On 2019112320191123 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

They heard the music playing,
so followed them the tune:
The mystic ocean symphony
a soothing bit of harmony
communing with their souls —
they needed to commune.

And though poor in materials,
they found a way to go:
For truly rich, and truly deep
are memories we make to keep,
like echoes in the shoals —
and finding space to grow.

There is a love that joins us,
And there are hearts that feel;
There’s beauty in simplicity,
And making good things real.

And though we slump or cower
Beneath our load of care,
We each can hear the music,
Because it’s always there…

They found a chance for freedom,
so took it when they could:
And though imperfect all we are,
‘twas worth some hours in the car
to give up their old goals —
and bask in something

good

{ leukemia }

On 2019112220191122 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems2 Comments

just three, and already the word —
how do young parents find the strength
to love the unexplainable away?

when it should be just
skinned-up knees, or maybe
like a cold to shoo away?

with elsa and anna on a blanket
wrapped around a tiny chest
in a room and a city far away

just three, and who knows why, or why
the autumn haze like butter melts,
and they’d give limbs and heart and life
to take that pain

away

rise above.

On 2019112120191121 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

let what moves you, carry you.
we cannot by will go high —
sand may bar or harry you,
sometimes it’s best not to try

but surrender to the current
underneath, and all around:
all the goals that really weren’t
so much shifting, changing ground

feel yourself be lifted, weightless:
the “cease striving” part of love —
borders gone, the world grows gateless,
this is how we rise above.

life is fragile, frail, and flimsy.
we’re but tissue strapped on bone —
it’s okay: indulge in whimsy.
float awhile on

your own

Somewhat Midnight Hill

On 2019112020191120 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

Far from the place we used to live,
Wandering rivers find the sea;
There, on a somewhat midnight hill
Stands a young couple, you and me,

Far from the gray mistakes we’ve made,
Foundering ships and trips on wire,
There, on a somewhat midnight hill,
Watching the smoke float ever higher.

Oh, for the now appearing stars,
Indigo sky and velvet blue,
There on a somewhat midnight hill,
I can be I, and you can be you,

Far from the flags and voices raised,
Ocean heard breathing, constantly:
There on a somewhat midnight hill,
I can feel you, and you

See me

Eidolons & Echoes

On 2019111920191119 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems2 Comments

Bent
From the ghosts we carry, daily,
How much we knew we only thought we knew —
As beautiful, in leather binding, we
Stand perched upon the shelves of
Our denial

The smell of binding, permeates
The air that’s seen the shadows of
What was our best intention: we,
The afterthoughts of all the thought-before,
Like echoes in forgotten caves,
The tomb of innocence.

Where is the harmony once felt?
Where is the melody once sung?
The singers stand on risers, now, unheard:
To face an audience
Whose backs are turned, and faces are up-lit.

What does it mean to understand?
What does it mean to add to human progress?
Is it more than just a phantom, shadows
Of an eidolon; a word forgotten like
The way we used to organize
The universe?

“… the world is new.”

On 2019111820191118 By Beleaguered ServantIn Personal Essays3 Comments

“In memory yet green, in joy still felt,
The scenes of life rise sharply into view.
We triumph; Life’s disasters are undealt,
And while all else is old, the world is new.”

– Isaac Asimov

It’s 6:21 in the morning, and I’m dressed for work. I’ve been up since 3:11 am, which is not that unusual for me. I’ve done 40 minutes at the gym, watched a bunch of football highlights, put out the garbage and recycling, and read a few work emails in the last 3 hours. I normally would already be at work, but something is wrong with my car, so I’m waiting until 7 when the auto repair place opens to bring it by.

I think it would be hard for most people to imagine living my life; but then, I think it’s hard to imagine living anyone else’s life. Most of us could not have imagined that we would live the lives we have lived. This is because life is big and full of randomness, and by “randomness” I mean, things outside of our control.

Most of us authors / introverts are kind of control freaks: in our works, we can make things come out like we want them to. This is rarely true in actual life.

This time last year, I was sitting beside my mother’s hospice bed in Green Valley, Arizona. The almost three weeks I spent there are a part of me now. My mother’s view of life was that we are all just links in the chain: she had seen her parents pass, and they had seen theirs, and so on.

I think seeing her three children made it easier for her at the end (we were taking turns, several weeks at a time). She said to me, at the end of a day when she’d mostly slept, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

I grew up near the beach in Northwest Florida, the youngest of her three kids. We still have photos of a time my parents took us out to the beach in the fall, just to take pictures.

And yes, it was warm enough to go barefooted. I was, I believe, 6 or 7 years old.

My mother’s journey took her from upstate New York all over the world. My mother-in-law, who lives in town and is ninety-one years old, was born here after her family fled Russia/Poland to escape antisemitism. She’s lived a life impossible to imagine, although I ask her about it every chance I get.

Life is a great chain, I think: we are all connected, both back through our ancestors and to each other. But each link is still different, with unique memories and experiences.

And while we can’t fully imagine each other’s lives, it’s worth trying.

Every Five Mistakes

On 2019111620191116 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

Every five mistakes I make
Leave a trail of mud and stone;
Every time I take a break,
I end up out here, alone —

Any path can be the same
When our troubles are ourselves:
Every five mistakes I make
Turn hellos into

Farewells

4 Poems On 1 Photo

On 2019111520191115 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

In moments that matter,
Other people’s feelings become
Matters of moment

I see stories everywhere,
So I don’t go out that much;
Half-unfinished tales crowd in,
Daughter’s tears and mother’s touch,

Signifying — Daddy’s gone?
Signifying — Hunger? Thirst?
Speculation, all the time:
Writers: we’re the very worst

In autumn, tears, like dew upon the ground
Unbidden come to cover mulchy leaves;
The air grows hard, and little space is found,
Though paths be wide, for one who sees, who grieves —

But love, a blanket, warms us when it can:
A moment’s pause, a word, two hands to touch
That close the distance, whate’er be the span,
That’s caused by what’s too wrong, too hard, too much,

But still lets tears maintain their gentle flow.
This is connection’s secret, to respect:
Each other’s cares to care to truly know
And neither to obscure, nor to deflect.

There is a time for each of us to fall,
When only loving kindness helps at all.

When you can love someone
More for the love they give others
Than they give you,
You will understand

Classical Poetry, as Updated by My Despicable Friends

On 2019111420191115 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems5 Comments

(A few of my friends – some of whose adventures I have chronicled previously – found out I kept a poetry blog, and have provided me with some helpful suggestions for poems. A selection of the more repeatable ones are shown below. – Owen)

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said, “You suck.”

I wandered lonely as a cloud
But at least I was high

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more hot and e’en
More likely to drive me to drink

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bin but a hamper.

One must have a mind of winter
To read this poem
And make any sense of it, whatsoever

I saw the best minds of my generation…
Not really.
The best minds of my generation
Wouldn’t have anything to do with me.

Come live with me and be my love,
And we shall all the pleasures prove
Of trailer park, and nature trail,
And Bud Light purchased (when on sale)

No Talent for Certainty

Tag: NanoPoblano2019

Like this:

{ leukemia }

Like this:

rise above.

Like this:

Somewhat Midnight Hill

Like this:

Eidolons & Echoes

Like this:

“… the world is new.”

Like this:

Every Five Mistakes

Like this:

4 Poems On 1 Photo

Like this:

Classical Poetry, as Updated by My Despicable Friends

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this: