Showing posts from January, 2018

Humbly Beneath Them

January, blue sky, Sycamore: Sun. My world Through my windshield: I am looking up. These are familiar objects. These are new to me: These are everything. The sycamore claims the light, Turns it white, Reflects it And there is a dialogue Between reflected light And sunlight That grows intimate, Intense, Eternal. And here comes Prometheus To give us a stake in the game. And here is Zeus saying, “WTF?” The air is too cold To carry the heat of the flame And its reflection. The air is quiet, Free from buoyant children. The sycamore claims light, Wicks it right back up to the sky. We say, “Wait; Make us giddy with light.’ We wait. The time will come. The sycamore will be in full leaf. Children will come out to play. We will feel the heat of sunshine. Prometheus will pay the price: But we will honor his theft In the only way we can: We will carve our roads around the sycamore. We will let them be. We will pass humbly beneath them. We will cherish the light.

About Helen

The Encyclopaedia Britannica Asserts Helen of Troy Lived happily ever after With King Menelaus of Sparta Once the Acheans Sorted out that Kidnapping business And Paris was safely dead And Odysseus had thought of That horse thing To get them off the island Once and for all…  ...but I digress.  And I disagree. And so does Homer, Whom the Encyclopaedia Britannica says Might never have existed As one man. Homer might have been Many storytelling men (Yes, men.) Who somehow managed To mark Helen’s grief on the map And to artfully question the honor Of Odysseus. If you can believe that About Homer. Go ahead and try to write that group epic. See what happens. Then you’ll be OK with Homer as Historical Fact. But back to the topic, Which I feel right now. Helen was in Troy ten years With handsome, lovely Paris, Who received her in payment for a favor-- Just a little deal between narcissists. That’s how that goes. But anyway. We have no evidence th


Water Finds its own level Is the great leveler Over time Reducing everything To elements Carrying everything To the one sea Primordial chaos The beginning With life-giving light The swirling mass Of possibility.


Pelicans are the color of water and light On a soft day with a long memory. Pelicans swim in time-- And have in every moment Since the beginning of time. In every moment There is both poised silence and play. They don’t see us. The gulls scold and flee. Sandpipers and willets dash away. Cormorants turn their heads And flex their wings. They see us. Pelicans remain aloof. They remind me of the lesson My mother taught me When my daughter was young And, once in a rare while, Engaged in attention-seeking Behavior. If you don’t make eye contact, My mother said, It never happened. There was grace. An escape clause. The opportunity to start afresh. The pelicans, I believe, Are waiting us out The way, Once or twice, I waited out my daughter.