Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Dawn (29-Mar-1986)

Not much to say about this one. It's little sappy but I like the flow.


I have come
To realize
That what I
Be avoided
By merely
What hides
In my mind
(And heart)
Is there whether
I admit it
Or not.
I am very
Attracted to
And will probably
Fall in love with

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

When (25-Mar-1986)

This is one of my my few attempts at very specialized formating. I have another but the formating got corrupted in the computer and I need to sort it out so that it makes sense.

When (Mar 25, 1986)

When we say When we tell
What we think Our thoughts inside
Then no longer Then no longer
Do we drink Do we ride
Of the fruit On that road
Which makes us shy Which steals our nerve
And restricts And robs us of
How high we fly. Our just deserves.

When ourselves
We let others know
Then no longer
Do we show
That mask which hides
Us from above
And keeps us from
Those we love.

Friday, April 18, 2008

My Gift (14-Apr-2008)

Although this sounds as tough it was written to one person, it is actually written to four. Will I ever be able to add a verse to give this poem a happy ending?

My Gift

I left my gift on the table.
It was there for you to take.
You sampled it and left me
some of yours.
But we were young.

I left my gift on the table.
It was there for you to take.
You took a piece; all that
you thought you wanted.
And left but a piece of your own.

I left my gift on the table.
It was there for you to take.
You left it there untouched
but did not let me take it back
Until you walked away.

I left my gift on the table.
It was there for you to take.
You took it while and left
your own.
What happened then I do not know.

Will I ever get it back?

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Old and New (September 2005)

Another one found on a scrap of paper...but this one I understand because it is daily a part of this journey I take.

Old and New

I know that which draws me
down this old familiar path.
It is a well traveled and
comfortable road.
But there is a new trail that
in times past I would not have seen.
I do not know where it comes from
or where it goes.
It springs from a place in my soul
long hidden or newly dug.
I stand upon the intersection of old and new.
Both roads beckon me forward
and yet the choice is not mine to make.
For I am unable to escape
the roads that chose me
At intersections long ago.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

For Her (14-Apr-2008)

Tired and weary last night and unable to sleep, this is what resulted:

For Her

Toss me to the wind.
Scatter me to the four
corners of the earth.
Let me rest by the shore;
Washed up like so much flotsam.

Stand me against a wall.
Bury me over with sand.
Offer me no refuge against
the cruel ravages of time;
No oasis in my desert.

Leave me nothing.
Set me free.
Put me over;
And give all that I would have to her.

Monday, April 14, 2008

To Use (Late 2003)

Still no time to write between work an rehearsals. Here is another about which I know very little. It was during this period that I would quickly write them on scraps of paper and then come upon them later with no context. And yet they still mean so much to me because the person that wrote them is still inside.

To Use

So trite.
Writing love poems at my age.
And yet maybe I am not so old
that I can no longer taste that which every life longs for.

How long?
Can time be measured at all?
Is there no way to count the miles and miles
of road that I have traveled from the destination I once sought?

A thief.
It invades my dreams.
It robs me of the forgetfulness
of long forgotten memories that I have never shared.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Sweet Hermia (9-May-1997)

It's funny how some poems mean more to you much later and for different reasons than when you first wrote them.

Sweet Hermia

Hermia, Sweet Hermia.
So much space and so much time
Separates us.
How can two born of the same rib
Be born so distant.
How can two made of one soul
Be made so far apart.
Why is life so cruel as to bring us together?
Simply to remind us of what we cannot have?
Please forgive me for being who I am
which only adds to your pain.
But remember that you will always be my one and only
Hermia, Sweet Hermia.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

How (27-Mar 27-1986)

I wrote this in college when I was falling harder for a woman than I though I should. It is intersting to read the journal entries and find that she had the same affect on me that my lost love had.


Can I know her so well
When I barely
Know her at all?
It doesn't make sense.
Her face seems
So familiar.
Her memories
Are mine.
This can't possibly
Be happening.
How can I admit
What I'm feeling?
The time
Has been too short;
The knowledge
Too little.
Why are my
Forcing me to
Say what I
Fear most?
What will she think?
How will she react?
It's all too sudden
Slow it down.
I musn't let
Come out
Or I'm lost
And the control
Is no longer mine.
But I
"Admit It!!!"
The voice is screaming with violent rage
inside of me.
The struggle is
I feel as though
I can
Contain it
No longer.
The struggle was lengthy.
The pause was long
But for now
I have won.
(But it still wants out.)

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Yoda (10-Apr-2008)

So I was dead tired last night and finished journaling and I could feel a pleiades forming in my head. It was around the letter "M" but I could tell that it would be the same bleeding heart stuff I've written lately and I just wasn't in the mood. Out of no where I could hear Yoda's voice in my head and so I wondered what it would sound like if Yoda wrote a pleiades about his broken heart instead. And I knew "Y" would normally be hard to tackle anyway.


You love too much I do
Yearning heart now I have
Yawning chasm calls I
Yellow suns brightly burn
Yes say you must to me
Yet afraid very am I
Yielding never shall I

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Pandora’s Revenge (21-Jan-1985)

This might by my earliest love poem...or at least it's about that emotion and the impact it has on our lives and why some of us avoid it at the same time we seek it out.

Pandora’s Revenge

Here I sit;
I look about my room.
I stop -- pause:
There in the corner,
Is a box.
The box is small.
What it contains is immense.
Should I open it?
But I, like Pandora, have no choice.

I turn the latch.
I wish I hadn't.
The darkness erupts turning my room black.
I grope in a fruitless effort to return
the darkness to the box.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Taxed (8-Apr-2008)

In case it isn't clear, this is not about the politics of taxation but the cost of relationships. It is another in my series of 26 Pleiades.


Tax my soul, take my heart;
Tax my hands, take my art;
Tax my eyes, take my sight;
Tax my wings, take my flight;
Tax my thoughts, take my mind;
Tax my seek, take my find;
Tax my love, turtle dove.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

Pondering (6-Apr-2008)

Another pleaides. I was quite bored and tired at a rehearsal and decided I should try to write a poem to stay awake. Sometimes weariness seems to help me find that muse within.


Past moves forward with us.
Pieces of our lives that
Push us toward our future.
Protagonist in our
Play scripted for us by
Patterns of force unseen
Published in the present.

Saturday, April 5, 2008

Closed Loops (2005) Unfinished (?)

Sorry I have been missing in action but life happens, as they say. In fact it's been happening so much I didn't realize I missed two days, I thought it was only one.

I found this fragment marked unfinished but I'm not so sure it is. Maybe I couldn't finished it because it was done and I just didn't realize at the time that there was no more. Let me know what you think.

Closed Loops

Each life, so closed.
Running around our loops.
How does one break into another's loop?
Moving about my loop.
Seeing another's
Wanting to be apart of so many loops.
My loop stops and I stand
Watching the other loops go 'round.
After breaking out of my loop
How long can I be a part of no loop?

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

I thought I would post another of my influences. I have loved this poem since high school and actually had to memorize part of it once for school. There isn't much to say about it...it stands on its own.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had tried to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
" 'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door; ——
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.

Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind, and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster — so, when Hope he would adjure,
Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure —
That sad answer, "Nevermore!"

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite — respite and Nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Let me quaff this kind Nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore —
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore —
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting —
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore!

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Dawn Blue (8-Apr-1986)

This was written for an earlier muse. I have long considered it one of my best as regards my many attempts at love poetry. There is something short and sweet and, for me anyway, profound about the sentiment. Although there are times I read it and wish there were more, I think it is best to leave the reader with that feeling. This is probably why many of my poems are short...although that might just be my laziness.

Dawn Blue

Dream a dream that dreamers dream,
And sing a song that dreamers sing.
Without the worries of the world
No-one can dream their lilac dreams.

Before the setting of the sun,
Laugh a laugh that lovers laugh.
Until the crowing of the cock
Exists a light which lacks a lamp.