Empathy
I cannot possibly understand
where you come from
the anger you feel
the hurt you suppress
I cannot possibly understand
who you dealt with
and who dealt with you
either good or bad
I cannot possibly understand
why you lash out
pushing me away
as I laugh or dance
I cannot possibly understand
what your truth is
and how you lie about it
if I get too close
I cannot possibly understand
when you do accept me
in spite of my past
and our uncertain future
The monster from down under
I turned inside out
and what did I see?
an unwanted glimpse
at the monster from down under
I thought I had purged
That monster from down under
is gone I claimed
actually, that one never existed
when in actuality
it did . . .
and it stayed
So hideous a sight
it bared its teeth, snarling
the monster from down under
yanked from its lair
by a simple phraseology
For the monster from down under
is never far away
lurking in the crevices
pulling at its chain
waiting to be unleashed
to fight another day
It can’t be slayed
nor played
nor really even weighed
the monster from down under
appears…
a triangle fitting into a square peg one moment
smoke sliding under a door the next . . .
So what do I do
with my monster from down under?
perhaps tickle it . . .
perhaps engage it in conversation . . .
or
perhaps . . . even write a poem
but we can’t tell it goodbye
or ignore it you see
for the monster from down under
is a real part of me
God Self — A Lamentation
I pursue you with zeal
endless endurance
countless travails
infinite obstacles
I know you are there
but you hide
delighting in the cloak and dagger
rejoicing in my frustration
The trails I run down
are habitrails
a running without progress
…or is it?
You never let me know
I pursue you with zeal
but you never let me catch you
teasing me with your promise of imminence
torturing me with promises of loving kindness
but . . .
instead . . .
and however . . .
I end up where I started
Yet you are there
my past devoid of life
is now a rollercoaster of opportunity
of unexpected curves
departing from a banality of sameness
I feel you within me
an unexplained light
a warmth I cannot grasp but feel
You emerge mysteriously — without calling ahead for reservations
but you do emerge . . . mysteriously
We play a game of tag
that has no end in sight
but my pursuit of you, like grasping wind
makes me see you in glimpses
around the corner
Squirming against the wall
Another meeting, another time
heads swaying from side to side
looking downward . . .
looking at the clock on the box
not to open . . .
squirming against the wall
It reluctantly presented itself
an embodiment
glaring, scowling, growling
pissed at the eyes
staring . . .
Why do you see me?
. . . now? . . .
in this place?
at this time?
I resent being blamed
. . . despise . . .
being judged
what have you done
. . . lately? . . .
You are me and I you
no one else but me
you see darkness
I save you
Push me, shove me
toward the light
like some damn vampire
will only burn and hurt
both of us
For if the bridge comes down
what then?
Perfection? Bliss?
You might see me again
my twin unknown
Is my demise uncertain
yet unforeseen?
In this place
with air humming
squirming against the wall . . .
The prophecy is written
you will see
more walls to come
breaking down others
other paths crooked
a journey or two circuitous
broken to make complete
the vision . . .
squirming against the wall . . .
The Last Picture Show
A golden key, a plea, an unconscious
clue for freedom unnoticed
unfolds in unexpected mediums
a life in rapid decay and slowly dying
The Last Picture Show
They were both 43
Four decades ago
a bitter woman filled with hate
baring fangs with a venomous bite
a weak and desperate man seeking escape
caged and cornered with no way out
The boy lacked insight, he lacked the words
failing to understand at age 12
what his intuition already knew
the growing storm clouds overtaking
the faded vestiges of the man’s humanity
The Last Picture Show
The snake coiled and struck
again, and again, and again, and again
over the moments, minutes, hours, days, months, and years
lies, delusions, judgments, and gossip
toxins ever increasing, poisons ever worsening
the man’s soul wobbly weakening
The boy was Houdini, his gift a way out
magically creating a new life while deceiving the serpent
the gift eluded the man
unfathomable the mystery
his soul had begun to set
The Last Picture Show
A life retreated, an unconditional surrender
to bitterness, melancholy, and hate
oh, what could have been . . .
a man once compassionate, brimming with laughter,
possessor of a tender touch, expanded horizons. . .
shrank into a shell of himself
A last gasp, a clue left behind
for the boy Houdini who eluded the serpent
and found a way out
Now a man of wisdom. . .
Trusting his intuition . . .
Belying his intelligence . . .
to unlock the mystery of his father’s desperation
Four decades ago . . .
The Last Picture Show
Paradise
Bowlby first proposed
We yearn for paradise
For comfort, nurturance, and warmth
For protection
A return to the womb
Of all secondary objects
A shade gray of perfect
Rests the offshore paradise
An embodied perfection
A trinity of Edens
When your eye captures the horizon
Its resonating purples
Melting into a setting sun
Breezes caressing and embracing
Beckoning back to the great ocean
The birthing of the lapping creation
Against the shore
Calls us back to paradise
Satisfying the yearning
A return to the womb…
Distribution abnormal
Once upon a time
there was a line
that ran east and west
beyond the horizon
over time the line began to change
it was strange
as it became
a hump with two tails
the hump fought the tails
as in tooth and nails
desiring the tails
to be like itself
the tails sacrifice to the hump
those that seek to lump
their sense, feeling, and thought
as comfortable and safe
the hump grows ever strong
especially when it is wrong
pushing its shape
to overwhelm the tails
for it is frightening you see
for it might be you or me
suffocating under the weight
of the hump of comfort and safety
if we are the tails
and we allow ourselves to fail
realities are lost
the line grows shorter
the tails wag the hump
much to its chagrin
for new realities to be found
for explorations to begin
the line must flourish
so the tails must grow
and the hump must diminish
The Antithetical
She expresses what I am not
at least not openly
at least not consciously
somewhat in denial and
somewhat denying
Is this the rage not expressed?
the love cloaked in hatred
the tolerant prejudice
or….
is this my true being
unfettered by politeness
liberated from the shackles of convention
a new beginning. . .
It seems a darkside only by comparison
for benchmarks, or guidelines, or parameters
are ghosts
fleeting
in then out
here then gone and back again
So what is real?
in a fragmented world
is antithetical health
or illness
perhaps an expanding horizon
or constricted awareness
What then and which how?
at the turnpike
which way now?
mixture or separation. . .
does it shake out
and how?
Ode to What Never Was . . .
Oh, the times we could have shared…
the moments of laughter
gales of laughter
coursing through our bodies
stomachs tightening, chests heaving
leaving us panting
avalanches of laughter
with eyes watering in contentment
Oh, the times we could have shared…
the moments of anguish
the tearing of our souls
the searing of our hopes and dreams
the endless tears, the resolute hugs
nurturing, protecting, cherishing
strength
and vulnerability
Oh, the times we could have shared…
the moments of anxiety
the fear of others discovering who we are
our hearts beating rapidly
our palms sweating profusely
our collective sighs of relief at our collective strengths
facing the world again
Oh, the times we could have shared…
the moments of joy
unabashed, uncommunicative, unexplainable
happiness
our visceral beings on fire, emoting fireworks
impatient for the next moment
in a sequence of next moments
grinning, skipping, shouting
extending heaven
Oh, the times we could have shared…
but didn’t
avoiding
rationalizing
deflecting
suppressing and repressing
expedient and shut down
stoically asking about the weather
ignoring and forgetting each other
lost moments
recalled wistfully
with the shaking of a head and downcast eyes
Oh, the times we could have shared…
Exhaustion
It had been a bad day
in a bad month
in a series of bad years
that blurred together
nothing ever seemed to change
a Chinese water torture of sameness
drop
after
drop
after
drop
after
drop
of mundane sameness
vanilla…
he was tired, no more than that
he was fatigued, exhausted
exhausted
as usual
from the grinding repetition
of shaving
of brushing
of showering
every day
day in
day out
He felt a cost, a visceral gasp
a spiritual ache
somehow…
in something
somewhere …
He grew wearier, if that was even possible
driving in
driving out
day in
day out
every day an adventure in monotony…
He yawned, his need for oxygen
unable to trump
the blaring radiospeak
the white noise of transcient
djs voicing apathetic opinions
on important issues of irrelevance…
His body grew numb…
slogging through traffic
longing for a song, any song, a broken melody
to sever the talk
to break the mold
to crack the veneer
of
day in
day out
nothingness
I should write something, he thought
a clever turn of phrase
a poem, perhaps
at least a reason why
but…that seemed unlikely
He grew drowsy
wearily contemplating an inconceivable explanation
I might be interesting for a moment or two, he mused
someone else
may be spared
of walking the same steps
driving the same drive
listening to the same talk
sleeping the same sleep
those scavengers that haunted Ebeneezer
picking amidst the gossip
entertaining a smorgasbord of possibilities
cracking the veneer
of
day in
day out
nothingness
His eyes closed further
yawns increasing by the second
he was so tired, so spent, so done
Yet, it wouldn’t be long
only seconds
5 of them probably
of anguish and pointless struggle
of panic and idiotic regret
He thought it ironic,
the body’s struggle and longing for this
He understood
it came to him
in many moments
in countless days
in never-ending years
he was nothing but a foot
removed from a half-empty bucket of water
He laughed until he shook,
an epileptic frenzy
feeling alive, senses tingling
hair standing on end
the sun clinging to his face. . .
He kicked over the chair.