In Place

We spend our lifetimes thus.

In place, we spend our lifetimes full of days
And think the world encompassed by our eyes:
The field we see, the only grass we graze –
Familiar and secure, without surprise.
Upon which every hope and comfort lies –
And lies, indeed, though beautiful they be
Do not encompass all humanity.

And oft, we will look down on other fields
As poor reflections of the truth we know:
Although we’ve fed from one small sort of yields
And slumbered when we might have chanced to go
And taste new grass, wherever that might grow.
But still we stay in place, and never roam,
And boast about the greener grass of home.

    But yet — a lifetime spent is not enough
    To know a state, a city, or a town:
    Perhaps I am mistaken in this stuff,
    In thinking those who stay must be held down.
    To seek to know oneself, and not renown,
    Might be to view the truth’s lone lovely face:
    And may be seen by those who’ve stayed in place.

Look Up

Now, kids look up, and see a world

That we no longer see —

A different kind of view; a close,

But foreign, scenery —


Exotic angles, shoots, and lines:

Perspective running free —

For kids look up, and see a world

That we no longer


© Andriy Bezuglov | – Luminous signboards on ceiling

A Solo Among the Couplets

People come to me and say,
“Live as though there’s just today.”
Need that really now be said?
Life is short, and soon we’re dead —

Dead to memory, and touch:
It’s not thinking overmuch
Knowing that, since life short,
It’s more than a watcher’s sport.

Days to come are not what was;
Living is as living does.
Social creatures, yes, we are:
At the keyboard, home, or bar,

Reaching always out in pain
(Who’s to say what isn’t sane?)
For relationship and place:
Biotouch or cyberspace —

Seminal in each assay,
Shocked and shaken (wired that way)
Soft and quiet, hard and loud,
One among the senseless crowd,

Taken in, in all, on trust:
We believe because we must.
What we’ve sold today repurchase,
Search for context, clue and purpose,

Semblances of what’s to be,
Paralyzed humanity,
Struggling within the mire
Of a life of blue desire.

Friends made out of enemies,
Summer heat, and winter freeze,
Those who stand beside to grieve:
Lovers stay when others leave —

And in silence bow their heads,
Meliae and Oreads,
There among forgotten ways,
Faithless night or endless days,

Gone, when people stop to say,
“Live as though there’s just today.”
Strange to say, or to recall,
Since we rarely live at all —

Each of us must stand apart:
Wielders of a broken heart,
Keepers of the fading flame,
Players of the classic game,

Running toward no finishing line.
Grasping, reaching. Yours. No mine.
Wandering in search of rest,
Havens bathed in quietness.

Red among a sea of blue,
Transitory me, and you,
Here to stand in line awhile,
Then to exit,

Barren Winter

The barren winter calls across the lake,
But what they hear are very diff’rent sounds […]

The barren winter calls across the lake,
But what they hear are very diff’rent sounds;
Each sees the world on their own chosen grounds:
Results of choices that they daily make.

For she sees death in winter’s every move:
The cold becomes a penetrating freeze
That brings her down, somewhere past mere unease
To having nothing left to give, or prove.

But from the winter, he gains buoyancy.
Its very barrenness, a type of cleanse,
He finds his warmth in family, and friends,
And loving all life’s rhythmic tendency.

The barren winter light brings in relief
The shadows of their moods; each soul’s belief.


(Pronounced ᵻˈkwuːliəs)

Equuleus, that tiny horse of light,
Within an eye scan of Aquarius,
Is visible tonight from in this room
Amid its larger siblings in the sky.

I stand in wondrous silence at the sight,
And look for something poor, a kindred thing
To reconcile with how is that I,
So slight, have come to know how small I am.

The infinitely frigid stretch of space,
And time itself, which we don’t understand,
All congregating here, and through these panes
All our technology seems so much noise.

We pride ourselves, and preen ourselves to shine,
The dimmest flash in all these many lights —
We dine on hubris, feast on vanity,
And strut through mud and slime like royalty.

My friend, the tiny horse, you know my heart:
The small among the great, who’s always there,
And goes without the notice that attends
With having brilliance to the viewing eye —

Let me be one who knows what I don’t know,
May I bring kindness to this life, this ride –
And add my color to the chandelier
Of songs and lights and imperfections lived.

Conversation with a Train

How many friends have you lost?
Oh, there’s many. More than you would know.
But, yet – I’ll bet you’ve seen a lot —
Oh, sure. But I’ve still far to go.

I’ve wandered many places, through
All seasons, through all climes —
And now I’m here – back home again,
Where I’ve been many times.

What keeps you moving, then?
Is it the next great view?

Oh, no. I’m simply out here,
Doing what it is I do.

You do not make it sound that great.
The way you make a living —

I know. The world’s a taking, and
A train is here for giving.

Forgiving? I need more of that.
I’m sure, my friend, you do.
Because the native fauna here
Depends a lot on you,

You need to do what all you can,
To carry where you’re able:
For life is long and lonely, and
No situation’s stable

For quite as long as we might think.
I think I understand.
You know the route you’re going, but things
May not go as planned —

I find today, I look around,
And many, loved, are lost —
I hurt who I don’t mean to hurt,
And some folks I exhaust —

The moving on’s the thing, I think.
It does not do to dwell
With our mistakes – missed chances – that
Becomes a prison cell.

But you are not imprisoned, you
Just need to find your track.
And will that lead me home?
I do not know. But don’t look back.

For much that was is lost for good,
And why, there is no knowing:
But life’s a journey, after all,
And so,
Go on —

Get going


The moments may come fast or slow,
The day may panicked be, or zen:
Though we have near or far to go,
We cannot live the past again

There is a silence in the wood,
There is a stillness in the glen,
Though life go bad and hearts come good,
We cannot live the past again

We all would see the world be changed
As girls to women — boys to men —
Then find our heart from hope estranged,
We cannot live the past again

The tracks run far to unknown land,
The chance that comes we cannot ken —
Through all the lives of distance spanned
We cannot live the past again

The unused treadmill at the gym,
The ink gone dry within the pen,
The sun gone down, the eye gone dim,
We cannot live the past again

The grass beyond the railroad track,
The “one day” that demarks the “then” —
The way is forward, never back:
We cannot live the past again


(“Kyrielle” – 5-25-2017)