Tag: Poetry


This isotope
Having reached its
radioactive half-life
(Admittedly imprecisely)
Would like to take this
time to list my
nine favorite poets
in no particular order
(thus far in my decay)
Rainer Wilke
William Carlos Williams
Langston Hughes
Mark Strand
Wislawa Szymborska
Ellen Bass
Ada Limon
Charles Simic
Jane Kenyon

The Letter (Postage Due)

I would like to write a letter
long and thoughtful and simple
in expression to touch upon
a few life lessons worth
mentioning to younger me
Some items he
could have known
might have known
but didn’t

Of gods and goddesses
How they are sold
door-to-door even
by tax exempt piety
To be careful not
to buy but rather
to find

And of love there is
much to say
How it is too often
traded the same
as the gods but know
that love is not conditional
Not something to be earned
but free
when it is true
do not believe it

Of course you have heard that
to give is better than to receive
and I consider it to be true
But seek to know the reason
most of all and you will
be rewarded

Do you recall you were told
you could be anything you
wanted to be?
Well, the world will try to
steal that belief from you
Hold fast to it even though
many will speak ill of your
Do not fear them
Cling to your dreams
and change the world

I hope this gets to you
I confess I do not know
the postage for a parcel
to the distant past

Keep moving forward
The years will pass
increasingly fast



Nothing New

Comes the New Year
we’re led to believe
For me
I need no new thing
Sitting cross legged
on the family room floor
cradling my surbahar
Incense burning
Dogs asleep
Wife asleep
Another midnight slips
gently away the same
as in February
or June
or May


Miles Away

Miles Davis wouldn’t
have liked me
I’m painfully white
Musically unable to
remotely grasp his
genius mind and
violent when pushed
Like him
But what a story I
would have had!
Gather round
Let me tell you about
the night I had a fight
with Miles
No, Miles Davis wouldn’t
have liked me

Not Good (The Verdict)

“Only the good die young”
A dagger!
My youth years ago took sail
Long gone
Around the Cape of Good Hope
Easing Easterly
to fairer lands
and yet I stand
I am not good
My breath still fogs
the mirror
reflecting proof if the
adage be true
Oh woe!
My heart is broken!


It is black
with flashes of purple
coursing through at
irregular intervals
like photons trapped
between two mirrors
oscillating head to toe
inflaming everything
as it goes
Muscles drawn and stiff
as in death
Unslowed by medicine
What hope then
but to give it a poem

Alone Off Broadway

I saw
“I’m Not Rappaport”
in New York one street
back of Broadway
in the mid-eighties
Hal Linden
Ossie Davis
A fine play
I saw alone
No one wanted to
miss drinking
on the town
to go
I still have
the Playbill
In a box
Where all
mementos go

Lost One

I started
but couldn’t make
a go of it
I had
the sun
the moon
and a bit about morning
on the other side of the world
but Saturday afternoon poems
can be elusive creatures
and it got away
That’s okay
It was old
and didn’t have much
meat on it anyway