POEMOGRAPHY | 2025
Poems by R.M. Usatinsky
pōəˈmäɡrəfē, noun: form or process of writing and representing poetry
JULY
01JUL25 | CUTTING BACK
I’ve been thinking about cutting back;
wondering what would happen if I only
worked three days a week instead of four,
cutting back on my creative endeavors and
simply sitting back and seeing where life
takes me; work brings me an income, so
that’s a no-brainer, and while my creative
projects—for the most part—bring immense
satisfaction, I’m not quite sure I need them to
survive, not sure if the investment of time and
effort pays reasonable enough dividends; so
I wonder if the time I expend working on these
might be better spent enjoying the creative works
of others—authors, directors, musicians, etc.—and
while away my years as a spectator rather than trying
to fulfil so many unfilled dreams creating artistic work
02JUL25 | COOLING
There’s a moment
after the heat subsides
when cool air settles in
and replaces the oppressive
stifle of the muggy summer
sun; today’s cooling came
just after a brief thunderstorm
rolled overhead, leaving in its
wake the most pleasant steady
breeze that blew through the
house creating a wondrous calm
that left me standing in the open
balcony door with my eyes closed
tightly and my senses uplifted, then
breathing deeply in as if these were
the first breaths I had ever breathed
03JUL25 | PAIN
I’ve sat in the dentist’s chair many a time,
a lifetime of six-month checkups, cleanings,
extractions, orthodontia; but today’s visit
was the most painful I’d ever experienced;
apparently one of the few fillings I have fell
out and needed to be replaced, so I went to
the clinic prepared with earbuds to drown out
the sound of the drill (I never request any sort
of anesthesia) and cranked up a Journey playlist
and practiced some deep breathing exercises; but
neither the music nor the breathwork was enough
to dampen the pain—the drilling came thisclose
to the gum and the assistant was all but hellbent on
shoving my tongue down my throat (not to mention
the dentist stretching my mouth about six inches
away from my face); at least I have good teeth
04JUL25 | HIS NAME IS ED
I know him; I’ve seen him in a million
films and I’m nearly certain his name is
Ed; nearly certain because I have a hard
time remembering even the most familiar
things; I remember the lyrics to every 80s
song I’ve ever heard, though sometimes I’m
not sure who the artist is; I can remember
where every single student sat in Mrs. English’s
fourth grade class at Clinton school (Michael
Blacker, row six, seat six; Martha Waller, row
four, seat four…); so I’m sitting at home watching
a film and there’s Ed, playing the dying father of
Jason Sudeikis’ character, they’re driving to Kansas
so Ed can develop some old film at the last lab that
does it; and though I’m only twenty minutes in, it’s
hard to keep the tears in my eyes; got it…Ed Harris
05JUL25 | AN INTERESTING TURN OF EVENTS
I always tell myself I won’t go back,
that I’m content the way things are;
I suppose it’s a summer thing, time
when boredom and inquietude set in;
you see, loneliness is a double-edged
sword; it’s an interesting turn of events,
us finding each other under the waxing
gibbous moon, the one hiding so plainly
inside thin, low-hanging clouds that appear
to the south floating over Rotterdam; but
what’s more interesting than the moon is the
series of the week’s events, watching films
where one woman confesses that her husband
is the most interesting person she’s ever known;
another where an interracial couple blur the lines
between love and social norms; I am so ready for this
06JUL25 | WHAT IF
What if it was all in my head
the doom and gloom and dread;
what if it was the shadows in my room
monsters in the closet and under the bed;
what if I had loved you the way one should
would it have made a difference or done any good;
what if I’d been born in the autumn instead of the spring
could the season I was born in really have changed anything;
what if things were different, what if they could change
what if we could fix what’s broken, adapt and rearrange;
what if I could undo all the things I’d done and said
what if you had been a friend and not an enemy instead;
what if today was my last day on earth
what if one’s death is really one’s birth;
and what if I disappeared right into thin air
not sure that anyone but you would even care
07JUL25 | THE BEGINNING OF THE END
I can feel the decay setting in;
the beginning of the end, the
ever so slight clues the body
leaves in the most inconvenient
ways, just enough to sound the
alarms but seemingly never quite
loud enough to stir me from sleep;
there is no pain, only discomfort;
but there is fear, fear and the ever
present unease that it may end at
any moment, that what I’ve known
will become unknown and that all
I have become will be reduced to
nothing in the matter of a single
fleeting instant; and then it will
be me, alone, trapped, departed
08JUL25 | THE LAST OUNCE OF DIGNITY
You’ve taken everything else
but I refuse to cede the last
ounce of dignity; you’ve taken
my home, the one I found, the
one I convinced you would be
the ideal place to raise our family;
then the deceit and betrayal, the
meticulously devised plan to take
everything from me, systematically,
little by little, one piece at a time;
then the alienation, then refusing to
intervene when you knew you could
easily remedy the situation; and day
after day you continue beating me
down, belittling and rebuking, making
me feel small, insignificant and unwanted
09JUL25 | ALL THESE POEMS
All these poems,
and for what? I
write them only
to say I did, like
the stamp in my
passport declares
I have been there;
all these poems,
wasting space in
the void of time;
read by no one,
only serving to
deaden the pain,
like anesthesia for
a dying soul whose
only purpose is to die
10JUL25 | FLAT-BOTTOMED BOAT
I’m finally going to finish what I
started years ago, going through
the remaining twenty or so plastic
storage boxes I’ve hauled from
Chicago to Valencia to Liverpool
and to Holland; they contain the
remnants of my past—birthday and
bar mitzvah cards, photos, keepsakes,
clippings, school syllabi and memories
from a life long lived; I started clearing
them out during the pandemic but never
got back downstairs to our muggy, dusty
basement to finish the job; I’m hoping
that clearing it all away will help get
rid of the emotional cobwebs that have
been weighing heavy on me for years
11JUL25 | FLAT PAPER STRAW
You sucked it all out of me
like a flat paper straw, there’s
no way for anything to pass
through; you’ve sucked out
the life, the love, the will to
live and every ounce of desire
I had to fight for what I once
believed in; and what happens
to the flat paper straw? maybe
some futile effort to bring it
back to life, but those efforts
are always made in vain and
it’s always best to simply the
discard the thing that no longer
serves its purpose and lift off
the cup’s plastic top and drink
12JUL25 | IN REPLACEMENT
I’ve never deleted or replaced a poem
in this space as it’s never occurred to me
to do so until now; what had originally
occupied this realm has been discarded,
vanished into thin air with the click of
the mouse never to be seen again; but
maybe I’ll keep the original as a subtle
reminder of what happens when allowing
one’s self to stray from the straight and
narrow, veer off the path of enlightenment
and be whisked away in the moment of a
moment; so, unapologetically I replace a
few lines, some thoughts that, after giving
them some more thought, concluded they
would be better left unwritten, remaining,
as they will, in the void of my restless mind
13JUL25 | HAARLEM
I won’t be going to Haarlem today,
something about the best laid plans;
I should have known better than to
put my trust in strangers especially
as strangers are never as kind as I
expect them to be (or expect they
should be); instead I will stay home
and indulge in the familiar, the usual
Sunday breakfast of fried eggs, hash
brown potatoes, baked beans, tea and
toast; then I’ll surely lounge around,
watch a film or two, have a nap (or
two), eat lunch and dinner and settle
into the Cubs going for the series win
at Yankee Stadium; I won’t miss having
not gone to Haarlem, or you and your mess
14JUL25 | A HEIGHTENED SENSE OF AWARENESS
You have this heightened sense of awareness
that seems to be able to read my moods, know
my every thought and emotion like when I’m
crying while watching a film, which you do
so often without even seeing the tears falling
from my eyes; you’re always tuned into my
feelings, knowing when they’re up or down;
but what seems to elude this sixth sense of
yours is how you break my heart, and do it
silently, without as much as saying a single
word or glancing my way; and you won’t let
me hug you and you don’t confide in me; you
don’t share your feelings or ask about mine;
and I feel you slipping away, just like your
brother and sisters did, leaving me alone with
my head barely above the surface as I drown
15JUL25 | TWENTY-SIX CANDLES
Twenty-six candles on your birthday
cake today but I won’t be sending a
card or calling or thinking too much
about you; twenty-six years, but the
best ones are behind us; it seems I was
only meant to be a part of your life for
a short time; but those times were good,
well maybe not good but plentiful; I did
fulfill my fatherly duties as good as any
man, better perhaps, and no one can ever
take that away from me, not even you;
twenty-six candles on your birthday cake,
I hope you blow them out with fervor and
remember me in some small way; the love
I gave you and the small things that will
forever be a part of you and your existence
16JUL25 | QUIET SUFFERING
I often sit at the foot of my bed
gazing out into the courtyard;
sometimes I stand out on the
balcony or perched in the window
looking out over the canal trying
to make out if what I see floating
in the murky water is a plastic bag
or a patch of leaves; but it’s more
than just my eyesight that’s failing,
it seems like my whole damn body
is in a spiraling decline; there isn’t
any pain, just discomfort here and
there, the quiet suffering is mostly
in my head but that doesn’t mean it
isn’t real; I’m not ready for what’s
to come, but I guess no one ever is
16JUL25 | DITCH THE BEARD
It’s not my place to say
but ditch the beard; now
I know we only just met,
but I am, after all, a barber,
the one you chose to confide
in, placing your trust in my
skills and experience; now
you seem like a good enough
chap, a northerner who got a
good education and probably
caught a few breaks along the
way allowing you the position
of privilege you have achieved;
but that’s no excuse for a beard
that just doesn’t suit you, your
face, personality or profession
18JUL25 | THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOU AND ME
There are many differences between
you and me, but the one fundamental
difference is that only one of us would
throw the other a lifebuoy if the other
was drowning; the truth of the matter
is that we’ve both been drowning all
these years, we’ve both been emerged
up to our heads in the challenges of
life, careers, raising a family and trying
to keep afloat in what turned out to be
the stormiest of seas; what I find most
difficult to grasp is how we could have
saved each other, we could have lowered
the lifeboat and made it safely to shore; we
could have each taken an oar and paddled
to dry land navigating the tides and torrents
19JUL25 | SILENT TREATMENT
I guess it’s easier for some (most?)
people to simply go silent, to go no
contact, rather than dealing with the
issues or conflicts that resulted in the
silent treatment being implement in the
first place; for one thing, it’s easy and
doesn’t take a lot of effort, it’s basically
just turning away (or inward or wherever)
and tuning out (easy peasy); and of course
when a combatant, hostile parent decides
to go offline, it makes it that much easier
for the kids to follow suit (daughters have
a particular way of following the mother’s
lead (especially when the mother is ruthless
and overbearing); so I guess all that’s left to
do is bask in the silence and embrace the void
20JUL25 | OVERWHELM
I can’t seem to break free,
to walk away from the hit
of cortisol, from the blunt
blow of overwhelm each
time I pick up my phone
or sit down in front of my
computer; it’s beginning to
take its toll, pushing me ever
closer towards the edge of the
abyss and it’s got such a hold
on me I don’t think I’m able
to free myself from its grasp;
if only I could get myself out
of the front door, take a walk,
get some fresh air and sunlight,
anything to battle this malady
21JUL25 | THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD
Sometimes it feels as if
I’m carrying the weight
of the world, worrying
about everything and
everyone, overcome by
feelings of dread and
despair; and they never
subside, they are constant
and weigh heavy upon me;
I am never truly at peace, not
a single moment of serenity,
no golden hour when the sun
casts its perfect shadow through
the branches and dances lightly
upon the water; I dream about
drowning and wake up gasping
22JUL25 | INTUITION
There’s a fine line between
fear and intuition, when the
body and mind align, when
a premonition takes hold of
the senses and nothing can be
done to shake it loose or set it
free; I wonder how much of
what she’s feeling is fear and
how much is a foreboding of
what I dread most, the thing I
can’t bear to think about and
that has my stomach tied in
knots; perhaps it’s something
to do with our deep connection,
or maybe it’s nothing more than
our shared generational trauma
23JUL25 | NEBRASKA
I first traveled to Spain in the fall
of 1987, a last-minute decision to
try and kickstart my stagnant life
and begin healing the heartache of
the six years I spent in L.A. with
my high school sweetheart who
left me for an older man—her boss
at the savings and loan she worked
at; of all the memories I have from
the first two years in Granada, one
that seems to always come to mind
is seeing a blurb about a restaurant
chain, Nebraska, in a Frommer’s
travel guidebook saying they served
sandwiches (actually called such in
Spanish); such a linguistic marvel
24JUL25 | THE SUMMER PURGE
One of my favorite things about
my least favorite season, summer,
is my annual purge, the sorting and
sifting through the dozens of boxes
and whathaveyou that have been in
the basement collecting dust for the
past dozen years since we’ve had a
basement; these sturdy plastic boxes,
most of them purchased at Carrefour
in Valencia during the 2000s, contain
nostalgic bits and bobs of the last fifty
years (or more) of my life—photos,
cards, letters, books, cassettes, old keys
and I.D. cards—that I’m now prepared
to rid myself of; if I could only purge the
memories that live rent free in my head
25JUL25 | BUGS
It’s no secret that I dislike bugs;
but I’ll be honest in saying that
it’s a bit disconcerting having
observed a dramatic lack of the
the annoying winged variety; by
this time of the summer, the air
is brimming with flying insects,
especially the ones that end up
in my eyes, nose and mouth as I
ride my bicycle through town; so
where have they gone and why?
there hasn’t even been a single
bumble bee encroaching the odd
slant-in windows and hardly a
wasp (thank god) to be seen on the
balcony; but their absence is noted
26JUL25 | CLOSURE
Your plane landed in Liverpool
about an hour ago, in the place
we began our lives, where the
first of our three daughters was
conceived and born; and while
those two years along the Mersey
were some of the best years of my
life, they were the beginning of the
end of us, of our life together and
of the family that was decimated by
your cold and callous acts; let this be
the last letter I never sent you; let this
be the poem that locks the door behind
us; let this be the beginning of the poet
I’ve always dreamed of becoming; and
let this be the closure that releases me
27JUL25 | FINE LINES
What if we simply blurred the
fine lines that, by humanity’s
own incomprehensible doing,
have divided land and people
since the dawn of time; what if
we just saw these humanitarian
crises caused by the ravages of
war as simply that, without having
to define those who are starving;
starving is starving no matter in
which geographical location the
starving is being suffered; how
about we break down the borders,
remove the need to define people
by their nationalities, religions and
skin color, and take care of everyone
28JUL25 | CHILDWALL
I remember it as if it were
only yesterday; I’d hop on
the double-decker bus with
our young daughter, driving
through Wavertree and then
Broadgreen until the houses
begin appearing bigger and
more expensive, with tidy
lawns and freshly painted
fences; we’d stroll around
Childwall, meeting up after
work, sometimes stopping
in town to pick up dinner at
Tesco; when I reminisce about
those years, it’s always autumn,
leaves crackling beneath my shoes
29JUL25 | THE BATTLE
I wonder who will win
the battle that’s raging
in my head; so far, it’s
not looking very good
in my favor; but I will,
as I always do, fight on
and keep the faith while
holding on to the hope
that things will soon take
a change for the better, a
slight improvement is all
I need, something to get
my head above water just
long enough to catch my
breath and plunge back into
battle; you are my strength
30JUL25 | INVISIBLE SCARS
You’ll never see them
but they are there, the
invisible scars that are
embedded in my being;
everlasting reminders of
all I’ve had to endure; the
heartache and grief, deep
yearning for redemption
that was never found in a
kiss or a prayer or a soft
caress; scars that cannot
fade and will never be
forgotten; scars with no
form, only the certainty
that they will always and
forever remain a part of me
31JUL25 | JODI
Our mothers were best friends
way back when in the early 70s
and so were we; we did everything
together, drove everywhere in our
moms’ cars (yours drove a red Ford
Maverick and mine a white Chevy
Nova); we went out to eat and spent
hours in your garden apartment across
the street and shared a first kiss on the
stairs in front of my grandparent’s door;
you said you would make sure I wasn’t a
virgin anymore when you got home from
summer camp that year, but we were more
like brother and sister and soon grew apart;
we haven’t spoken since my grandmother’s
funeral in 1998; I dreamed of you last night