Monday, November 18, 2013

Split in to two, too

I was born on June 13th, which, depending who you are, may mean a lot or nothing at all.  For a long time I didn't want to admit that it meant anything, but recently it has become more difficult to ignore some striking qualifiers I possess that bear semblance to those of the so-called Gemini.  For instance, the longing for balance that I have for so long strained to see or realize in all things has become more necessary to me as a part of my personal well-being, more so than any perceived form of principled opinion of the world.  I have become more contemplative about my place within a world of people, a step above my old meditations of my place-in-world/universe, where relationships to others seemed unimportant, or at least like a distraction.  Now there is more focus.  I also have started a career in teaching, which brings me joy and inspiration, but also routine.  The Gemini in me requires a steady diet of harmony: One part spontaneity to every one part routine.  This has proven difficult, leaving me many times feeling very glum about the entire matter.  The most successful I feel is when I simply allow myself to be spontaneous, within certain boundaries of safety in accordance to myself and those I care for.  Risk is necessary sometimes, but it is a capricious beast, and should you drop your guard, can turn on you with claws extended.

So, how to reconcile two sides of one being?  Both of whom feel, think, and have a world of experience to contribute to the character and wisdom of the bearer.

I welcome your own stories of experience.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Jim's Face

Jim walks around with a difficult face. It is a hard face, one might say, for it is not soft. It is hard, and difficult; similar words, but different meanings in regard to Jim’s countenance. His face is difficult because it is hard all of the time; upon waking in the morning, when making love, or when watching something beautiful, and he is a perceiver of beautiful things because he is a real poet.

Thursday, November 19, 2009


See my youth, unkempt and uncouth,

everywhere, like truth, or is it reflection?

That would mean a mirror be poised, 

to catch my image as a boy, then

turn it ‘round in my mind’s eye

to frame a fearful symmetry.  

I wrote a letter to the Devil last night

for I knew he was coming some day

and I thought, instead of shaking his hand,

I’d hand him my missive, written in cursive,

and send him on his way.  

I sat for hours with pen in hand,

in the dim limelight of a single lamp

wondering exactly what I wanted to say.   

I sit in an Idiot’s trap,

repeating senseless things, 

thinking far too much,

beyond the point, if it exists, 

of where an answer sits,

irrefutably correct, 

invisible to my brand of blind;

the kind recalls with clarity, 

but when it must, it cannot see.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

War Poem - Hiroshima

Surprising things happen sometimes, like having a poem published...

Monday, August 17, 2009

The Screaming Silence Of The Pacific

The rocks in the sand at Matador
point up to the sky
And the seagulls fly overhead
and laugh at the rocks
But the rocks don't know what laughter is
they know nothing at all
Not the sand upon which they sit
though it shuffles in the waves.

Nor the waves that caress and shape them
the rocks are silent through it all
Nor the wind that pushes into them
the rocks are silent through it all
Nor the sun that lights upon them
the rocks are silent through it all
Nor the rain that beats upon them
the rocks are silent through it all

But the waves roll back to the sea
where they drift eternally
never lost, never bound,
never memory,
but the rocks in the sand can see.

Sunday, June 7, 2009


Here is a bridge that was built long ago
long before the playful leap became the local dare
to plunge the heavy plunge full of gravity
like a boulder let loose from a cliff over the river
further down that way, northeast.

Cars go past, one by one
maybe ten a day over the cross-hatches 
of wood and iron wrought with love 
and maybe one man's hate
now left in the care of lichen and rust
and underneath where the young boys
gather and wait for the cars
like the troll for his goats.

Old, rotten, decaying machines
dead giants in tarpits stick
arms and torsos out halfway
from the topsoil and, mid-scream, 
died decades and decades
for us to watch with foresight
for our brushes and pens
to record in hindsight.  

Monday, May 11, 2009


I have friends in many places.  Lots of them are not in North America, but that's where I am.  Some of them are usually in North America but are currently traveling, and some even write about their experiences on blogs just like this one, because everyday is a new day, and new things carry with them new experiences.  Typically, blogs like these - travel blogs - are pretty interesting to read since the person writing them is immersed in a whole new world, not just a new day.  This also means that a chance visit to such a blog, without any prior knowledge of the writer's experiences, would most likely be a compelling one, because the experiences being written about are most likely going to be relatively detached from the experiences written before.  But it could also be flipped; perhaps the travel experiences are consistently being built on top of one another and to read for the first time about a mid-travel experience would prove disconnected and reserved for those vicarious followers.  
Other people think travel blogs are just plain boring.  Others, still, believe the act of blogging in general to be disreputable and vainglorious.  And yet, blogs remain.  I think it is rather innocent.  
The internet is a marvelous place, but of dubious distinction.  It is the only encyclopedia one shall require, perhaps ever again.  But that is dangerous thinking.  The internet is also a lonely place, but most people would probably tell you otherwise.  
A computer cannot replace a friend, even though you can use one to talk to each other when you are miles, miles away.  
You and a computer, together, cannot:

share heartfelt moments.
carry poignant conversations about the human condition.
have a tea party.
drink beer.
play duets on piano.
have sex.
cook brunch.  
play water polo. 

Maybe you can, but that's pretty weird.