pond
dappled water
squawking duck
bent lily
trampled grass
algaed water
scattered glass
rusting hook
broken pole
wrapped plastic
flashing needle
abused beauty
Your face alight,
you tell me you rode ten miles,
a lovely loop, you found an old bike
and took off behind your young cyclist friend
who’d come to visit. Over his shoulder
he held up his cell phone and videoed you:
“Here’s Brother Paul,
octogenarian, taking the hills
like a twenty-something!”
It makes sense
that a monk would relish
chasing the unknown,
stretching out his arms,
lifting his eyes skyward,
chanting the rhythms of his legs,
breathing God out and in, out and in,
in and out.
the kind of tired from a day well spent
an ordinary, regular Wednesday
normalcy mixed with busyness and isn’t that the best method
one day, followed by all the other previous
not knowing what the exact outcome will be
and of course, a few tinged disappointments
yet all in all, all is well
for that, I’m thankful
and for sunshine, dirt, bike rides and work
the exactness of imperfection yields my success
I can congratulate myself and begin again
tomorrow
A.
Country music loves
rehabilitation songs–
bad fixin’ to change.
B.
Country also loves
reverse rehab narratives–
good gonna go bad.
I am not writing this poem for me.
That poem would be very short
and uneventful
like changing oil
in the shade.
I am not writing this poem for love.
It would be too long if I write about life.
I will write it for poetry.
WCW could take an image
and wrap it around anything.
This poem is for all poets,
writing at this moment.
Poetry and Painting are in stalemate.
Been playing chess in the park for years,
Painting with sweeping openings and faith in bishops,
Poetry posting as few moves as possible,
(over)protecting their pawns,
prefers the board in the shade of the gigantic tree
to Painting’s perch with widest view of
so many still moving lives.
If the tables are taken, they just wait,
sometimes they hold hands. Poetry pets the dogs.
They are always conspiring,
each intermittently staring across the park
then sketching and scrawling in notebooks.
Poetry says ghosts are the only ones who can claim
there’s money in melancholy verse.
Painting used to fuck with spirits and
they are past that now,
but they both know the rule is
demons move in all directions.
Neither interrupt each other except all the time,
a chaotic balance, says Painting, like a draw.
Regret is a killer.
The thought
that I might have
had you
is tearing me apart.
And yet,
it’s a fairly recent idea.
And maybe that means
I’m growing
because
before
I felt unworthy of my desires,
unworthy of you.
To imagine
seducing you
was such
a wicked thought,
to corrupt
the shy Christian boy.
I would not let myself go there.
And now
I think
it’s possible
you could have been bi.
And I could have made you happy.
It’s taken a lot of
self esteem
to turn you
from sexual daydream
into potential partner.
I’m fighting
the cynic inside me
that feels
another you
will never cross my path again.
Out of all the guys I’ve been with,
none have been
as handsome
sweet
and gentle.
I’ve only really been on
about three dates,
all with sweet guys
who turned sour later.
I miss talking
about music and books
with you.
I loved your mind
and your poetic soul
as much
as I lusted after your body.
I think that’s why
it feels
like it would have been so easy,
best friends
becoming lovers.
I don’t know where you are now
or if I’ll ever see you again.
But you were a special part of my life,
a friend during the lonely high school years,
and you even walked beside me
in a way
when I came out to myself,
my feelings for you
a confirmation
of my sexual orientation.
You will always hold a tender place in my heart
and eventually
it will ache less
than it does tonight.
( in honor of Clancy’s 12th birthday)
Compact sturdy bodies
hailing from Scotland
You know the walk that
swaggers with jaunty
confidence
ready to defend his
turf with courage
that defies logic.
Loyal to the core
following me
room to room
discerning my moods
matching my needs.
He is my thirdl
loyal partner
giving more
than he reaps
just by that strut.🐾
