Wednesday, February 28, 2007
THE TWO GHOSTS IN ROGER'S ATTIC
unlike most of us -
there are two ghosts in your attic, my friend.
one is the usual: old & angry, waking
at odd hours & kicking the neighbor's sleeping dog
into fits of delirium. he paints graffiti
on your sidewalks & has been known to smash
the windows in your mini-van
when he is extremely bored & cantankerous.
the other is eternally beautiful, eternally young -
the stuff of dreams, or the source,
depending on your perspective. She is awkward
& frail, spending most of her time
convalescing in dark recesses.
but in her rare appearances,
you have been known to orchestrate
beautiful music together.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
todays poem is the latest i have written (obviously a while back) - this is a "rough draft", very minor edits since it was written one rainy night at work. it is probably in need of at least one more round of edits. i am thinking it eventually has a place in one of my unfinished manuscripts.
No Job Security Today
- A working class hero is something to be - John Lennon
& the winderman forgets
to change his slitters again.
another set of cull.
19 of 20 days/nights in a row
& i have forgotten what day of the week it is
or what sunshine feels like.
these concrete walls seep
prayers i would rather not hear.
my union vice-president sends an email
telling me my position on the paper machine
is no longer protected -
something about reorganization
& technicalities in the contract
that i probably wouldn't understand.
lay-offs are not expected
but also not out of the realm of possibilities.
i cut another set of core,
wait for morning & my relief,
questioning how much longer
the pain in my shoulder
will give the dream service.
Monday, February 26, 2007
i have two manuscripts nearly complete and gathering proverbial dust, as well as a very large pile of unfinished poems, even a few new ones i never got around to submitting or editing or even showing my friends. Some of these works will most likely end up on these pages, along with a few poems i particularly like from my books. Who knows ... guess it all depends on time and mood, etc.
Thanks for visiting. Enjoy, hopefully.
Echo Parks Books - currently out of print
used at the eulogy of my mother - Nov. 2006
BEAUTY IS ALL I HAVE KNOWN
we all dies --one way or another --
ash or mud (philosophies aside)
our ultimate destiny.
old woman in the garden tells me:
the cricket, the owl.
even the bat -- beauty is all
i have ever known.
she is twisted as a gourd.
her fingers are rough vines.
some may have mistook her for a witch.
the mole. the snake.
even the spider -- beauty is all
i have ever known.
she now speaks like corn husks scaping the wind.
her eyes glisten like that of the crow.
old woman sleeps with angels
who keep lightning
in the mountains
& thunder on the other side of the valley.
when the wind is lost,
old woman gives it a place to rest.
her twisted fingers
performs miracles in the hard dirt.
somemay have mistook her for a witch.
the cricket. the mole.
even the owl -
when God asks them of her,
beauty is all i have ever seen.