Showing posts from December, 2018

Who Is Prometheus?

Who is Prometheus? And why is he at Rockefeller Center At the skating pond? And will the world end In fire or ice? Some say in fire: The knowledge of who we are What we have undone. Others say ice: Inert, alone, and--forgive me--isolated. Nobody argues that we will end. (Have you noticed?) We will end. Who is Prometheus? To steal fire From Zeus and give it To mortals. We set ourselves apart From the animals with fire. We set ourselves apart From father and mother. Some say this inflamed Zeus With jealousy But that’s confusing Zeus with Yahweh, Olympus with Sinai. From Harney Mountain, Zeus sees the fire That will burn life down. Prometheus, golden boy of the little pond In a concrete canyon, Who are you?

One Deer

My friend is gone, Having slipped from this world, Crossed over, Gone home. Everyone says death In a way That makes it about life. Not an end But a passing. I think about this As I try to fall asleep With my daughter, exhausted by grief, Lying beside me. Lying awake, I hear Dylan Thomas Telling me in that pristine recording After the first death There is no other. There is not. Death is a lesson In defining absence And redefining presence. I wonder about this As I walk my dogs in the rain And the damp air Combines with the bark Of a white oak, Straight, tall, strong, And claims a universe of space Full of safety, shade, and squirrels in summer And full of  promise now. Moisture and the oak And the fallen white sky Take the shape of a young deer That steps softly before my dogs Onto our path. Here I am. The dogs watch. I watch. The deer steps forward Into the rain Steps forward again Steps forwa

Work Day

Sound of my voice: Wag of his tail. We walk in the early dark. He leads. The bears sleep And the deer And the squirrels But not the neighboring dog With his glowstick collar And a woman. He reads the story Of the sleeping earth With every breath. I leave him for work, Wondering across every mile About those who sleep. I am looking for the bear.

A Dream

Soft rain Incessant, gentle, Patters on fallen oak leaves, The beat of a young heart Curious and aware. Lean ghost, Silent, gentle, Emerges from the fallen oak leaves, The movement of a pure life Curious and aware. The deer Steps onto the path Steps forward Steps back into the woods Eats moss growing From a fallen oak. He stops, Scratches his ear, Vanishes. Or we do, My dog and I, Into the morning light, Slow, soft, silent as a dream.


Gray and languid, Day lights the earth, Quiet and alive, But slowing. Ice around the rocks Defines the edge of earth Covered with leaves That will become earth. Two dogs bark in the distance: Take us with you To the river. Then, bring us inside. The river. The dogs. The walk. The dark. The silence. The squeak of the door On its hinge The rush of warm air. We bring the river inside. Beyond us, The dogs bark.

Speaking the Truth While Rome Burns

Here's a very worthwhile opinion piece from the New York Times that evaluates the Trump presidency vis-a-vis General Mattis's resignation. If you need a break from Trump's selling of this nation to Russia for his own benefit, the shut down of our government over Trump's border nonsense, and the prospect that our military's withdrawal from Syria and Afghanistan will create a political vacuum that will intensify terrorism worldwide, hear this: And read this if you have a few minutes.  Like Odysseus, remember a country worth fighting for, and then come back and fight for it. Maybe think about this:  How has this country paid for your tax cut?  I wonder at the hubris of those who thought they could install this idiot, get what they wanted from him, and then manage him out of existence.  These guys overlooked the myth of Pandora.  And we are stuck with the mess.  Here's the art that an inspired leader can influence.  Read the comments, and consider the