Saturday, July 18, 2009

Caesar's Lament

The hourglass never hurries, never tarries.
Each grain of sand is dealt with uniformly.
Alike in their individuality-all drop the same
When unique turns end, speechless in drifting motion.

We want to float,
While always falling.
Our downward spiral
Masked as flight.

Like trees in November,
Like water running a marathon,
Like the disturbance of anticipation,
We conquer yet are vanquished.

Secrets close with the sunset.
Swords rust from old bloodstains.
Promises fade in the moonlight,
And our imagined kingdoms yield.


Friday, July 17, 2009

Anne Frank vs. the Ellen Jamesians

Speaking from within,
Without a tongue,
Writing is a magic conduit,
Too often discarded in lieu
Of violent physicality
In this IPOD age.

Little Anne's joy when hearing
A waft of Leo Smit's trio for
Flute, Viola and Harp floating into that
Attic in Holland contrasts the
Nazi horror that freed Smit's soul
In the dark recesses of Sobibór.


Ellen Jamesian crusaders crying havoc,
Burning the streets, shrieking indictment
Orations to guilty and innocent alike,
Brutally seeking means to an end,
Living in oblivion to feeling feelings,
Feelings now cast aside like dirty garments.

Darkness smiles its silent approval,

But Anne still holds out hope for us.

The Black and Brown Shoes

One pair of shoes,
Two colors.
One life,
Two paths.

Brown shoes
Blend and bend.
Black shoes
Make their mark.

Fair is foul, and
Foul is fair, yet
Each is a decision,
Not a failure to choose.

Go where you will, or
Go where you may,
Just don't wear two-toned shoes
Come Judgment Day.

Monday, July 6, 2009


Blinking lidless eyes,
You are dreaming again and lost in delusion.

The nightbird's song is a siren call to your secret home,
You go there once again.

People you know but don't know smile knowingly as
You cross the construct's threshold.

Three balloons float lazily up into a magenta sky,
You read the single letters on each...G O D

The nightshade laughs in the background and
You awake to a bad Jimmy Fallon joke.


We are always falling, falling, falling.
the day we leave home, we fall, fall, fall.
The wind and gravity determine our fate, nothing else.
Except for the odd capture in a plumed hat on a Sunday afternoon picnic.

We bloom alone.
We cry alone.
The wind carries our silent song,
To places our children will see.