Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Well Chastened

How do I find comfort
in a cold autumn night
when the cloudless sky sucks
all the heat from my bones and
I strain to find a blooming flower in
an aging garden?
The chilled tomatoes rush to red,
and the last beans hang whitened 
and withering on silent vines.
The late planted flowers struggle
to be more than inch high
and even the birds visit less often
and sing of warmer climes.
Yet I smile in satisfaction,
watching what needs to die
make it’s peace at last.  
The future mulch seeks its
proper end in silence;
why should I protest if
even my past prime parts
follow the lead of plants 
obedient to the call?

Thursday, September 9, 2010

On Being Me

There is something in me that does not want to accept the downside of being myself.  I long for the acceptance of others and the deeper connection that I hope comes from simply being who I really am, and encountering others as they are.  Yet, I am often dismayed when they or I fail to see each other as we see ourselves.  It seems to increase rather than diminish the distance between us, and I rebel at the pain of such encounters.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Another Bad Dream

I woke up with a pain in my chest
and all the pretty little words
ran off like frightened children
before a snarling dog.
I tried to give them comfort
but it was hard talking to their heels.
Meanwhile I lost time
sorting through false leads as I
searched for the last line of poetry.
It may be vanity or self delusion
but I hope this is just
another bad dream.

Friday, September 3, 2010

The Sonnet Stopper

I haven’t given up yet,
or turned aside with
self soothing excuses.
The doing of things
is still fresh and
the bumps haven’t
stubbed my toes. 
The stoppers aren’t
plugging my mind or
holding back the energy.
So I’m stepping lightly
until...  what? 
If I know the bumps may come
and the stubbed toes may yet
remind me of failure with
their angry rebukes, 
what keeps me going anyway?
Is it the illusion of hope,
or the blindness of now?
If you figure it out
let me know and
I will write you a sonnet in thanks.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Like Clockwork

Make me an offer and
I might leave this life for another.
It might be a smaller life
but the bills wouldn’t
pile up so fast and
the time wouldn’t be
snapping at my heels.
Every moment I’m on
the edge between a
beautiful future and
fears of past regrets.
The clock ticks like
a nagging question
and I haven’t the courage
to do anything but carry on.

Or is there courage in
acting without promise
of reward or finish line
other than the grave?
I have no answer so
I just keep on.