan the trade at swapmeets,

finger, even buy on occasion,

you think I'd be interested too?

Hope you enjoy them.

I guess when done or bored

(or challenged) you pass them on.

I don't take

such things lightly.

I seek, crave

experiences,

committing time

and effort.

I risk. I trust.

Each time I allow myself to be

surprised, teased, tricked, touched,

even shocked, hurt, but never cheated.

No matter what the outcome

I expect to learn, see the world anew,

feel, meet at least one other soul.

Frankly,

you don't know me

well enough.

Sorry, thank you,

I DO thank you,

but, please,

no hard feelings,

please take back this book.

> ## ❖❖❖

##

## _THIS EVER HAPPEN TO YOU?_

## ——————————————

_From what I've tasted of desire_

_I hold with those who favor fire._

— " _Fire and Ice_ " by Robert Frost

You're trudging on your track

from day to day

when suddenly

you see a trick of light,

a twirl of water,

gust of wind,

a play of shadows,

brilliant stars at night.

Perhaps

a phrase of music pierces you,

a cookie's taste

brings moments from the past,

a detail in a painting

strikes you new.

Just so a flash provoked me

fading fast.

One day at school,

some class,

a film: "The Blind. "

(At that some moron slurred

" _Another 'tard!_ ")

A woman reading Braille,

another signed.

" _Some say the earth will end in fire..._ "

Off guard,

Surprised by joy!

By me!

For I forgot (had been so long)

the first tears spurt out hot.

> ❖❖❖

## _AT THE MOVIES_

## ——————————————

Alone, with friends,

a date, amid a crowd

I shuffle up an incline,

down a stairs.

Why does the music

always seem so loud?

I navigate the knees

and coats and chairs.

And, as the houselights dim,

my gut grows tight.

The endless ads bear down.

The trailers race.

I'm stretched

with sinking feet,

a skull too light.

I sense the pained look

twisting on my face.

I can't remember

what I've come to see.

My head's confused,

cold hands,

dread fills my heart.

Did I forget

what fiction does to me?

As from atop

a rollercoaster cart

the screen I scan

"Oh shit."

I'm caught in this.

Once more I'm speeding

toward a new abyss.

> ## ❖❖❖

## IMPERFECTLY PERFECT

## ——————————————

The pine is not

the strongest, straightest wood.

What value's found

in needles, seeds, or cones?

From gritty shore

to rocky peaks' worn stones,

the wrath of nature

these limbs have withstood.

Unlucky opal

flashing many flaws,

what's brushed by wind

or carved by rain in time,

the pattern of the waves

are all sublime.

Man's art has rules

but nature has its laws.

The craftsman seeks a gem

where we see knot.

A jeweler spies

the mica of an eye.

The wisest seek

the spice of chaos,

try to flavor painting, dance,

a sculpture, plot.

The pure seems boring,

artificial, bleak.

That mole's a beauty mark

on Monroe's cheek.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _MONUMENTAL_

## ——————————————

For every soul

it seems a different sight.

I happened on

a version unaware,

and I was shocked.

I didn't think I'd care.

Deferred, I managed

to avoid that fight.

So like a scar

it cut across the lawn,

a gouge that jagged

and upward rose one side,

an unhealed wound,

recalling all who died,

commemorating

all the lives now gone.

How can a work so simple

yet impart to each

the sadness, pride,

frustration, grief,

or shame that lingers still

and give relief,

expressed serenely

through the power of art?

To honor, mourn, and

jab those hearts grown dull,

the Vietnam

Veterans Memorial.

> ## ❖❖❖

## _FAREWELL TO NAUSIKAA_

## ——————————————

My ship is waiting, and I have to go.

Yes, this is our farewell. I won't say I'll

Return, sweet Princess. But I won't forget

The fairest of the maids who dropped their veils

And laundry baskets on the shore to chant

And pass the ball in time. I heard your shout

Above the rest. Such snowy arms I saw

And thrashing braids! And how could I forget

Your courage or your kindness when I came

To you with olive branch in hand to hide

My nakedness, rain-drenched, brine-swollen, scarred.

You stayed while others fled. You gave me food

And drink. And I'll recall your foresight, how

You hid me in the cart you sent to town,

Avoiding scandal. Clever one! You got

Your wisdom from your mother, I suspect,

Who, even though I knelt in fireglow

And she upon her throne was weaving wool,

Still spied the robe you lent me as her work.

And how could I forget how nobles sighed,

" _Will she have him? What, none of us will suit_

_her?_ " or, amid the folded linen, how

I overheard you whisper to a friend,

" _Oh, may my husband be as fine as he._ "

Or how the King, who never could deny

A wish of yours, said, even ere he knew

My name or deeds or kingdom, " _Come, my friend,_

_My daughter's yours, my land, and you my son,_

_If you remain._ " Oh, would that I could be

Your husband, rule this country, father sons,

With you grow old. Alas, that cannot be.

I'd be your husband, but I have a wife.

I have a boy who must by now be man.

I love your parents even as I love my own.

And great Phaeacia, a kingdom blessed

With ramparts, orchards, harbors, gardens, squares

All greater than sad Ithaca, my home.

My home. No! Here I cannot die. Just so

I said amid the din and dust of Troy

And so when trapped within the Cyclops' Cave,

Or when the Laestrygonians attacked,

When Scylla and Charybis drowned my crew,

Just so when I was washed up on your shore.

For when I die, I die a second death

To wander on the Island of the Dead.

Oh, Princess, this is hard for me to say,

As hard as when I sadly had to tell

My mother's ghost she could not drink the blood

I'd poured until Tiresias had drunk.

Oh, don't you see, I have rejected death

So many times, when death, oh, would have been

The greatest balm to one who's suffered, as

I have, so long. And yet I choose to live.

Believe me, in my aged eyes you are

The fairest maid that ever lived, save one.

And I have seen them all in Hades' crowd,

Save one, and you. You make me young. Once she

Was young like you. It is the memory

Of her who shared my hearth and plate and bed

That moved my mind and stirs my heart from rest.

Believe me when I say, had I seen her

In Hades, surely she'd have said, " _Return,_

_"Live, fight, rule, love._ " And though she's still alive

Were I a crasser man I'd take you home

As mistress. She, I'm sure, would greet you, call

You daughter, take you gladly to her heart.

Ah, dear Penelope, I'd ne'er do that

To you...Oh, sweet and brave maid, don't you see?

The greatest curse the gods have placed on me

Is not their wrath. It's hope and memory.

Cruel temptress! Do not cry! Please turn away

From me those sad and brimming eyes. Oh gods!

Not one of the enchantments I have faced,

No, not the lotus of forgetfulness,

Nor Circe's bed of pleasures, spells, and charms,

Not even, dear one, great Calypso's pledge

Of ageless youth, of immortality,

Could tempt me as you do. Your sighs, so sad,

So soft make my heart quake; they rent me more,

They pierce me deeper than the Siren's songs.

Not beauty, youth, foreknowledge, power, wealth

Could tempt me from my quest. But innocence,

A home, real rest, true peace, security,

To one who's traveled, oh, so many miles,

Road-worn, nigh hopeless, tempts me. Tempts me still!

Security is certain death to that

In me which none of them could ever touch.

Oh Ithaca! I do not know if I

Will reach my home or what I'll find there, or

If I will stay. But here I cannot stay.

I leave. Farewell! Please, kiss me, turn and go.

# _ORFEO & ETAIN_

# or

# _JUST FOR GRINS_

A Politically Correct Romance

(If Those Terms Are not Mutually Eclusive)

_  
_

_Dedicated to the Memory of Joan B. Gratz_

Dear guardian of the age of innocence.

Of unicorns in pastorals left behind,

To you the fragrant scent of lilac hints

Of bowers, fountains, caverns of the mind.

While through the wasteland's labyrinth I wind

I seek once more the vale that still evades.

I long to rest. In dreams alone I find

The end of questing. Yet my memory aids.

Your vision clearly shines though sight of Eden fades.

### i

> Please listen, friend. I mean to entertain
> 
> You with a tale of love. Perhaps you know
> 
> Of "Orpheus," "The Wooing of Etain,"
> 
> Or know the Breton lay "Sir Orfeo."
> 
> Therein each singer sought some truth to show
> 
> Of mortal pride and death, of lust and sin.
> 
> I guess each teller let each story grow
> 
> The current tastes to please. Let us begin.

From you I need no tears or laughter, just a grin.

###

### ii

> There is an island battered by the sea
> 
> And wind, where dawn and twilight linger long.
> 
> Thereon a sturdy folk abided free.
> 
> Without great walls or armies they were strong.
> 
> Alas, their joy is lost except in song.
> 
> The sister of their King was fair and wise.
> 
> All loved Etain! I fear it would be wrong
> 
> To paint her features. Not in face or eyes,

Alone, in tender words and deeds true beauty lies.

### iii

> But this I'll surely tell you, none could sing
> 
> As well as she. Her voice was pure and sweet.
> 
> Their Queen in childbirth died. Sore grieved the King.
> 
> He sought his younger sister to entreat
> 
> To raise his son. " _Etain, I think it meet._
> 
> _For him to have a mother, too._ " said he.
> 
> Years passed. The King grew weak. " _I go to greet_

_My wife. She waits for me._ " Death set him free.

Though grieved, the people said Etain their Queen should be.

### iv

> The land was poor. She little knew of seeds.
> 
> Yet she was just and everyone ate bread.
> 
> One morning on the shore amid the reeds
> 
> She found a body lying almost dead!
> 
> A man it was! She raised his bleeding head.
> 
> So swollen, bruised, it gave her quite a fright!
> 
> But pity filled her gentle heart instead.
> 
> The wind and waves, now calm, had raged all night.

She guessed his ship had foundered in the fury's might.

### v

> Her maids and knights placed him inside a cart.
> 
> Back to their wooden mean-hall he was brought.
> 
> Her nephew, now fifteen, felt sick at heart,
> 
> Resentful. Yet her love and praise he sought.
> 
> For many days with death the sailor fought.
> 
> Etain, her nephew too, sat by his side.
> 
> She cleaned his wounds. Who knows what first he thought
> 
> When he awoke? He tried to smile, but only cried.

She told him how she'd found him washed up with the tide.

### vi

> " _My thanks,_ " he said, " _They call me Orfeo._
> 
> _I sailed from Rome a newer Troy to build_
> 
> _With Brut. But in the storm we couldn't row._
> 
> _We lost the fleet, though we were all quite skilled._
> 
> _Our sails were torn! On deck the water spilled!_ "
> 
> She bade him rest. Etain stayed by his bed.
> 
> In time her nephew's heart with kindness filled.
> 
> Not Orfeo nor she recalled who said

If first, but they were fast in love and soon were wed.

### vii

> The county prospered better with his aid,
> 
> For he was wise and worthy to be King.
> 
> But what was best of all the harp he played
> 
> So well! Etain with him would often sing.
> 
> Of sheep and shearing he knew everything.
> 
> But all his plans for plowing soon went wrong!
> 
> The soil was rocky, too much rain each spring.
> 
> Yet he could build. So he worked hard and long.

In five years time he raised in stone a castle strong.

### viii

> Her nephew now grown tall and brave became
> 
> The Steward of the land. There was no strife
> 
> 'Twixt him and Orfeo. Yet she felt shame.
> 
> She often saw him disregard his life.
> 
> His rudeness to her cut her like a knife!
> 
> And sad it is to say and yet it's true
> 
> That Orfeo oft' argued with his wife.
> 
> He tried to help or tell her what to do.

Wherever she would go, he sought to be there too.

### ix

> The Queen and maids at dawn one harvest time
> 
> Rode to the orchard. Joy was in each heart
> 
> To pick the ruby cherry in its prime.
> 
> Beneath the grafted tree they left their cart.
> 
> Up ladders to the clusters sweet and tart
> 
> They balanced woven baskets. Others willed
> 
> To sing and dance, while those who knew the art
> 
> Played harp and flute. The blood-red fingers skilled

Soon swelled their sacks and buckets or their aprons filled.

### x

> Etain a raven saw who stretched its wings.
> 
> To it she tossed a cherry, which it bit.
> 
> But she was soon entwined in garland rings.
> 
> Until she sought a quiet place to sit.
> 
> For dancing she felt she was quite unfit.
> 
> She tumbled down beneath the grafted tree,
> 
> Away from armies armed with stem and pit
> 
> Whose sleeves were stained, red wounds on every knee

And though their mouths were full, they chanted merrily:

What gives good luck?

What should I gently pluck?

> The cherry and the
> 
> Clover and the...O

What test or lot

Proves if he loves or not?

> The daisy and the
> 
> Buttercup.

What 'neath my head

Brings visions to my bed?

> The lilac and the
> 
> Mandrake and the...O

What should I view

To make my lover true?

> The myrtle and the
> 
> Marigold.

What saves my house

From rain and fire and mouse?

> The fennel and the
> 
> Seaweed and the...O

What keeps the child

From growing rash and wild?

> The rowan and the
> 
> Mistletoe.

When fever fills

What cures the aches and chills?

> The nettle and the
> 
> Aspen and the...O

What stops the pain,

Makes gout and headaches wane?

> The cowslip and the
> 
> Blackberry.

What should I shun,

Not touch till day's begun?

> The nightshade and the
> 
> Poppy and the...O

What plucked at night

Gives dreams and second sight?

> The primrose and the
> 
> Pimpernel.

What at my lip

Is certain death to sip?

> The elder and the
> 
> Hemlock and the...O

What serves them best

When dead are laid to rest?

> The holly and the
> 
> Meadow sweet.

### xi

> And when sweet juices ran from lip to chin
> 
> And waists felt fuller than a bursting sack
> 
> They piled up leaves and heather to begin
> 
> A morning nap. Etain lay on her back
> 
> Each finger yet to lick, her lips to smack.
> 
> In time her lace-like lashes veiled her eyes.
> 
> They slept. Until at noon that raven black
> 
> Descended on her crown of braids. Its cries

Woke all the maids! Alas, Etain did not arise!

### xii

> No trick they tried could shoo the bird away
> 
> Till Orfeo appeared (who meanwhile planned
> 
> His lazy wife to summon back to day
> 
> With tender kisses, each a reprimand).
> 
> He ran to her. Faint life flowed to her hand!
> 
> So pale the lips that had been stained so red!
> 
> He told the maids the Steward should command
> 
> A doctor to be summoned to her bed.

The King, with her held in his arms, the orchard fled.

### xiii

> Her nurse sat with him by her bed all night.
> 
> " _My lord, I reared her from a babe, you know._
> 
> _But when I raised her lids. Oh! Such a sight_
> 
> _To see those brilliant eyes, that used to glow_
> 
> _Now stare at me as if I were her foe!_
> 
> _I wonder what she did to cause such strife?_ "
> 
> He cried, " _It's not her fault!_ " said Orfeo
> 
> To waned Etain, " _I'd gladly give my life_

_If doing so might aid you. Oh what ails you, wife?_ "

### xiv

> But she said not a word. She lay entranced.
> 
> All day and night and day they lingered near.
> 
> At dusk without a word the Steward's glance
> 
> Bade him retreat where none might overhear.
> 
> " _The raven in an omen that I fear._
> 
> _Perhaps the Banshee came thus to foretell_
> 
> _Her death, or worse, She seeks Etain to rear_
> 
> _In witch's ways, shape-shifting, curse and spell._ "

Said trembling Orfeo, " _You mean she won't get well?_ "

### xv

> " _Friend, listen! There is hope if we think fast!_
> 
> _Remember here is not where you were born._
> 
> _Your southern home shares not our elfin past._
> 
> _Perhaps the raven's presence was to warn_
> 
> _Us of the Faerie King, whose lust and scorn_
> 
> _We dread. Though he can't kill, 'tis he who's blamed_
> 
> _Whenever one who hears his hunting horn_
> 
> _Or spies his steeds or birds is then seen maimed_

_By hounds or sinks 'neath waves or vanishes in flames._ "

### xvi

> " _You see to us death is a fitting end_
> 
> _To well-lived years. It frees the lone and ill._
> 
> _War's death is fame! But omens oft' portend_
> 
> _To men the Faerie King seeks for their skill_
> 
> _Or maids his lust would bend to please his will,_
> 
> _That they are sure to meet some bloody fate,_
> 
> _Unless his dread demand they do fulfill._
> 
> _And so I think it wise if we both wait,_

_For she'll fare worse should she his bidding violate._ "

### xvii

> But all of this seemed strange to Orfeo.
> 
> Not since he lost his ship and crew at sea
> 
> And felt the tugging, sinking undertow
> 
> Had he felt so alone and lost. Yet she
> 
> Had found him, fed him too. Such Charity!
> 
> He went back in and wept upon her sleeve.
> 
> She woke and smiled. " _Back to that grafted tree_
> 
> _Tomorrow noon I must return. I'll leave_

_You then. I hope I won't be long. But do not grieve_

### xviii

> _For me, my love. Where you are I will be._ "
> 
> It's true, he thought. Her nephew wouldn't lie.
> 
> But whether dead or taken she's not free.
> 
> He pleaded with her, " _Dear, I can't see why_
> 
> _We shouldn't call the knights to fortify_
> 
> _The orchard?" She, however, said, "Dismiss_
> 
> _Your men. They'll be to no avail if I_
> 
> _Decide to leave. Please let me handle this._ "

She pressed his hands and tried to calm him with a kiss.

### xix

> She slept till dawn. His lashes never met.
> 
> He thought, if Hades summons her to where
> 
> The dead reside, I'll die without regret.
> 
> But if at noon she's taken in some snare
> 
> This Faerie King has set, how will I bear
> 
> To live while she's a captive in his land?
> 
> Ere noon she donned her robes. She looked so fair
> 
> And not afraid. She left. But close at hand

Crept Orfeo, behind him knights at his command.

###

### xx

> Upon the bed of leaves Etain lay down.
> 
> Behind each tree he kept a guard at bay.
> 
> She gently pressed a wrinkle in her gown
> 
> As Orfeo cried out in her dismay,
> 
> " _Is this some sacrifice? Don't go away!_ "
> 
> He felt, not for the first time, jealousy.
> 
> " _I cannot think my love you would betray._ "
> 
> And when no shadow shone, " _Have faith in me!_ "

She cried and disappeared as did the grafted tree.

### xxi

> Then Orfeo descended on the bed
> 
> Of leaves and moss. His fury made him rave.
> 
> From tearing grass and hair his hands grew red.
> 
> " _Alas, my Queen, my wife, I couldn't save!_ "
> 
> The Steward came. Each to the other gave
> 
> A shoulder, crying, rocking till they bowed
> 
> Beneath their grief. In time their hearts grew brave
> 
> And back they went. The King spoke strong and loud

Yet slowly as he told these tidings to the crowd.

### xxii

> At once the women wailed, the children cried
> 
> And you could hear the knights and elders moan
> 
> From miles away. The tearful monarch sighed,
> 
> " _I know my bitter grief you will condone_
> 
> _And yet if all I do is cry and groan_
> 
> _I'll have no heart for harvesting. Who'll sow_
> 
> _At planting time? I must renounce the throne._
> 
> _I'm King because Etain was Queen. I know_

_No foreigner should rule your land. Please let me go._ "

### xxiii

> " _Take this,_ " the King cried. " _Steward, wear my crown._
> 
> _Please rule instead of us. I can't be free_
> 
> _To end my grief if duties weigh me down._
> 
> _If three years pass and still you do not see_
> 
> _Us knocking at the gate, then you should be_
> 
> _The next King of the land._ " " _My sorrow's great,_ "
> 
> The nephew said, " _Please will you take the key_
> 
> _Of stewardship? You can unlock the gate_

_At any time. As for a King, for you we'll wait._ "

### xxiv

> The court grieved sore, but nothing they might say
> 
> Could make him change his mind. Great was their woe!
> 
> They lost their Queen. Now doubled their dismay
> 
> To see him go. They knew their tears would show
> 
> Their love. He said, " _Don't follow me!_ " And so
> 
> His friends, his home, and kingdom he forsook.
> 
> Though lost in sadness, happy just to go.
> 
> He brought with him no food, no bed, no book,

No hound, and yet for company his harp he took.

### xxv

> Then out into the wilderness he went.
> 
> Although he'd never slept 'neath ermine white
> 
> He left his cap and cloak of wool, content
> 
> To bed on moss and heather every night.
> 
> Although quite warm before his hearth he might
> 
> Have stayed to dine on roasted fowl and mead,
> 
> He lived on roots and snow and yet his plight
> 
> He didn't mind nor pain or hunger heed.

He often fed the finches. Food he didn't need.

### xxvi

> Oh, why, he thought, should I live one day more?
> 
> For three long years he pined so for Etain.
> 
> His lips were chapped, his feet were bruised and sore.
> 
> His beard grew long. So hoary was his mane!
> 
> His arms waxed strong and yet his body waned
> 
> So lean. Who would have thought he once was King?
> 
> Yet with his harp he sang a sad refrain
> 
> And through the vales his echoed cries did ring

And often on the moor the beasts could hear him sing:

So 'lone is the stranger

Away from his homeland.

So sad is the shipwrecked,

The castaway clinging.

So silent the stillborn

Adrift in the womb's sea.

A sailor, an exile,

I sought a new country

Till ocean and heaven

Above and below me

In deluge did battle

And left me for flotsam.

So cold was the water!

It pierced till it numbed me.

So swift was the current

That pulled and embraced me.

So fierce were the brine waves

That tasted like tear drops.

If I had been washed up

To wake on the shore of

The Isle of Dead Heroes,

The Kingdom of Hades,

I'd rest with the valiant,

Share tales and libations.

But death did not take me,

Instead I was stranded

To weep with the living,

Who battered by sorrows

Still gasp, though despairing,

And thrash in misfortune.

If I long for silence

Why stll does my heart beat?

If I wish for darkness

Why still do my eyes see?

If I'm bound for dying

Why still do my wounds heal?

I don't mourn for infants

At rest from life's labors.

I don't cry for sailors

Who sway 'neath the ocean.

I sigh for the exile

Who lingers untaken.

### xxvii

> Just so he'd chant at night to stay awake.
> 
> But strange things happened when he played and sighed
> 
> He often saw how trees would bend, a snake
> 
> Or wolf approaching from afar who tried
> 
> To hide unseen. Wild birds on boughs he spied
> 
> Who huddled close to hear the harp's sweet sound.
> 
> And though near him they never would abide
> 
> When he had stopped his song, he often found

Dried berries, grass and acorns lying on the ground.

### xxviii

> And so in time his harping brought relief.
> 
> Yet still he sighed and never did he sing
> 
> A song that was not born out of his grief.
> 
> One day it chanced when gazing in a spring
> 
> He spied above his head a jet-black wing
> 
> Hid in a bough. He jumped! But upward fled
> 
> The raven. Still he chased the evil thing
> 
> Till falling on a rock he hit his head.

Who knows how many days he lay there almost dead!

### xxvix

> When he awoke his forehead throbbed in pain.
> 
> Until he found his harp he stumbled 'round.
> 
> No shadow fell. He heard a hunting strain,
> 
> A thunderous din, the sound of horse and hound.
> 
> And peering through a nettle bush he found
> 
> A hundred knights all dressed in snowy white
> 
> On steeds as light as moonlit hoary ground.

> He spied their King whose crown was flashing bright.

Although it looked so fair, it gave him no delight.

###

### xxx

> They passed, then followed fast another pack.
> 
> For these were falconers all women, fair.
> 
> Before them rode a Queen, but dressed in black
> 
> With raven hair upon a sable mare.
> 
> He saw a woman near her turn and stare
> 
> At him. Etain it was! And him she knew!
> 
> They spoke no word. He guessed she wouldn't dare,
> 
> But tears fell on his cheek and on hers too!

The Queen saw this. Etain then blushed a rosy hue.

### xxxi

> A trumpet blared. " _Now, onward!_ " cried the Queen,
> 
> Who passing smiled at him. But did it spite
> 
> Or envy, sympathy or malice mean?
> 
> When they had gone he said, " _When I lost sight_
> 
> _Of fair Etain, I gave up every right_
> 
> _I had as King and sought a hermit's life._
> 
> _To save her I have little wit or might._
> 
> _No painful death is greater than this strife._

_I'll go, if only to be near my love, my wife._ "

### xxxii

> But after her he didn't run. Instead,
> 
> His fingers nervously began to play
> 
> A melody, but not out of his head.
> 
> Why did his harp such strange tones interlay?
> 
> Then there appeared a wolf all dappled-gray
> 
> Who bent his back as if to let him ride.
> 
> 'Bove robins circled 'round to point the way.
> 
> He mounted. On they went. His eyes still cried,

But in his heart he felt no jealousy or pride.

### xxxiii

> To linger near Etain was all he sought.
> 
> He was surprised how fast the wolf could go
> 
> And how his fingers flew o'er strings so taut.
> 
> They halted near a river. Orfeo
> 
> Observed an agèd boatman. " _Will you row_
> 
> _Me to the other side?_ " he kindly asked.
> 
> " _What? Ferry you across? Fool! don't you know_
> 
> _Those shiny waves give no reflection past_

_The shore and once on land no shadow will you cast?_ "

### xxxiv

> " _Few go unasked for, never to return._
> 
> _To cross makes one forget. I could restore_
> 
> _Your memory with this helmet, if you earn..._ "
> 
> His heart bade him the boatman's words ignore
> 
> If she were captive on the nether shore!
> 
> He plucked his harp till music filled the air.
> 
> The boatman said, " _I've heard that tune before._
> 
> _It calms the waves. All right, I'll row you there,_

_But you must give my helmet back and pay the fare!_ "

### xxxv

> And as they crossed he asked of Faerielande.
> 
> " _Between our King and Queen,_ " the old man said,
> 
> " _There's bitter strife. Through fear one can command_
> 
> _Respect, but never love. They share no bed._
> 
> _She was the first he took by rape. They're wed_
> 
> _Against her will, but she returns each spring..._ "
> 
> He heard no more, for he recalled instead
> 
> A song to Demeter he used to sing.

Thought Orfeo: Could Hades be the Faerie King?

### xxxvi

> And what if Faerielande is really Hell?
> 
> His namesake, Orpheus, then came to mind.
> 
> He clutched his harp. If I could play that well
> 
> And win the one I love. But he went blind
> 
> When first he spied the castle walls, designed
> 
> To dazzle, wrought with silver, gems, and gold
> 
> And parapets he saw of every kind
> 
> And towers, domes, with spires manifold.

He looked between his hands the better to behold.

### xxxvii

> Now Orfeo knew what tools to employ.
> 
> He learned that craft back in his native land
> 
> When Romulus conceived the second Troy.
> 
> For Celtic lords he several castles planned.
> 
> So when he saw the walls were built on sand
> 
> And towers soared without a buttress hold
> 
> He was surprised. He wondered, what rash hand
> 
> Would lay the gems and gilt on timbers old?

He paid his fare and once on shore his heart grew bold.

### xxxviii

> With both his hands he struck the gate.
> 
> " _Who dares to come untaken?_ " someone cried.
> 
> He pounded once again. He couldn't wait
> 
> To see his dear Etain. _"Let me inside!_
> 
> _It's cold out here!_ " the king-as-beggar sighed.
> 
> " _Who's at the gate?" he heard a voice lament._
> 
> _"A harpist,_ " answered Orfeo. Replied
> 
> The Porter, " _This is strange. You should be sent_

_Away and yet we're sore in need of merriment._

###   
xxxix

> " _Come in and let us see what you can do._ "
> 
> But when inside, this court to him appeared
> 
> So like his own, the keep and bailey too,
> 
> But gilded bright. And yet he thought it weird
> 
> The towers soared so tall, too tall he feared.
> 
> Then down the Porter led him, silently.
> 
> Into a gloomy hall they disappeared.
> 
> But when his eyes adjusted he could see

The people who refused the Faerie King's decree.

### xl

> They lay just as he took them, so it chanced
> 
> No part of them their loved ones ever found
> 
> To mourn or bury. There he saw entranced
> 
> A hanging lad still by a stirrup bound,
> 
> A seaweed-covered maiden who had drowned,
> 
> A blue-faced man who'd choked on what he ate,
> 
> A knight whose limbs were maimed by wolf or hound
> 
> A body burnt, for fire was its fate,

For all of whom, to change their dare, it was too late!

### xli

> But none of them were dead. None he could kill.
> 
> Then up a spiral stair he went alone
> 
> Into a hall of crystal wrought with skill.
> 
> Within, fair knights and maids stood still as stone.
> 
> They had obeyed. All seemed as white as bone,
> 
> Except the Queen who dared her black to keep.
> 
> Then turning quickly he saw near the throne
> 
> A grafted tree and he began to weep.

There lay Etain at rest. If it were only sleep!

### xlii

> The King saw him approaching, " _Stop! How dare_
> 
> _You come untaken?_ " Bravely Orfeo
> 
> Replied, " _We minstrels travel everywhere._
> 
> _For board we sing._ " The King asked, _"Do you know_
> 
> _Some pleasant, wooing ballad that might show_
> 
> _My Queen, who wears her mourning as a mask,_
> 
> _The joys of married life? To end her woe_
> 
> _Is all I seek. If you complete this task_

_Then I will grant you, minstrel, any wish you ask!_ "

### xliii

> " _If not, my curs will have your bones to gnaw._ "
> 
> His greyhounds did seem hungry for more meat.
> 
> To please with song is hard! But when he saw
> 
> The Queen so grave, he knew how great a feat
> 
> To free his love, Etain, he must complete.
> 
> Though filled with dread he played. No note went wrong.
> 
> The monarch's hounds lay down before his feet
> 
> And bowed their heads and wagged their tails so long.

Then to the tune he gently played he sang this song:

I learned this ballad in my youth.

Perhaps the tale will bring you joy.

Our elders tell our people of

> The Fall of Troy.

Great Hector was a Trojan prince.

'Twixt Greece and Troy there grew great strife

When Paris charmed a Grecian King

> And stole his wife.

Then Menelaus summoned Greece.

He planned and boasted o'er his wine.

" _I vow I will reclaim my wife._

> _Fair Helen's mine!_ "

Achilles came to conquer Troy.

So great his fame all Trojans fled.

But Hector fought until he thought

> Achilles dead.

Alas, when Hector stripped his arms

Achilles' friend instead he spied.

" _What trick of god or man is this?_ "

> Sad Hector cried.

Achilles slept within his tent.

When he awoke his wrath grew sore!

Patroclus dead! His armor now

> Fierce Hector wore

Though Hector kept the Greeks at bay

He went back into Troy and bade

His mother, " _Hurry, ask the gods_

> _To send us aid!_ "  
>

Andromeda, his wife, grew faint

And Hector laughed at her alarm.

She didn't recognize him in

> Achilles' arms!

" _Your father and your son will die_

_If you die, Hector. Who will save_

_Your mother and your wife when we_

> _Are sold as slaves?_ "

Said Hector, " _No! I can't remain._

_We live and die within fate's plan._

_Pray may you never have to love_

> _Another man._ "

As Hector kissed his wife and babe

The Trojans fled inside Troy's gate.

But he went out on to the plain

> To meet his fate.

Andromeda sat at her loom.

But how she shivered when she spied

Bold Paris holding Helen close,

> The fickle bride.

Before Athena's sacrifice

Dame Hecuba fell on her knees.

" _Oh Goddess, pity Illiam!_

> _Have mercy, please!_ "

And Priam cried, " _My son, my son!_

_Your strength and deeds have won you fame._

_If you withdraw behind the gate_

> _You'll know no blame."_

Upon her loom Andromeda

Worked woof and warp to bright array.

" _He must be past the gates,_ " she thought.

> " _Well on his way._ "

Achilles newly clad ran swift.

So brightly flashed the shield he bore.

He spied his former helm and arms

> Which Hector wore.

Andromeda called for his robes.

For Hector's bath a fire burned.

" _The loot,_ " she said. " _They'll soon divide._

> _Then he'll return._ "

Great Hector stood before Troy's walls.

Though brave his heart became forlorn.

Once more he had to fight the man

> Of goddess born

Within her grasp the shuttle paused.

"By now he must be turning 'round."

Her little Hector by her slept

> Without a sound.

Achilles lifted up his helm.

When Hector saw his wrathful eyes

He knew the luck of Troy had passed

> And he would die

Achilles' spear pierced Hector's throat.

Each Trojan heartfelt sadness swell.

Andromeda her baby seized.

> The shuttle fell.

### xliv

> And though Etain appeared to him entranced

> Just so he sang to her, till on each cheek

> He saw the trails of tears as they advanced.

> The Queen was crying too. She couldn't speak

> But mid her tears she sobbed, then gave a shriek!

> The King cried out, "She's worse. It's all your fault!

> Dogs tear him limb from limb!" His knees went weak

> When growling greyhounds started to assault

His hands. Their jaws snapped loud. But then the Queen, " _Halt!_ "

### xlv

> " _Just who are you to tell me how I feel?_
> 
> _These tears I will not hide. But, King, you're wrong_
> 
> _If you've assumed that I am sad._
> 
> _I steal whatever joy I can and I grow strong_
> 
> _In my captivity. It won't be long_
> 
> _Before I leave. Perhaps I won't return._
> 
> _This beggar wins his wish. I liked his song._
> 
> _It spoke to me of faithful love. I yearn_

_To see my mother still. My joy is my concern._ "

### xlvi

> " _You thwart me every time, you lying bitch!_ "
> 
> The Faerie King replied. " _Can no one see_
> 
> _How cold and cruel you are. You cur! You witch!_
> 
> _The constant mother-love appears to me_
> 
> _Unnatural, perverse. How can it be?_
> 
> _I give you pleasures, honor, wealth, but oh_
> 
> _My bed you still deny. Man, pity me!_
> 
> _Be gone!_ " She cried, " _His wish I want to know!_ "
> 
> He lied, " _I keep my promise. Beggar, wish then go!_ "

### xlvii

> But Orfeo did not know what to say.
> 
> He doubted, if he asked him for Etain,
> 
> If both of them could safely get away.
> 
> And yet another thought made him refrain
> 
> From his request. He wondered what he'd gain
> 
> If she refused to leave. Though he could see
> 
> Her sorrow, he recalled, when she had lain
> 
> Beneath the tree, his fit of jealousy.

To choose to stay or go he felt she should be free.

### xlviii

> " _I wish that woman lying there, Etain,_
> 
> _May have a wish._ " The monarch's wrath rose sore!
> 
> Although his rule he knew he must maintain
> 
> The Queen's disdain he didn't dare ignore.
> 
> He said, begrudgingly, " _Just one wish more!_ "
> 
> The Queen stepped underneath the grafted tree.
> 
> Etain began with courage to implore,
> 
> " _For three years I've been bound. Please set me free_

_To leave with him who risked his life to be with me._ "

### xlix

> A sudden rush of joy swelled in his heart
> 
> To hear her say the words he hoped to hear
> 
> And " _Whether free or damned we'll never part._ "
> 
> Thought Orfeo. He spoke now without fear.
> 
> " _Forgive me if I now too bold appear._
> 
> _King, hear what in my grief I've come to know._
> 
> _You cannot hope to keep what you want near_
> 
> _If force you try or disrespect you show._

_To hold what you love most you have to let it go."_

### l

> Then spoke Etain, " _My love, you say what I_
> 
> _Have longed to hear._ " But to the King said she
> 
> " _You do not know how I resent each lie_
> 
> _And trick, each bribe and threat you tried. For me_
> 
> _My body, time, and labors must be free!_ "
> 
> The Queen then to the Faerie King began,
> 
> " _These words make me rejoice and yet I see_

_The hardness in your heart to work your wicked plan._ "

### li

> " _You think you've gained too much to change your ways._
> 
> _You love your lust, your lucre, and your will._
> 
> _Enjoy your armies! Numbered are your days!_ "
> 
> Then silence came. The King grew very still.
> 
> He calmly said, " _My promise I'll fulfill._
> 
> _I didn't like her anyway. So go!_ "
> 
> But to the Queen, " _Whore! Hear me! I will kill_
> 
> _The spite in you!_ " Etain grabbed Orfeo

And with each step they ran they felt the tension grow.

### lii

> Up rose the Queen whose words became more fierce.
> 
> " _Now see how strong I've grown beneath your sight._
> 
> _Since you won't change, what heart you have I'll pierce!_ "
> 
> They both began to muster up their might.
> 
> Fast flames flashed forth! The golden walls glowed bright.
> 
> The knights and ladies screamed, free from his spell,
> 
> While quickly ran the lovers filled with fright.
> 
> Though they dared not look back, yet they could tell

The battle raged. Soon crystal towers 'round them fell.

### liii

> They hurried swiftly through the open gate.
> 
> Their hearts beat fast. They panted wet with sweat.
> 
> Though it was scarcely safe, they couldn't wait.
> 
> They laughed and hugged. His lips her lips soon met.
> 
> Then said Etain, " _I didn't ask you yet,_
> 
> _You missed me?_ " He said, " _Can you doubt it, dear?_
> 
> _And you? Your lover you did not forget?_ "
> 
> " _No! ever in my heart I held you near._

_I knew while there both lust and Lethe I needn't fear,_

### liv

> _Because ere we dismounted I could see_
> 
> _The Queen with chalice running to my side._
> 
> _I tasted of The Pool of Memory_
> 
> _And thereby kept my wits. When this he spied_
> 
> _The King grew bitter. Every threat he tried_
> 
> _To win me by was doomed to no avail._
> 
> _But it was hard to live in fear,_ " she sighed.
> 
> He knew her thoughts grew sad as she grew pale.

She said, " _When I am stronger I will tell my tale._ "

### lv

> " _But you should know those years were not in vain,_
> 
> _For I've learned much in my captivity._
> 
> _Not only from my sorrow, grief, and pain_
> 
> _But of the wisdom others taught to me._
> 
> _The secrets of the seed I now can see._
> 
> _The pangs of birth and death I can abate._
> 
> _I learned the skills of great Persephone._
> 
> _I can't say I am happy for my fate,_

_But from painful past my future I'll create._ "

### lvi

> " _Lead on!_ " Etain said, " _If you know the way._ "
> 
> " _But will he follow us?_ " asked Orfeo.
> 
> " _I think we're safe now. Let's no more delay._
> 
> _But don't you dare look back for me! I know_
> 
> _Of Euridyce, how in her constant woe_
> 
> _She cries for Orpheus, your namesake, who_
> 
> _Twice won and lost her love so long ago._
> 
> _But he, my love, was not as wise as you._ "

Thus they conversed until the river came in view.

### lvii

> The boatman said, " _Your singing, I regret_
> 
> _Has little pleased our King. From his command_
> 
> _I'm free. My thanks! Both oar and rudder's set_
> 
> _To ferry you both back._ " But once on land
> 
> He slipped and, falling, lost his lover's hand!
> 
> Alas, when he arose he saw a stream
> 
> Instead of Lethe. He tried to understand.
> 
> He saw a rock. He cried, " _Was it a dream?_ "

Of Orpheus he thought. His cry rose to a scream!

### lviii

> Above his head the raven circled 'round.
> 
> His love, Etain, was nowhere to be seen.
> 
> The raven swooped and landed on the ground.
> 
> He looked again and saw the Faerie Queen
> 
> Or so she seemed. " _Look in the stream. Between_
> 
> _The sky's reflection and the deep will spread_
> 
> _A dream another dreams._ " He looked. The scene
> 
> He knew. It was the evening they were wed.

They slept within the grove, pink petals for a bed.

### lix

> " _Is this her dream? I do not understand._
> 
> _Is she still captive? Oh, what can I do_
> 
> _To once more meet the King of Faerielande?_ "
> 
> " _That dream dreamt by Etain I let you view_
> 
> _To banish any doubts if she's been true._
> 
> _Within this spring we've both seen everything_
> 
> _You dreamt you did for her. Unless he's you_
> 
> _Yourself, my friend, I know no Faerie King._ "

He sat perplexed. The woman smiled. " _Come let me bring_

### lx

> _You to the bower where she waits for you."_
> 
> There, steps away, he saw Etain asleep.
> 
> The woman said, " _Don't ever let me rue_
> 
> _This day. I know when hurt how men will weep._
> 
> _When strong again I know they seek to keep_
> 
> _Their wanton will. Forget not what you've learned_
> 
> _By your retreat. Now bounty you will reap,_
> 
> _Because you've passed these daydreamt tests._

_You've yearned To kiss her lips. We think that right you've surely earned._ "

### lxi

> Then off the woman as a raven flew.
> 
> There lay Etain beneath the grafted tree.
> 
> What tender love they knew I leave to you
> 
> To guess. 'Tis far beyond my minstrelsy,
> 
> Exceeding what he'd dreamt could ever be.
> 
> And when the kisses started to subside,
> 
> Yet while he often looked to see if she
> 
> Were there, he asked her, " _How could you abide_

_So many years away?"_ He smiled and yet he cried.

### lxii

> " _It was not easy to remain away._ "
> 
> She said to him, " _And yet you have to hear_
> 
> _It was not always easy then to stay_
> 
> _With you. If I had told you, 'You're too near_
> 
> _To me.' I knew to you it would appear_
> 
> _As if my love grew less. You must believe_
> 
> _I've loved you all this while. And yet, my dear,_
> 
> _Although I knew I'd surely make you grieve_

_When I was called, I had no doubt I'd have to leave._ "

### xiii

> " _And when against my will you followed me_
> 
> _And brought your men, I knew that I was right._
> 
> _I left, not sure if you I'd ever see_
> 
> _Again._ " She sighed and said, " _Then I took flight_
> 
> _With her they call the mistress of the night,_
> 
> _The Banshee, who in skill and lore is rich._
> 
> _So much I learned of childbirth, second sight,_
> 
> _The moon and seeds..._ " She saw his forehead twitch.

He turned so pale. " _You mean I'm married to a witch?_ "

### lxiv

> She laughed. " _You men! Such rumors you believe!_
> 
> _Of her I heard my nephew once speak ill._
> 
> _Those tales of hags and shrews you ought to leave_
> 
> _Back in your warring land. Know this! I will_
> 
> _With you abide, our troth I will fulfill_
> 
> _As long as you my faith and trust repay_
> 
> _With courtesy, respect._ " He spoke with skill,
> 
> " _Let us renew our bonds of love each day._ "

They rose and hand in hand toward home went on their way.

### lxv

> They knew they wouldn't find that grafted tree
> 
> When first the cherry orchard came at hand.
> 
> But what a shock! No, how could they foresee
> 
> That withered was the grove, as was the land?
> 
> Then they more quickly ran. They thought they'd stand
> 
> With sight of home as they approached a well.
> 
> But barren hills were not what they had planned
> 
> To view. They asked a hermit if a spell

Had cursed the kingdom, but no tidings would he tell.

### lxvi

> Instead he asked them if they'd spend the night.
> 
> Before his fire they bade him to explain.
> 
> " _What happened?_ " " _Was it wind or drought or blight_
> 
> _That turned the fertile fields to dusty plain?_ "
> 
> " _It wasn't Nature thwarting Fortune's gain._ "
> 
> The Hermit told them, " _Since our Queen had died_
> 
> _And since our King forsook us in his pain_
> 
> _It seems no man or woman can abide_

_The grief. The Steward plants, but nothing grows,_ " he sighed.

### lxvii

> They slept till sunrise. While the Hermit said
> 
> His morning prayers, Etain to Orfeo
> 
> Remarked, " _There's something wrong. I think instead_
> 
> _Of going home at once, we ought to know_
> 
> _What's happened first. My nephew ought to show_
> 
> _Us how he rules. If he caused this dismay_
> 
> _We won't be safe._ " Then he replied, " _Let's go._
> 
> _I think you're wrong, but you should have your way._

_Take these._ " She changed her robes for rags without delay.

### lxviii

> She said, " _I'm sure we're safe in this disguise._
> 
> _I hardly look a Queen or you a King._ "
> 
> Said Orfeo, " _Perhaps it would be wise_
> 
> _If first we say to him we've come to sing_
> 
> _And play a song. If there is anything_
> 
> _Amiss, such words I trust will surely prick_
> 
> _His conscience...Yet mine's sore! What if we bring_
> 
> _Our people more misfortune by this trick?_ "

Said she, " _If true, he'll pass whatever test we pick._ "

### lxix

> When they approached they knocked upon the gate.
> 
> The agèd Porter asked, " _Who are you two_
> 
> _Who dare to call on us. You know it's late._ "
> 
> Etain cried out, " _We'll sing and play for you._ "
> 
> He left, but then the Steward came to view
> 
> The beggars. " _Enter! Since we lost our King_
> 
> _And Queen our nights are long and sad. Once you_
> 
> _Could hear the castle walls with music ring._

_We cherish harpists, minstrels too. Please play and sing._ "

Within a wood there is a spring.

Its taste is bitter, sharp and cold.

It chills my bones, yet each sip brings

Before me visions to behold.

> Not all are pleasant sights to see.
> 
> I taste the Pool of Memory.

Now tip the chalice to your lips.

> My love you'll have forever.

Like tender kisses are your sips.

> Oh, love, let me linger, linger

False lovers drink of mead and wine

To ease their fears, the past forget.

They think their boasts and sobs refined.

Their spirits soar beyond regret.

> At dawn they wake in misery.
> 
> My love, I taste of Memory.

Now tip the chalice to your lips

> My love you'll have forever

Like tender kisses are your sips.

> Oh, love, let me linger, linger.

At first the rippling surface shines

Till cloudy shapes below float by.

Beneath the dreamy sky I find

The darkened depths where shadows lie.

> Up swells the spring to meet the sea!
> 
> Love, taste The Pool of Memory.

Now tip the chalice to your lips.

> My love you'll have forever.

Like tender kisses are your sips.

> Oh love, let me linger, linger.

### lxx

> How moved the Steward was when this he heard!
> 
> " _No voice,_ " he whispered, " _Have I ever known,_
> 
> _Save lost Etain's to sing each note and word_
> 
> _So sweetly. Never have strong fingers flown_
> 
> _O'er strings so fast; no harp could yield such tone_
> 
> _As Orfeo's when to our court he played._
> 
> _Oh, now I know they'll never claim their throne!_
> 
> _Your music is much better that they made._

_They must be dead. Friend, may I see your harp?_ " he bade.

### lxxi

> And when the Steward held the harp he cried,
> 
> " _How did you get it? Please, I have to know_!"
> 
> Etain then answered him, " _Sir, once I spied_
> 
> _At noon a sloe-black raven hovering low_
> 
> _Above a fallow field. I dared to go_
> 
> _To see what food it sought. There on the ground_
> 
> _I saw a minstrel lying dead and though_
> 
> _I do not play, I took the harp I'd found_

_And sold it to this man, who said he liked the sound._ "

### lxxii

> The Steward swooned. They saved him from his fall.
> 
> When he awoke the King-in-hiding said,
> 
> _"If I were he who once was young and tall_
> 
> _And loved this land, but from its borders fled_
> 
> _In sorrow, having lost the one I'd wed;_
> 
> _If I were he who dreamt of Faerielande_
> 
> _And tricked their King whose prey we think are dead_
> 
> _And won a wish to give our Queen a hand_

_In her escape, if I were he who also planned_

### lxxiii

> " _A test to judge the candor in your voice,_
> 
> _If he, I'd say 'The next King you should be._ '
> 
> _But Steward, hark! Had I heard you rejoice_
> 
> _To learn the fate of Orfeo, I'd see_
> 
> _You pitched out of the gate and watch you flee._
> 
> _For being true, friend, this belongs to you._ "
> 
> The Steward started when he saw the key.
> 
> His eyes met his. His long lost friend he knew.

He handed him the crown. " _Then this belongs to you._ "

### lxxiv

> The other beggar said, " _If I were she_
> 
> _Who'd raised my brother's son as mine instead;_
> 
> _If she who'd saved a sailor from the sea_
> 
> _And nurtured him until he shared my bed,_
> 
> _But then felt bound; so with the Banshee fled_
> 
> _To learn her ways. If she who now can view_
> 
> _No condescension in the man she'd wed,_
> 
> _If I were she, I'd say, 'I'm proud of you,_

_My nephew, even in these trials your love is true.'_ "

### lxxv

> The Steward strained to see that beggar's eyes.
> 
> Etain he saw! His joy swelled greater still.
> 
> " _Oh, nephew, please forgive these foolish lies_
> 
> _We've told you. When I saw the land so ill_
> 
> _I worried, dreaded too. Three years can fill_
> 
> _One's heart with doubt._ " " _Oh, what a great relief_
> 
> _To see you home!_ " he said. " _We've had no will_
> 
> _To live. We've missed you so! The bitter grief_

_We've known pervaded every seed and bud and leaf._ "

### lxxvi

> Etain and Orfeo were crowned and wed
> 
> Again. (The farmers laughed, the maidens cried.)
> 
> Alone they often worked, but shared their bed.
> 
> Her wisdom soon transformed the countryside.
> 
> He never interfered with her or tried
> 
> To help unasked-for, which appeased her fears,
> 
> But grafts and ravens he could not abide!
> 
> Together they lived long and without tears.

And after them the Steward ruled for twenty years.

### lxxvii

> That's all there is. I know, my friend, it's late.
> 
> Your ears are sore! But if you're wise you'll see
> 
> They needed no disguises at the gate
> 
> If Orfeo still had the Steward's key.
> 
> That boatman's helmet I forgot, not he!
> 
> To call myself a minstrel is a sin.
> 
> Oh, please accept this poor apology.
> 
> I do not ever hope your hearts to win,

But if I've pleased you any, may I see a grin?

# AFTERWORDS
## _   AS OF TODAY_

## ——————————————

I left my parents

chanting few complaints.

Too hard I stomped my footprints

amid the crowd.

I did a lot

in spite of most constraints

to help by lending hand,

of which I'm proud.

Though many sought

to bury me with shame,

I owned my own.

I fought for what was right.

Though some may roll their eyes,

few curse my name.

In peace I dream my dreams

and sleep the night.

Though time erode

my epitaph of facts,

I chiseled deep.

I hope my words will hold.

And though I second guess

a thousand acts,

the love I lived

was staunch and kind and bold.

No " _If I hadn't—had._ "

No " _If I could._ "

If I should die before I wake...

I'm good.

> ## ❖❖❖

_  
_

##  _AFTER WORDS_

## ——————————————

Well, there they are.

Observe the best I've done.

What's coin?

What's slug?

What's new?

What's out of style?

Some lines just came,

while others were a trial.

Some ditties were a pain,

laments were fun.

A few dear friends and mentors

gave support.

When logic left,

I put my trust in sound

and chance and form.

I doubt I'll be around

To hear my verdict read

in fashion's court.

Which lines delight,

instruct,

or bore,

offend?

Now all are poets.

No one pays for verse.

Who hasn't found

their passion is a curse?

Each reader writes a poem

from what I've penned.

I hope there's something here

that you can use.

If you're not pleased, my friend,

please blame my muse.

## ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

## —————————————

I would like to express my gratitude Dr. Margaret Drugovich, President of Hartwick College, Oneonta New York and late mentors Dr. Norman Hutman and Joan B Gratz, and Dr. Ruth apRoberts, of University of California at Riverside and fellow students: Margaret Kuman, Candace Aldrich, Cheryl Hurd, Ellen Jaramillo, Lauren Matthews and Stephen Rice for their encouragement and guidance.

I wish to thank Lee Balan and the late Patricia A'Dlessandro of "Quest" Palm Springs, CA and Greg Bell, Gedda Ilvers, Annette Robinson, of "Beyond Baroque" Venice CA and Hiram Sims of the Community Literary Initiative of the University of Southern California who shared their experience.

Dear friends I wish to honor are the late Barbara Anne O'Brian, Frank Giordano, and Terry Girard, and dedicated friends Fred Jealous, Peter Van Coutren, and Ellen Ortiz whose belief in me keeps me motivated.

## GLEN FITCH

### _Just a 16th Century Poet Lost in the 21st Century._

## About the Author

Glen Fitch was born in Buffalo, New York and received a Bachelor of Arts from Hartwick College, Oneonta New York. He continued to write poetry while working in retail sales and volunteering in family violence prevention. He currently lives in Soquel CA.

