January Rebellion
New bamboo leaves
fluttering ecstatically
above the sharp white snow. . .
Crisply effervescent
in the fiercely clean
breath of January.
January 2006
Haiku Quartet: Un’s
Unanswered questions lurk,
turbulent beneath
life’s mirrored surface.
Unspoken thoughts persist,
gathering dark strength in
lightless recesses.
Unfettered hopes erupt,
euphoric for the chance to
become heart-bound.
Undaunted affections soar,
spread wings borne aloft
by love’s radiance.
January 18, 2007
Winter Frigidity
February sits on the hill, pouting,
totally gray and frigid.
It is not about malicious intent,
just absolute withdrawal
of anything comforting.
February is blind and deaf, recalcitrant,
content to wait.
Should the world succumb to its icy apathy,
there will be neither remorse
nor acknowledgment on February’s part.
The only hope is that the pouting
will be shorter than the month itself.
February 1, 2007
Waiting Up
Listening to cars and motor bikes
as they travel
at night
softer then louder,
then softer again. . .
Eyes stinging
from fatigue
and irritations. . .
The glare of electric light
on white paper. . .
Time slows to
an
imperceptible
crawl. . .
The cat purring on my lap. . .
Night sounds. . .
Waiting up for him. . .
Clocks ticking. . .
Blinds clinking. . .
nights spent alone.
July 2, 1979
Night Musing
Listening to the Blues
alone
and remembering
you . . . the nights.
February 12, 1981
(Untitled)
My life seems
too short
when all goes
well,
and how infinite
when frustrated!
February 12, 1981
The Whole of Feeling
This growing sense
of Melancholy,
how strangely comforting.
For a moment
I am
beneath a faintly starred sky
with quiet trees
and silenced air –
Alone, yet not.
For a moment –
and a moment only –
I am
an intangible part
of the tangible
Whole.
It is a Whole of feeling,
ever so gently warm,
yet without warmth,
ever so gently empty,
yet very full.
There is a single breath
of scented wind
and all is gone,
a mere whimsy
of a
melancholy mind.
December 29, 1980
A Fragile Life
The candle flame gutters
but an instant
then is still, stabilized,
righted and
in its place.
A purposeful light,
this flame,
yet how purposeless, too.
A wanton breath may
in total disregard
annihilate it –
and then
where would it be?
What tragedy would it
be –
this snuffed flame?
Who would mourn?
Is a flame only worth
as much
as its fragile life?
When gone, when cold,
is it anything at all?
Will some novice poet
in a bit of thought
compare the meager
life of a flame
to
the life of a man
or
a world?
Perhaps, but like all
analogies
it can not be
a valid one.
December 29, 1980
Ultimately Jazz
It comes,
teasingly soft
then whirling up,
a crescendo
of ecstasy.
It sucks you in
and fills you up,
spangling your
brain
with stardust excitement,
satiating your
emptinesses
and leaves you
stunned.
Again and again,
overwhelming,
scintillating
melody
and
then some,
surging
ever forward,
dragging you
with it
and when it is through,
you lie
breathing heavily
and still
like a used thing
tossed up
on the beach,
left to die.
Fool for ever,
back for more
and more of
the irresistible
cacophony
that is jazz,
letting it
flit giddily,
crazily
in your head,
the ultimate in intoxications
man-made.
May 9, 1981
Small Treasures
Such peace and pleasure. . .
How long has it been
since I’ve felt this way?
Too long, I am sure.
Small things are treasures. . .
The cicadas thrumming
in the evening breeze,
the lingering late afternoon light
patiently fading away,
and the faint swish of
tires on pavement. . .
The silent cat who sprawls on
the table near me,
the quiet friend so
faithful and trusting,
whose fur is as soft as
the wind’s breath. . .
few noises arouse you.
You and I enjoy the peace
and pleasure of early eventide.
We belong to the same universe,
are part of the Whole,
you and I,
sitting quietly,
doing nothing
but being part.
We should always feel this way.
July 27, 1983
Creative Insanity
Poets and painters are
two of a kind.
Poets and painters go
out of their minds.
History proves it.
Art critics use it.
How can we all be
so blind,
so unkind,
knowing why they go
out of their minds?
August 3, 1981
|
