Internet Poetry Resources
Sorry, at this point in time, my stuff is not available anonymously. I
would be very happy to mail you pointers to my poems, so if you are
interested send me e-mail! But this way I know who gets them so I
can impose on you for feedback...
My Favorite Poems
This, like everything else on the web, is a work in progress. I will be
adding my favorite poems as time permits.
I've sought out corner bars, lived in corner houses;
like everyone else I've reserved
corner tables, thinking they'd be sufficient.
I've met at corners
perceived as crossroads, loved to find love
leaning against a lamp post
but have known the abruptness of corners too,
the pivot, the silence.
I've sat in corners at parties hoping for someone
who knew the virtue
of both distance and close quarters, someone with a
corner person's taste
for intimacy, hard won, rising out of shyness
And I've turned corners there was no going back to,
in the middle of a room that led
to Spain or solitude.
And always the thin line between corner
the good corners of bodies and those severe bodies
that permit no repose,
the places we retreat to, the places we can't bear
to be found.
The Heart's Location
all my plans for suicide are ridiculous
I can never remember the heart's location
too cheap to smash the car
too queasy to slash a wrist
once jumped off a bridge
almost scared myself to death
then spent two foggy weeks
waiting for new glasses
of course I really want to live
continuing my lifelong search
for the world's greatest unknown cheap restaurant
and a poem full of ordinary words
about simple things
in the inconsolable rhythms of the heart
October is marigold, and yet
A glass half full of wine left out
To the dark heaven all night, by dawn
Has dreamed a premonition
Of ice across its eye as if
The ice-age had begun to heave.
The lawn overtrodden and strewn
From the night before, and the whistling green
Shrubbery are doomed. Ice
Has got its spearhead into place.
First a skin, delicately here
Restraining a ripple from the air;
Soon plate and rivet on pond and brook;
Then tons of chain and massive lock
To hold rivers. Then, sound by sight
Will Mammoth and Saber-tooth celebrate
Reunion while a fist of cold
Squeezes the fire at the core of the world,
Squeezes the fire at the core of the heart,
And now it is about to start.
At the Office Early
Rain has beaded the panes
of my office windows,
and in each little lens
the bank at the corner
hangs upside down.
What wonderful music
the rain must have made
in the night, a thousand banks
turned over, the change
crashing out of the drawers
and bouncing upstairs
to the roof, the soft
percussion of ferns
dropping out of their pots,
the ballpoint pens
popping out of their sockets
in a fluffy snow
of deposit slips.
Now all day long,
as the sun dries the glass,
I'll hear the soft piano
of banks righting themselves,
the underpaid tellers
counting their nickels and dimes.
They eat out
In restaurants we argue
over which of us will pay for your funeral
though the real question is
whether or not I will make you immortal.
At the moment only I
can do it and so
I raise the magic fork
over the plate of beef fried rice
and plunge it into your heart.
There is a faint pop, a sizzle
and through your own split head
you rise up glowing;
the ceiling opens
a voice sings Love Is A Many
you hang suspended above the city
in blue tights and a red cape,
your eyes flashing in unison.
The other diners regard you
some with awe, some only with boredom;
they cannot decide if you are a new weapon
or only a new advertisement.
As for me, I continue eating;
I liked you better the way you were,
but you were always ambitious.
She was in terrible pain the whole day,
as she had been for months: a slipped disc,
and there is nothing more painful. She
herself was a nurse's aide, also a poet
just beginning to make a name for her
nom de plume. As with most things in life,
it happened when she was changing channels
on her television. The lucky man, on the other
hand, was smiling for the first time
in his life, and it was fake. He was
an aspiring philosopher of dubious potential,
very serious, but somehow lacking in
essential depth. He could have been
an adequate undertaker. It was not the first
time for either of them. It was a civil
service, with no music, few flowers.
Still, there was a slow and erratic tide
of champagne--corks shot clear into the trees.
And flashcubes, instant photos, some blurred
and some too revealing, cake slices that aren't
what they were meant to be. The bride slept
through much of it, and never did we figure out
who was one whose team. I think the groom
meant it in the end when he said, "We never
thought anyone would come." We were not the first
to arrive, nor the last to leave. Who knows,
it may all turn out for the best. And who
really cares about such special days, they
are not what we live for.