Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category


Since her, I am a cultural Christian at best.
The bright spirituality of my youth, so vibrant, has waned through the years.
Petered out, as they say.
I don’t trust in God any further than I can see Him.
I see the Divine as the hope dangled before me like the proverbial carrot.
Prodding me onward, never to be satisfied with where I am.

An Unsettling Hope. Nothing more.

This diminutive spirituality of mine, I believe, is self-inflicted.
All the wrong in my life I can trace back to a singular act of cowardice.
A decision so selfish, so disgusting and perverse, I know full well that I deserve every ill that has come way because of it.

I abandoned a woman. Left her in a state of divorce, to her own devices, when she needed me the most. I committed this Cardinal Sin in full view of the sun. And now, only Night is left to me.  I had vowed before God to love her and cherish her, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Then I turned my back on her like some such dish at a buffet I no longer wanted. A dastardly deed if there ever was one and I wasn’t ashamed of it then.

I am now, utterly so.

Since her, all that I have loved has been unrequited. All my dreams looked upon, without the full bloom of experience. I have been on the outside, looking in. Like a phantom. The Odorous Act was insidious like that, like the loneliest little sin on the planet. A puddle in my path that to this day, I have not overcome.



Posted: September 21, 2012 in Life, Poetry

who could have guessed last night would fall on me like rain

that it would unfold in the golden flowers of the taste of your skin

and that the tips of my fingers would trace the shape of your lips

leaving a residue of song on my hands like the hiss of palms in the night

tell me who?

who could have guessed when we touched

you would touch more than the skin of me

that your hands would ignite the molten core of me

and leave me crumbs like clues toward your indelible self

or that when I pressed my lips to yours

that my hands could so quiver crawling up and down the length of you

who would have guessed that the years we had behind us would stand mute before this hour of knowing

tell me who?

who could have guessed what I would remember when you whispered my name


To Love

Posted: July 12, 2012 in Poetry

I wanted to love

Love like you would have shown me

Like a landslide

A collapse of the edifice of all fear

An Eastern wind that sweeps across the Western shore

A Monday…

Posted: June 4, 2012 in Life, Poetry

You forego the glass

Instead you slurp the water from your hands clasped together at the pinkie

Like some sort of womb or cradle

You get the sense that at this moment you are quenching more than one thirst

You feel ancient and connected to the world

Or at least you feel like when you were a child

And drinking water from the hose was your cup of tea

Little Truths

Posted: January 2, 2012 in Poetry

shall we say the memory of you is as bitter as the liquor that falls upon my lips tonight

and confess little truths

often wish you were a slut

loose limbs and looser morals

woman of wide open spaces

would hang those victories upon the fridge

little sweet mementos of me with you

and of you and you and still more you

rather this: my Dear, you are the very sinews of an ancient land

where myths are born like rivers from an endless sea

calm and assured as time

Calm and Assured as the absence of you.

impenetrable as unknowing

and my victories elope like mist in a mighty wind

shall I say that the memory of you is as bitter as the liquor that falls upon my lips tonight

and confess the truth

Etudes In Longing

Posted: July 8, 2011 in Poetry


Fathers and mothers, brave sons and dear daughters turn ear my way. I carry with me the mist of her heirlooms: so fragile, tender and sweet. I cannot see them, I feel them. Nor can I touch them, for I have become them. I cannot display them, I live them out in the Visigoth of life. I guard in my being the memories of her past that I could rescue, rescue from the ever gathering dark.



I often sit gazing at your picture and I still dream. Through the day and into the night I imagine us together. But then, suddenly, the flutter of hope subsides and I am left with the wings of dead butterflies that fall and wither away into a powdery nothingness, like my dreams that come as a wave and recede again into the ocean



This day I long for the guns of yesteryear when we boldly crossed that little Rubicon of hope. You showed me the fate of destiny, it was bound in our love entwined like the roots of aged trees. Harbinger of many firsts, firsts that fell upon my ignorance like grapeshot. You alone silenced my cannons of fear and guarded me in the phalanx of your love. Repose I gained in the convent of your bosom and there I stayed. Til came the belligerent usurper and tore our house asunder and there, in platonic upheaval, I lept once more into the breach. Compelled to live in the light of mere memories now hallowed like soldiers on the ground.



I didn’t count the cost that came with reverie. A life I thought was there ahead for me to see. Enraptured psychology, I walked right through the doors of independence. A different sort of fruit now grows upon this tree; cracked and marred by a cruel destructive victory. Constant soliloquies, I rage against the tears that flow within me.



I thought I saw you in the sway of the tree. Your lovely form it took when it danced in the wind and caused within me a sigh; a sigh like you used to. And there in the sharpest break of green and blue and in the softest hiss of its song I knew you once again; and I was happy.



Y pienso que hamas voy a ver de amores, bebiste todo el agua que tenia. Y sin tu amor no es justo que se llena de nuevo. El quietud que quedo despues de tu presencia me fastidia y solo hay que cantar tu nombre. Como es que me encanta estar en mi jacal con mis suenos y mi deseo solo por hervir en ti.



See here my new found joy! She came as the morning sun and perforce drove many darknesses from my eyes. Bits and pieces they fell from my person like tiny scabs set in their way. As often happens on these sharp and bright mornings, when awake, the day presents her gift in a thousand forms of splendor, like the many faces of her.



Part I: Elation

Kaleidoscopes may have once embraced the melody of her faces

And may someday capture the spring in her dance

Tonight, gaze brazenly into the sky for mere hints and glimpses of the wonders in her expression

Impetuous delights abound in the art of her playfulness

Entangled with each moment, like conspicuous pearls, are new and better reasons to smile

Part II: Longing

Relinquish as best you can the gift of her presence

Assuage the sting of that cold darkened sound

Compelled to live in the light of mere memory

Hallowed like soldiers on the ground

Echoes of her linger: that porch, that couch, that tree

Leading to long winding roads of reverie

Longing to embrace once more the melody of her faces

Ebbing inevitably with the passage of time

Part III: Jubilation

Songbirds kiss the dawn, greetings in a thousand forms of splendor: the many faces of her

Mana falls with new expression-the shape of her smile

Inundated by wealth in her attention

Taken by the warmth of her style

Hail, O Fourtuna, she gave me new eyes and new meaning; evermore besotted in the brightness of her being