For the next few weeks I will be sharing thoughts about romantic love. Most are about the love I have for my wife. (She said it would be okay to share them). Since many of them aren't very long, I would like to show three poems today. The first two are poems I wrote to my wife after we got married.
Reasons To Watch For Morning
So easily the twilight turned the rushing day
To a shy, peaceful horizon
That we stumbled full gait into darkness.
Balanced tip-toe on the lip of night.
Held out our terror for the wind to taste.
Waited for empty black
To overtake the heels of life.
Someone screamed that day had been lost.
That no one would see the sunrise.
That heaven had been taken from us
Just when we needed it most.
With the last whisper of sun slipping my touch
I see you reach for me.
And the night is but an unborn tomorrow.
Twilight is a kiss from an almost forgotten day.
You give me reasons to watch for morning.
Until I hold you
I forget these things.
____________________________________
Mr. Webster
Mr. Webster defines love
As easily as I can see
Your smile in me.
He went on - next word, small print.
I lingered on love.
For me, your picture would have sufficed.
Good thing I’m not Webster.
Having you defines my life.
You are the language of my love.
The rest of the world can wait.
I’ll write my books on you.
__________________________
This last poem is written about two very good friends of mine, Shell and Raf. Seeing them together, in love, is such a treat. It leaves me grinning...and feeling young.
No Need for Cupid
Telling lies to a blind sun,
To a dark-deafened moon,
Life would have heaven hear
Our excuses why love fails.
The sun understands how
Flailing for another’s touch
Burns us as we clench our eyes shut,
Never seeing beyond our solitary shadows.
The moon knows the cold silence of night,
How it deafens us to words we need most.
Mute, we swallow with fear (our feeling words)
Until we are one with the lies of our lives.
Raf (brown-eyed and grinning)
With pirate intent, takes Shell in a gaze that undoes
The falsehoods of existence.
Shell holds her pirate close
(no flailing here).
Makes exception her rule.
Loving laughing tenderness,
There is no need for Cupid.
Hand in hand, a private joke,
To call each other “stupid”.
Heaven has no excuses.
It begins to understand that when
Raf and Shell unwrap their gifts
(each others’ hearts),
Everyday is Christmas.
__________________________
Hope you liked these poems as much as I enjoyed writing them. Speak your feeling words to someone you love. They need to be heard almost as much as you need to say them. Until next week, take care.
b
Friday, July 30, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Military Poetry
I wrote a poem over the weekend that deals with military issues, and I wanted to share it with you. The poem shares what I sometimes experience as a psychologist treating soldiers who have returned from deployment. Please know that not every session is this intense, but many are. The poem addresses some of the combat traumas I hear, and is not a verbatim experience from any particular soldier.
Inside the Numbers
Fourteen seconds to see your world from
Four inches above sand
Stinking of sewage and cordite.
Eighty meters to your eleven o’clock is the
Birthplace of an ambush where 155mm rounds
Shook and shoved vehicles into ditches and chaos.
Thirty-five words shouted at blast-deafened ears to
Take out the sniper three stories up where a mother and
Her four children huddle unseen
Clutching each other, wide-eyed as random, angry bullets
Slowly find them.
Twenty-eight ragged, scorching breaths (and a thousand years)
To drag your best friend behind a brown, pocked wall
On a meaningless street three hundred years older
Than you’ll ever be.
One continuous scream into a faceless radio mike for medevac
While five pints of blood pump slower from a single throat shot
As your two hands try to stop the crimson flow of broken promises to
Drink more beer than you
Marry your kid sister
Get you back home safe
You stop talking as your hands form fists
Trying to conquer what is rising up in you.
(I wait three minutes in silence)
As you distill two years of guilt and grief
Into tears that collect on my office floor
Defying any attempt to make sense
Of such madness.
__________________________________________________
This second poem is also from my experience of being a therapist for soldiers. In many ways, it is perhaps more revealing of how it feels to do what I do. Sometimes all you can do is bear witness to how these incredibly noble men and women brave everything to get better. I suppose that writing about this is therapeutic for myself. Is so, then thank you for being a witness.
Therapy
As witness
I felt dumbstruck.
Such old tears from
So young a man.
So much loss
So soon.
So much ahead
We laugh our tears.
We dance with death.
We hold our fears
We hold our breath.
“Good work, today”.
Only you and your world have not known good
For some time.
Staring at the floor
Embarrassed by your own emotions
You apologize for tears still fighting
You for expression.
You are not weak.
Only younger
(and)
Older than me
Forever.
________________________________________________
Let me know your thoughts and reactions. Next week, I write about love.
Inside the Numbers
Fourteen seconds to see your world from
Four inches above sand
Stinking of sewage and cordite.
Eighty meters to your eleven o’clock is the
Birthplace of an ambush where 155mm rounds
Shook and shoved vehicles into ditches and chaos.
Thirty-five words shouted at blast-deafened ears to
Take out the sniper three stories up where a mother and
Her four children huddle unseen
Clutching each other, wide-eyed as random, angry bullets
Slowly find them.
Twenty-eight ragged, scorching breaths (and a thousand years)
To drag your best friend behind a brown, pocked wall
On a meaningless street three hundred years older
Than you’ll ever be.
One continuous scream into a faceless radio mike for medevac
While five pints of blood pump slower from a single throat shot
As your two hands try to stop the crimson flow of broken promises to
Drink more beer than you
Marry your kid sister
Get you back home safe
You stop talking as your hands form fists
Trying to conquer what is rising up in you.
(I wait three minutes in silence)
As you distill two years of guilt and grief
Into tears that collect on my office floor
Defying any attempt to make sense
Of such madness.
__________________________________________________
This second poem is also from my experience of being a therapist for soldiers. In many ways, it is perhaps more revealing of how it feels to do what I do. Sometimes all you can do is bear witness to how these incredibly noble men and women brave everything to get better. I suppose that writing about this is therapeutic for myself. Is so, then thank you for being a witness.
Therapy
As witness
I felt dumbstruck.
Such old tears from
So young a man.
So much loss
So soon.
So much ahead
We laugh our tears.
We dance with death.
We hold our fears
We hold our breath.
“Good work, today”.
Only you and your world have not known good
For some time.
Staring at the floor
Embarrassed by your own emotions
You apologize for tears still fighting
You for expression.
You are not weak.
Only younger
(and)
Older than me
Forever.
________________________________________________
Let me know your thoughts and reactions. Next week, I write about love.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Faith and Religion
Well...few things get more reaction than thoughts about religion and faith. I'm going to share four poems with you, since I will be on vacation next weekend and won't be able to do the blog. These poems were written as I struggled (and still struggle) to understand faith, religion, and hope. I placed the poems in chronological order, and it seems that maybe I've changed. So, here we go.
This first poem I wrote many years ago, when I was young, angry and unsure of what it all meant. I was not a fan of mankind then (still not much of a fan, now).
Dinosaurs of Christ
we live and worship
burning empty barns
like Dresden’s children.
TURN THE OTHER CHEEK I’LL SLASH YOUR THROAT
TAKE MY HAND YOU’LL RAPE ME
we are LAUGHING HATE AND LOVING VOMIT
we are what we despise and cannot accept
WE LIVE AND WORSHIP
WE LIVE AND WORSHIP
we are dinosaurs.
giants killing for the right to
fill in the blanks.
leaving shadow prints in forgotten rocks.
so curious that
memories named christ are significant to us.
murdered to show peace and love
how like a god to mock us
just when we need him most.
fat man in red/bunny with eggs
how like us to mock a brave man
who would wash our feet,
turn the other cheek.
who loved his dinosaurs.
(how like a god)
to love us
knowing we would never understand.
_________________________________________
I've always been disturbed by Easter, can you tell?
Easter Thought
And so
Without answers to his questions.
No toast for his cup of Maddog 20/20,
J.C. hung with the best of them.
Left but a corpse and a memory.
Bled love into the ground.
So we kill in his name.
Blood into the ground.
It defeats his intent.
But I’m not a god and wouldn’t know.
Perhaps this is good.
He’s never around to say.
with silent cries a man-god dies
we bleed his legend pale.
on plastic grass let’s sing a mass
with peter cottontail.
I question his method
not his madness.
I should be so mad
but am not.
Perhaps this is good.
There is no time for madness, J.C.
No more market for martyrs.
So lets ride, J.C.
You and me, J.C.
In the belly of the magical bunny.
How’s that for madness?
_______________________________________
I was starting to mellow with this poem. Still holding mankind to a high standard, and feeling that we fell short, but realizing there was meaning.
A Fragrance of Tired Roses
IT HAD ALL HAPPENED SO FAST WHAT WITH HIM BEING IN CHARGE OF THE MEN AND ALL THE SPEECHES AND THE TROUBLE WITH THE COPS AND THEM BEING FROM OUT OF TOWN AND STUFF AND WELL THINGS GOT Y’KNOW CRAZY AND NO ONE HAD THE COURAGE TO STOP AND FUNNY HOW THINGS CAN GET CRAZY TOO FAST SOMETIMES
The Crowd, fickle as hell, wanted blood.
As was their right.
It was said the critics crucified him.
POOR CHOICE OF WORDS
TOO SYMBOLIC IF YOU ASK ME
HE HAD IT COMIN’ IF YA WANNA KNOW THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER
MAKE AN EXAMPLE OF ONE OF ‘EM AND THE REST WILL TOE THE LINE
NOT ONE OF ‘EM WORTH A DAMN ANYWAY
So why the fear?
Beauty had yet to take one life.
Peace to cause one war.
If God came down to love us just once, say next Tuesday
He’d be dead by Friday.
And if more than one came to call
There’d be hell to pay.
BUT DON’T WORRY, LIL’ DARLIN’
THEY WON’T CAUSE NO TROUBLE NOWADAYS
WE SEEN TO THAT
CRUCIFY MY ASS, WE KICKED BUTT, LIL’ DARLIN’.
And
Beauty died without a whimper
Beneath a blind sky of sunshine.
Leaving but a fragrance
Of tired roses.
____________________________________
This was written as a gift for a friend of mine. She likes hummingbirds.
a miracle amongst the flowers
giving was so very easy.
for heaven it always was.
a child a star it never seemed quite enough.
so an angel
(the most delicate of heaven) was chosen to
teach mankind of hope.
perhaps ...beauty.
dressed in the fires of autumn,
the laughter of the greenest springs,
blessed with the voice of love,
the angel taught the child and mankind the
songs of hope.
the child grew with the world
then died from it.
in grief, heaven took back its gifts of
birth, eternity , and hope.
the angel, who learned to love man from watching the child,
asked to stay.
so heaven returned its last gift
(as only heaven could.)
the angel transformed into a bird of rainbow beauty
with a song that only the wind could know
or the flowers to hear.
it was by this gift
that the world knew the hummingbird.
silent as a child’s wish on a distant star,
quick as a clever thought upon waking.
the hummingbird is a sign of hope.
a miracle to be glimpsed amongst the flowers
_________________________________
Let me know your thoughts about these poems or your own experiences with faith. Take care.
b
This first poem I wrote many years ago, when I was young, angry and unsure of what it all meant. I was not a fan of mankind then (still not much of a fan, now).
Dinosaurs of Christ
we live and worship
burning empty barns
like Dresden’s children.
TURN THE OTHER CHEEK I’LL SLASH YOUR THROAT
TAKE MY HAND YOU’LL RAPE ME
we are LAUGHING HATE AND LOVING VOMIT
we are what we despise and cannot accept
WE LIVE AND WORSHIP
WE LIVE AND WORSHIP
we are dinosaurs.
giants killing for the right to
fill in the blanks.
leaving shadow prints in forgotten rocks.
so curious that
memories named christ are significant to us.
murdered to show peace and love
how like a god to mock us
just when we need him most.
fat man in red/bunny with eggs
how like us to mock a brave man
who would wash our feet,
turn the other cheek.
who loved his dinosaurs.
(how like a god)
to love us
knowing we would never understand.
_________________________________________
I've always been disturbed by Easter, can you tell?
Easter Thought
And so
Without answers to his questions.
No toast for his cup of Maddog 20/20,
J.C. hung with the best of them.
Left but a corpse and a memory.
Bled love into the ground.
So we kill in his name.
Blood into the ground.
It defeats his intent.
But I’m not a god and wouldn’t know.
Perhaps this is good.
He’s never around to say.
with silent cries a man-god dies
we bleed his legend pale.
on plastic grass let’s sing a mass
with peter cottontail.
I question his method
not his madness.
I should be so mad
but am not.
Perhaps this is good.
There is no time for madness, J.C.
No more market for martyrs.
So lets ride, J.C.
You and me, J.C.
In the belly of the magical bunny.
How’s that for madness?
_______________________________________
I was starting to mellow with this poem. Still holding mankind to a high standard, and feeling that we fell short, but realizing there was meaning.
A Fragrance of Tired Roses
IT HAD ALL HAPPENED SO FAST WHAT WITH HIM BEING IN CHARGE OF THE MEN AND ALL THE SPEECHES AND THE TROUBLE WITH THE COPS AND THEM BEING FROM OUT OF TOWN AND STUFF AND WELL THINGS GOT Y’KNOW CRAZY AND NO ONE HAD THE COURAGE TO STOP AND FUNNY HOW THINGS CAN GET CRAZY TOO FAST SOMETIMES
The Crowd, fickle as hell, wanted blood.
As was their right.
It was said the critics crucified him.
POOR CHOICE OF WORDS
TOO SYMBOLIC IF YOU ASK ME
HE HAD IT COMIN’ IF YA WANNA KNOW THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER
MAKE AN EXAMPLE OF ONE OF ‘EM AND THE REST WILL TOE THE LINE
NOT ONE OF ‘EM WORTH A DAMN ANYWAY
So why the fear?
Beauty had yet to take one life.
Peace to cause one war.
If God came down to love us just once, say next Tuesday
He’d be dead by Friday.
And if more than one came to call
There’d be hell to pay.
BUT DON’T WORRY, LIL’ DARLIN’
THEY WON’T CAUSE NO TROUBLE NOWADAYS
WE SEEN TO THAT
CRUCIFY MY ASS, WE KICKED BUTT, LIL’ DARLIN’.
And
Beauty died without a whimper
Beneath a blind sky of sunshine.
Leaving but a fragrance
Of tired roses.
____________________________________
This was written as a gift for a friend of mine. She likes hummingbirds.
a miracle amongst the flowers
giving was so very easy.
for heaven it always was.
a child a star it never seemed quite enough.
so an angel
(the most delicate of heaven) was chosen to
teach mankind of hope.
perhaps ...beauty.
dressed in the fires of autumn,
the laughter of the greenest springs,
blessed with the voice of love,
the angel taught the child and mankind the
songs of hope.
the child grew with the world
then died from it.
in grief, heaven took back its gifts of
birth, eternity , and hope.
the angel, who learned to love man from watching the child,
asked to stay.
so heaven returned its last gift
(as only heaven could.)
the angel transformed into a bird of rainbow beauty
with a song that only the wind could know
or the flowers to hear.
it was by this gift
that the world knew the hummingbird.
silent as a child’s wish on a distant star,
quick as a clever thought upon waking.
the hummingbird is a sign of hope.
a miracle to be glimpsed amongst the flowers
_________________________________
Let me know your thoughts about these poems or your own experiences with faith. Take care.
b
Friday, July 2, 2010
Relationships and loss
As much as we don't talk about loss of relationships in our lives, loss is a part of the human experience. I want to address this issue carefully. I don't wish to be maudlin, but I want to present two poems about loss. I hope that these poems resonate with you. That you will appreciate the relationships you cherish now, and realize the wisdom you've gained from those lost.
This first poem I wrote for my sister, after her cat died. I think those of us who have spent much of our lives with our pets can relate.
so little a thing
feathersteps follow me room by room
enter as i exit. watch me with a quiet kind of love.
i know you aren’t there. i drift into the kitchen
(it is cold and confusing)
i grieve too much.
i know death and can see him/it/they/her
coming down long lit hallways (where i work).
Pillaging in that drawn out way of his/hers/its/theirs.
Leaving the living dumb in its/theirs/hers/his wake.
It/she/they/he leaves and i am sometimes
too busy to notice.
THE SUFFERING IS OVER!
WE TELL OURSELVES THAT DEATH WAS PERHAPS FOR THE BEST.
THAT PROLONGING THE PAIN (in ourselves)
WOULD BE CRUEL.
And i could never be cruel ...not to the shy,
happy cat that loved butterfly hunts.
I WANTED TO TELL DEATH TO BE GENTLE WITH YOU
THAT YOU WERE SPECIAL
THAT YOU SHOULD BE WITH SUNSHINE AND BUTTERFLIES
THAT HE/SHE/IT/THEY SHOULD GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME UNSHATTERED
(over so little a thing
as the death of a cat).
WANTED TO MAKE YOU UNDERSTAND
THAT IT IS SO HARD FOR ME TO LOSE YOU
THAT DEATH WAS ALL I HAD LEFT TO EASE YOUR PAIN.
I miss you
look for you in lofts of sunshine
and watch butterflies now
with a quiet kind of love.
______________________________________________
This next poem was hard to write. I tried to place myself in a room where loss is front and center. What happens when someone is face to face with the death of one's soul mate? Unable to do anything but witness it. I said that loss is part of the human experience, but must it be so damned devastating to us?
In Rooms Empty of Miracles
Tracked with tear sand
Old trails on such young cheeks.
“Talk to me just once. Pleasegodplease just say my name”.
Just squeeze my hand. Please don’t go.”
So the prayer/chant/beg/curse
Whispered hope continues.
Hold hands but not too tight
Remember the tubes
And the nurse
And the Doctor
And the BEEP..BEEP..BEEP...
BEEEE...
Hate/Love sound of life in balance
Death with foothold.
Hold back the tears as if courage will open
Those beautiful sad eyes of blue
Sorry ...So Sorry.
Beg/Chant/Bargain/Prayer.
“I love you so
We love you so much
Please God, just this once
Please.”
She is led away by silent nurses.
Looks of knowing burn her.
Callused sympathy from the ward
Having seen so many tears with no end in sight.
“Its for the best”, breaks through her numbing grief.
She clutches a sofa of dingy vinyl orange
Losing herself in a world of emptiness and pain.
Trickle streams of love dry slow
In rooms empty of miracles.
________________________________________________
From time to time I will share my thoughts about loss. But not too often. Please give me your thoughts. If you have trouble posting on this blog, try registering as a Follower. If that doesn't help, email me and if you give me permission, I will cut and paste your thoughts into the blog for you.. Thankfor reading.
b
This first poem I wrote for my sister, after her cat died. I think those of us who have spent much of our lives with our pets can relate.
so little a thing
feathersteps follow me room by room
enter as i exit. watch me with a quiet kind of love.
i know you aren’t there. i drift into the kitchen
(it is cold and confusing)
i grieve too much.
i know death and can see him/it/they/her
coming down long lit hallways (where i work).
Pillaging in that drawn out way of his/hers/its/theirs.
Leaving the living dumb in its/theirs/hers/his wake.
It/she/they/he leaves and i am sometimes
too busy to notice.
THE SUFFERING IS OVER!
WE TELL OURSELVES THAT DEATH WAS PERHAPS FOR THE BEST.
THAT PROLONGING THE PAIN (in ourselves)
WOULD BE CRUEL.
And i could never be cruel ...not to the shy,
happy cat that loved butterfly hunts.
I WANTED TO TELL DEATH TO BE GENTLE WITH YOU
THAT YOU WERE SPECIAL
THAT YOU SHOULD BE WITH SUNSHINE AND BUTTERFLIES
THAT HE/SHE/IT/THEY SHOULD GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME UNSHATTERED
(over so little a thing
as the death of a cat).
WANTED TO MAKE YOU UNDERSTAND
THAT IT IS SO HARD FOR ME TO LOSE YOU
THAT DEATH WAS ALL I HAD LEFT TO EASE YOUR PAIN.
I miss you
look for you in lofts of sunshine
and watch butterflies now
with a quiet kind of love.
______________________________________________
This next poem was hard to write. I tried to place myself in a room where loss is front and center. What happens when someone is face to face with the death of one's soul mate? Unable to do anything but witness it. I said that loss is part of the human experience, but must it be so damned devastating to us?
In Rooms Empty of Miracles
Tracked with tear sand
Old trails on such young cheeks.
“Talk to me just once. Pleasegodplease just say my name”.
Just squeeze my hand. Please don’t go.”
So the prayer/chant/beg/curse
Whispered hope continues.
Hold hands but not too tight
Remember the tubes
And the nurse
And the Doctor
And the BEEP..BEEP..BEEP...
BEEEE...
Hate/Love sound of life in balance
Death with foothold.
Hold back the tears as if courage will open
Those beautiful sad eyes of blue
Sorry ...So Sorry.
Beg/Chant/Bargain/Prayer.
“I love you so
We love you so much
Please God, just this once
Please.”
She is led away by silent nurses.
Looks of knowing burn her.
Callused sympathy from the ward
Having seen so many tears with no end in sight.
“Its for the best”, breaks through her numbing grief.
She clutches a sofa of dingy vinyl orange
Losing herself in a world of emptiness and pain.
Trickle streams of love dry slow
In rooms empty of miracles.
________________________________________________
From time to time I will share my thoughts about loss. But not too often. Please give me your thoughts. If you have trouble posting on this blog, try registering as a Follower. If that doesn't help, email me and if you give me permission, I will cut and paste your thoughts into the blog for you.. Thankfor reading.
b
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