The Next Moment

Stop! Can you feel that? Stillness.
The universe is giving birth to the next moment
And we are expected to deliver it.
Pray it is not stillborn!
Even an aeon of weeping won't satisfy the mother's grief.
Let the moment be loud, kicking and screaming!

More Spirit than Body

She is a form needless of all form
For in substance she is more spirit than body
And beauty that blinds one to all else than love
Pervades the space in which she walks.

Like clouds that drift through crystal blue skies,
In infinite wisdom, she decides
When to bless our earthly eyes
With the rains of her refreshing gaze

And when to strike with blinding light
Her appraisal of our souls with godlike rage.

As certain as the thunder's crash,
I know myself in her eyes
And all my life has been a fruitless search
For beauty, which God might give me for a prize.

The Moon

Like a crotchety old man, the moon
Looks down on us with disapproval.
We who once worshiped it have come to
Sticking flags in its surface.
Ungrateful slobs, it seems to say,
Who talk of moonlight dances 
And moonstruck lovers and moonlit bays,
You still tie down the lunatic 
When he wants to go out and play.
He looks down on us with heavily furrowed brow,
Smoking a star-tipped cigar,
And thinks to himself,
If only mankind hadn't made it this far.
Sometimes at night, when I am busy
Penning something at my desk,
I hear him chuckle as if to say to me,
"You alone I bless."

Pushing Words

I often feel as if I've been writing the same poem
Over and over.
Like Sisyphus, I am pushing these words
Up the same dramatic arc,
And when I let go they fall into the same empty silence.
The praise always seems the same and never enough
Like a glass of whiskey that leaves you high, dry,
And completely cut off from the rest of society.
"But what about the oeuvre?" you say.
"Every poem is an addition to a much larger construct."
But I say, Where is the diamond in the rough?
Where is the poem that will be held up to the light
And placed in the canon next to
Poe's The Raven and Eliot's Wasteland?
I'll tell you where.
It's right here.
I am done with merely pushing words.
I'm at the top of the hill and I'm not coming down.
I'll stay right here and recite these words
Till Zeus himself reprieves me
And takes me to Olympus
To give me his laurel crown.

My Intentions

What I really want to do through this poem
Is steal your soul.
My hope is that by sending you this strange, arcane message,
You will come to worship me like a god,
And in turn, that your entire life span
Will be added to my own.
Please, however, don't let that frighten you away.
I'd like to think of myself as a benign god
Who will take your soul and treat it to a warm bath
And a cup of tea
Before absorbing it through my giant mouth
Which at the moment is moving to the rhythm of these words.

On the Death of Robin Williams

Laughter is the jester's just reward
As are the tears he never gets to see.
Both tears and laughter he himself reserved
To complete his craft with symmetry.
On the stage before the world,
The lights have finally dimmed.
He laughs till he weeps now
At peace with one and all.
The laughter and the weeping,
His craft, and his life,
Now inseparable.

A Troubled Muse

A troubled muse has brought me here
To a place where we can be alone.
She claims I've been unfaithful to her,
That I've been dabbling in unholy arts
And putting pen to paper on a lark
Despite the fact that I've been with her all along.
She weeps and I coo softly into her ear
Some lascivious verse
From off the top of my head.
Then, her ineluctable smile appears
And kisses me and takes me to her bed
Where all night long I sing a most inspired song
That gives birth to joy in the hearts of the dead.

Storm

I am awakened by thunder and am resolved to know
Who I've been these passing years,
What I've learned and if I've grown.
For the thunder steals all recognition
Of who I am, except perhaps the fact
That I have grown no less used to death.
And since I am strange to myself to my very bones
My eyes grasp the faintest thing they see:
A window in the mirror, and a flash of light
Reveals the promise that once made me real:
To burn with truth, and learn to kneel.

Just Enough Light

In favor of too much darkness
I have chosen just enough light.
I would often wander around at night
Expecting the shadows to come to life
And sweep me off to my eagerly waiting destiny.
Now I walk under the sun
And believe that I am destined for the here and now.
And when the sun goes down
And the shadows lengthen,
I greet them as old friends
Who are learning to get along without me.

Awake!

Awake! The dream is spent.
All is learned, now seek to mend
Your broken life, and seek to earn
The dream of night.
For sweeter are the dreams that come
When honest work has lead the setting sun,
And lessons come in the morning light
To give away before the end of night.

To My Lover

To dissolve into a fleeting sun
And pass beyond all shadow
And to remain alert on the edge of eternity
A backless eye greeting the past, present, and future
Is to live like this, unburdening my soul to you,
Who feigns sleep now, your head in the crook of my arm.
May I never wake from this purifying slumber
That keeps me bound to your peace.

The Zinnia

Into the deep gloom of my lonesome heart
The zenia casts the glance of its electric eye.
Its ruby-sprinkled inner sanctum
Opens for me and I espy
The ether of a second sky.
Eclipsed by its beauty, I burn like the sun
Till my kindled heart leaps from my chest
And the memory of my love returns.
Enthralled by the nectar of its gaze,
I blossom and sing to the birds
Who then repeat my song
And fly off from the linden tree
To travel far beyond the clouds
To share the song of the love-bringing zenia.

Someone You Know

Right now, someone you know
(And it isn't the person you're thinking about now)
Is thinking about you, and hoping you are thinking about them.
They are imagining embracing you
In a world where the colors are brighter
And the air sweeter.
They are making plans to call you up
To tell you how much they've missed you
And that they are dying to see you.
And now, someone near them is tapping them on the shoulder
To tell them that they are next in line
For a movie ticket, or a bottle of wine,
And lo and behold
They've forgotten you,
And chances are you will stay forgotten
Till you see her at the reunion
Or perhaps on the street
As you're hurrying to get to the zoo,
A child dragging you by the arm.

One With Nature

When I am one with nature,
The rats in the cellar don't bother me.
Neither do the roaches in the sink.
The mosquito on my leg can suck all day till I'm aenemic
And the fly can perch right on my nose.
Even you, my love, could spit in my face
And a rhinoceros could impale me from behind
And it wouldn't matter
As long as I was completely bound to the spirit of nature
As I am now, listening to the cuckoo sing.