Original Poems

The Purple is Receding

The majesty is fast in fade,
The purple is receding;
The clouds that lately come have stayed,
The punctured truth is bleeding

The howitzer of human voice
Is all its shells now firing,
They stacked the odds against real choice
All wrapped up in admiring

The patron saint of ‘only seemed’,
Of phony staged largesse;
A life of noise and endless words
And secrets none confess

Upon the lies are stacked more lies,
The realm of toad and fawner;
And purple mountain’s majesty
Now dies for lack
Of honor

Original Poems

My Poor Enthusiasms

I read a book I really like,
I try to tell somebody else,
They look at me impassively 
For I’m not that convincing —

All the passions that I share 
Embarrass me each time I see
That all these things I hold so dear
Are always met

With wincing
Original Poems

The Need to Apologize

If you can't remember a time
That you were at fault,
There is a reasonable chance
That you pretty much
Constantly are.

Which is not to say
That everything is
Your fault; rather,
That your share of things
Will be, in 
The normal course
Of events.

When we realize
That we have been
At fault, the proper 
Response is to
Apologize to those
Whom we have wronged.

You see, you may not
Know this, but
Morality is not 
A contest --
It is, rather,
A cooperative
Endeavor,
Something like
A relay race.

When we do not do
Our part properly,
We cannot continue to
Run the race without
Admitting our
Mistakes, and thereby
Beginning to
Correct them.

Admission of mistakes
Is not losing, it is our only
Path to possible victory.
Original Poems

Blank Verse

The way I work is pointlessly obsessed,
Extracting detail from the commonplace –
To see the outline of what isn’t there:
Projecting, pushing, prodding, putting on —

Do you, friend, find reality too much?
I must have my imaginings at times;
I do believe that signs and stains are one,
And we break habits, or find they break us.

It’s like a type of fit, to be this way –
To sing when no one’s there to hear the tune,
To fly a flag that none can recognize
To long to touch eruptions of the sun…

I found a rental car, and took a drive
Back to the place where you and I, as teens
Explored the water’s edge along the lake
And touched our lips together for the taste

Of what life had that we had not yet known.
There was a perfect stillness in your eyes
As you looked past where I was to the man
You’d love one day, hoping that I was him.

And now? I’m old and vain, and portly gray;
I sit here by a lake from long ago
And ask a passing duck if he would like
To hear this poem – he does not reply.

The way I work is pointlessly obtuse:
Extracting nothing, leaving good for good,
To see the outline of the man I am
Projecting onto all
What’s only
Mine

Original Poems

A Sonnet on Learning

She said to me: “Come now, you owe me one,”
And bid me not to worry. She would show
Me how to do these things I’d never done;
Just how to pay the debt I’d come to owe —

And slowly, like a child that learns to crawl,
I inched along the traces of her ground:
She gave off teaching and surrendered all,
Her measured breathing changed to quick’ning sound

To give herself completely to my trust,
And only on her pleasure then to dwell;
To move in slightest ways so to adjust,
To find her shining as last moments fell —

The lesson learned to be used, then, in living:
Receiving finds its fullest mark, in giving