Recently I learned
That I know nothing at all.
What was sure is not.
All my thoughts are upside-down,
And yet – ¡ǝǝɹɟ ǝɯ sʇǝs ʇɐɥʍ s,ʇɐɥʇ
Category: Poems
Scorched-Earth Policy
Leave nothing untouched.
Everything burns.
Everything falls to the ground in ash,
undone and unaccounted for.
Be ruthless in your destruction –
keep no photograph,
no memory,
no scrap of paper,
no lingering glance,
no wondering “what-if,”
no half-heard sigh,
no music,
no joy,
no laughter,
no hope,
and – especially –
no love.
Burn it all.
Spare no corner of the earth.
Let the land go dry as bone,
parched and purged
of all the unnecessary reminders.
Be unforgiving in your pursuit.
This war is one-sided.
Take your heart and throw it on the heap.
It’s done you no good.
Why trust it now?
Light your last match,
enkindle the flame,
and watch as the remnants of your life
go up in smoke.
A Poem of Trust
Trust in the sun that warms your cheek.
Trust in the moon that holds your cares.
Trust in the stars that glitter and blink
As you tell them your wishes and impossible prayers.
Trust in the voice that stills the night.
Trust in the song that quiets your soul.
Trust in the lamp that shares its light
As you clamber and climb out of your darkened hole.
Trust in the friends who bring you joy.
Trust in the ones who do their part.
Trust in this poet, who wants you to know
That, yes, she loves you with all of her heart.
Broken Reverie
The choir came and the choir went.
The flower grew and the flower died.
Once, in a vision, she was a bride,
Walking lightly, trailing lace,
Dancing around ’til the night was spent.
What wonderment in her face,
What life! And then, the rain,
Like a sharpened knife,
Cut into the attic roof,
Stirring her from her happy dream,
Reminding her of the bitter truth.
Pianoforte
The pianoforte’s playing
a song lost long ago
to someone who was busy
with things he had to grow
and reap and sow and harvest,
with little thought for trifling airs,
but in the losing, he forgot
how nice it was to rest his cares
by doing something simple,
doing something free:
playing a little song for him,
a little song for me.
…
Sometimes people forget to hear and see the beauty that’s in front of them. Sometimes the call to responsibility overpowers the call to rest and the call to appreciate the tiny things that stir something in our souls. Responsibility, of course, is essential; no one is denying that. But how many moments of love have we passed over because we felt like we didn’t have the time? The slow embrace, the lingering song – don’t we think of these things long after they’re done? Why rush something whose very beauty depends on the complete disregard for the passing of time?
If Only
If only I could
run myself ragged
run hands through your hair
run faster than wind
run freer than air
run wild with laughter
run reckless with care
run into your arms:
oh! such is my prayer.
Trio of Longing
Light me a candle.
I want to burst into flame.
The words I’m looking for don’t exist,
so I will have to make a language of my own,
if only to render more precisely
the sweetness and suffering of my soul.
…
Close your eyes to me, my love.
Hide your face, if you wish.
But lift your chin
the merest inch
and you’ll be struck by the beauty
you pretended never to see.
…
Call my name
and I will come
from far away,
slowly, shyly,
like a reluctant wave
on the untroubled sea.
But call my name
a second time,
and I will crash onto shore,
sparing not a single second
to be joined with you
at last.