2012
Creative Gratification
Today I have achieved something I never imagined I
could have ever achieved; as I listen to Wendy as she
reads the girls a bedtime story my fingers plow deep
into a bag of peanut M&M’s pulling out two at a
time not a bit concerned about the consequences
of gastric distress my indiscretion will provoke
once what has melted in my mouth and not in
my hands reaches the lasagna that has set up
light housekeeping in my small intestines
that will surely be unpleased to find an
uninvited visitor encroaching upon
their borborygmic diversions; but
despite the gut rumblings I can
say that I am finished with
this escapade as it’s time
to start a new chapter
in my creative life,
one that, like a
spinning top,
will whirl
me into a
frenzy of
delight
and
joy
Eternity
Watching storm clouds
moving slowly overhead
reminds me that time moves
though there are days that feel
never ending where the clock reads
4:44 no matter when and how often I
look at it making me think that there is
some prophetic message there, perhaps it
is the exact that I will pass from this life into
the next, where I shall spend eternity wondering
whether I wasted my life foolishly pondering those
questions which simply had no answers, or if my musings
were merely the grist for the mill in my unrelenting pursuit of
enjoying just one single solitary moment of creative gratification.
The Universe
I have come to realize
that I know nothing,
that every piece of
knowledge I
have come
to acquire
in my life
is useless
and that
the universe
is nothing
more than
an infinite
sinkhole
where my
thoughts,
everything that
I have ever said, felt,
learned, contemplated,
dreamed, imagined, created,
are all buried and will remain
forevermore in the boundless
and barren wasteland of eternity.
Perhaps I Was Right
I hate being right
because when I am
it usually means that
something is going to
go wrong and that I will
no doubt succumb to some
sort of heartbreak and malaise;
so this time I’m hoping that my
intuition is off kilter and that
what I fear most will never
come to fruition for if it
does it will be the end
of me and the end
of every speck of
innocence that
is left in the
universe.
Inflammation
They say it’s
what’s at the
root of what
ails most of
us; causing
heart disease
and cancers
and a slew of
maladies that
if we could
only control
would bring
health and
wellbeing;
I, myself,
believe it’s
gluten that
causes my
inflammation,
that makes my
joints ache and
my guts rebel
and surely it
does no good
whatsoever to
the pancreas,
which, so utterly
poisoned by gluten,
killed my very own
great-grandfather;
I used to think that
his daily consumption
of toasted challah
made him sick and
now I know, all these
years later, that
perhaps I was right.
Why My Ears Itch
I thought it could be
a result of my compulsive
over-cleaning of my ears as
I am profoundly repulsed by
the unanticipated discharge of
the small moist slivers of ear wax
that occasionally fall from my ears
landing inconveniently on my clothes
startling me into thinking that perhaps its
origin was another more despicable orifice;
I’ve always wondered where these waxy flakes
come from and how they are formed seeing that
my ear hygiene is so impeccable that it is all but
startling to find these things after all the trouble I
go through keeping my ears clean in the first place;
in the end it turns out that the itching is due to some
sort of dermatological manifestation whose name I can
never seem to remember—psoriasis or eczema—but I have
been prescribed a white cream that I must apply just inside of
my ear to help diminish the annoying itching and inflammation.
Contempt
Some may say
that I display
contempt
for my
life
living
it badly
without an
iota of regard
for anyone else’s
feelings;
which makes
me wonder
if that is
why my
ears
itch.
Your Name
When I hear your name
it all comes rushing back;
the memories, the sorrow,
the trying to piece together
the fragments of what could
not be put back together again;
and when I hear your name it’s
your face I see, your smile and
the serenity in your eyes that
soothed me just by looking
into them; and when I hear
your name it also reminds
me that you are no longer
a part of my life, perhaps
not even part of any life
as what life you had
was sucked out of
you by a raging,
uncontrollable
malady that
left me not
only in a
lonely
funk
but
as
a
victim
of
its
unprejudiced
contempt.
As Harmonious As Possible
I have never been to the Holy Land
and though I am a Jew I am not a Zionist;
I do not believe in lines drawn in the sand or
when politics clash with religion and the only result
is death, destruction and every cruelty that humanity
inflicts upon those who do not share common beliefs,
Gods or fantasies written in books by common men
whose only desire is to promulgate enough nonsense
to fill the minds of the masses with foolishness and
taunt their enemies into believing that their God is
the one true God and that righteousness is only
reserved for those who agree with whoever is
dishing out the rigamarole on any given day;
civilization would certainly be better off
without religion and if there is a God,
which I believe there is, why not
just reveal yourself once and
for all and make yourself
and your intentions
known so there
will no longer
be a need for
humankind
to continue
killing in
your name.
To Love You Forever
To love you the way
a man should love a
woman, the way a
woman should be
loved by a man,
would mean I
would first
need to
confess
that I
possess
an astute
understanding
of exactly what love
is and what it means to me;
sadly I can only say that my
understanding of love is all but
comprised of a most rudimentary
appreciation of endearment and
the seemingly inevitable abatement
that occurs no sooner than when
a man professes his love for a
woman or a woman for a man;
if I could choose to love you
forever, I would choose
not to do so, only to
try and make our
lives together as
harmonious
as possible.
Unspoiled By Nature
Like the leaves that fall slowly to the ground
or the birds who soar effortlessly in the skies
there are seas and deserts and mountains that
are unspoiled by nature drawing me in to the
lush abundant flora and virgin sandy beaches
where in my dreams I walk alone with only a
satchel full of memories of days gone by and
the lingering taste of your salt water kisses on
my lips rekindle my desire to love you forever.
When I Awake
There will
come a day
when I will
awake alone
in the twilight
of my life and
forgive myself
for my many
shortcomings,
countless regrets
and the unresolved
matters that eat away at
my emotions prying apart
my sensibilities like a pistachio
whose shell we cast aside while
enjoying only what had been kept
unrevealed and unspoiled by nature.
Alone
I recall forgotten times
when my world was placid
and you were only someone I
dreamed of at night as I drifted
off to sleep in my lonely bed where
alone I could outstretch my arms and
legs to their fullest and toss and turn all
night long without the flailing appendages
of babies or over-zealous lovers smacking
me in the face or having to absorb the
assortment of karate kicks, knee jabs
and uncut toenails that would leave
my body scratched, scarred and
bruised reminding me when I
awoke that I did not sleep
alone, but accompanied
by the memories of
those who are no
longer there
when I
awake.
Them
I hate
that it
has to
be us
and
them;
I hate
that it
has to
be me
alone.
The Tide of Time
I am a transient
who, like the
tide of time,
washes in
and out
with the
push and pull of
the sun and moon;
I am the rough
hot grains of
sand that
wait to
be
washed
clean and cool
and left moist and
smooth on the seashore
speckled with shells that
glisten in the moonlight
waiting for morning
and little girls
to come and
collect
them.
My Life
My life can be summed up in a few simple words;
but I would choose not to select them should I be
seen as being too arrogant or too modest;
many have told me of their envy that I
have travelled widely and well, that
I have lived in foreign lands,
have fathered children;
but when I try and
assure them that
what my life has
been was only
running away
these years,
they think
I’m being
humble,
but little
do they
suspect
that the
reality
behind
all my
travels
is not
in my
desire
to be
free
but
to
be,
if
for
only a
moment,
a wave
in the
tide of
time.
Dreams
If I knew
my heart
as well as
I knew my
mind, maybe
then I would
find answers
to the questions
I’ve always been
asking about life;
if there was a way to
see in dreams what I am
to become, I would sleep
for a thousand years and awake
in the twilight of what remains of
the days, months and years of my life.
The Midday Sun
There are few things
that warm me the
way your smile
does;
the
midday sun,
my morning coffee,
a warm autumn breeze;
and your touch restores
my sense of the world
around me lifting my
my spirits higher,
reawakening
the part of
me that
dies in
dreams.
Empty And Broken
Some are promises
like empty bottles
laying broken and
strewn about the
cityscape like a
crystal maze of
shiny splinters
glistening in
the midday
sun.
Decay And Misery
I saw that a friend of a friend lost his wife to cancer today
a young woman younger than myself who was obese,
somewhat slovenly and unattractive to my eyes;
but she died, her body racked by disease,
decay slowly ate away her existence,
she left a husband and a child;
I didn’t know her and I
certainly don’t care
about her, yet
her misery
and the
pain
her
death
has caused
those who loved
her eats away at my
sensibilities like her death
was my very own and the grief
that the passing of a total stranger has
left in the pit of my soul is like a cancer eating
away at my conscience, leaving me empty and broken.
Euphoria (Part 2)
Somebody else’s drug
like candy and morphine
coffee foam and cigarettes
storks and herons begging
for morsels but never take
what I toss them from my
balcony as if my stale
bread wasn’t good
enough for them;
somebody else’s
misery every day
placing obituaries
in daily papers going
through personal effects
drawers, suitcases, attics
rummaging through the lives
of the dead, picking through the
letters and lingerie of those who
only knew euphoria in the final
moments of their pathetic lives
and whose last words were a
symphony of deplorable
decay and misery.
In My Dreams
It’s uncanny
that after so
many years
I’m still not
sure how to
differentiate
between my
dreams and
what’s real;
perhaps it’s
a condition
of a boyish
immaturity
suffered by
a man who,
at nearly 50,
simply won’t
accept that a
dream can be
lived only in
the chasm of
our fears and
subconscious
and lives for
every second
where dreams
allow escape
and liberation
from a reality
that is closer
in kind to a
nightmare
than to
euphoria.
The Very Last
I know it’s looming fast
looking upon me with
hate seeming eager to
prolong the inevitable
while taking pleasure
in my suffering and
relishing in the fact
that it knows what
I will never know
that the end would
hardly be a swift
affair or one that
would bring any
solace to those
who loved me
once in my
dreams.
The Morning Grass
There are so few
unspoiled things
in life that serve
to remind us that
our time on earth
is momentary, to
be lived in a way
that when our life
comes to pass the
only we regret we
have is not having
walked barefoot on
the wet, newly cut
morning grass that
is covered by a veil
of glistening dew and
arouses our senses and
reminds us that every day
is a blessing and every single
moment in time one that should
be lived as if it were the very last.
Sorrow
I’ve dreamed of you more than
I’ve dreamed of any other
person I’ve ever known;
perhaps I dream about
those for whom I
carry the most
guilt within;
whatever the
reason is, it gives
me pleasure seeing
you even if it’s only in
a dream where dormant
desires remain after so many
years and where I can, even if
only for a few fleeting moments,
exist in the same realm with you and
wake up with your scent infused upon my
pillow and the unspoiled recollection of your
soft hair cascading over me like a silken waterfall
as fresh as the dew that sits atop the morning grass.
Molten Embers
Ever since I can remember
I’ve seen these odd floating
images dancing beneath my
eyelids that look like strings
of molten embers floating or
dangling in strange wavy side
to side motions or in bouncy up
and down waves that I try to follow
until I lose sight of them as they drift
out of view or burst into smaller stands
of glowing light like phosphorescent pearls
or teardrops that explode into tiny stars of sorrow.
Pleasure and Joy
It was so many years ago
but the feeling remains
standing outside on a
cold winter’s day in
some nondescript
square in the
south of
Spain
with
the
sun
shining
so brightly
warming me
and the old men
who stood propped
up against a church wall
with warmth exploding beneath
our skin like searing molten embers.
To Bitterly Hate
The smile on your face
that greets me when I walk
in the door lights up my world
and sends feelings stronger than
I’ve ever felt rushing through my
body filling every cell to the very
core with blissful sensations and
an awe-inspiring wonder that
makes me contemplate how I
could ever be capable to
bitterly hate a life that
at times allows me
so much unmerited
pleasure and joy.
What I Was Never Able To Be
The list is
too long
of what
I was
never
able
to
be
I
am
now
merely
a vulgar
stew of all
I have come
to bitterly hate.
My Entire Life
I’ve spent every day
of my entire life waiting
for a man to appear at my door
but not once has he appeared there;
at the very least you’ll have known that
I was there when you came into this world
and mine was the first face you’d ever seen;
that your first years of life were spent in my
loving care and that every kiss that found its
way to your cheek was put there with every
bit of love that I could muster up though I
have to admit I’m still not exactly certain
what love has to do with anything at all;
it’s just something conjured up so that
humankind would have a suitable
adversary for hatred and a way
for mortals to revere the gods
they created in their minds;
so remember me with kind
thoughts and forgive me
for what I was never
able to be.
Nancy
I knew it was you
by the unmistakeable
voice on the telephone
answering machine;
but when I phoned again
and you answered, you
were unwavering in your
stance that not only had we
never met, you hadn’t the
slightest clue who I was
and insisted that not only
had you never lived in
Los Angeles, you hadn’t
even visited there since
your father took you to
Disneyland when you
were just a little girl;
I wanted to ask you
about the child I heard
playing in the background
but couldn’t bring myself
to further intrude on your
privacy or be a nuisance;
I apologized for calling
saying that I was looking
for someone with the same
name who had also lived
in the Bay area and quietly
said goodbye in the silence
of everything I knew you
wanted to say but were either
too angry, too taken aback or
too indignant to say to me;
and how many times have
I wanted to call again, to
insist that I know it’s you
there on the other end of
the telephone line, to implore
you to talk to me, to forgive me,
and to allow me the opportunity
to right the greatest wrong I’ve
committed in my entire life.
She Smoked
Let’s just say
we’ll call her
Nancy.
My Many Shortcomings
I’d love to blame all
my shortcomings on
the fact that my mother
smoked cigarettes when
she was pregnant with me;
It would help to easily explain
a lot of things, such as my short
attention span, short stature and the
occasional displays of a short temper;
and wouldn’t it be nice if I could blame
every sorrow, every pain and every injustice
I’ve ever suffered on her simply because, like
most young pregnant women of her generation,
she smoked.
The Benevolent Keeper
I’m
looking
for someone
who will forever be
the keeper of my secrets;
a trusting soul who won’t
be overly judgmental or
quick to point out my
many shortcomings.
The Naive Years Of My Youth
I wish I would have had
someone to hold my hand
to show me how it’s done
to take me through the steps
one by one
to
lead me gently
through the process
to point out the subtleties
explain how and why
teach me
preach to me
give me the tools
the knowhow
the infinite wisdom
to do things right
whether they turn out right
or not;
you
will not be alone in this
but you will have to make
sacrifices
ones I’m sure will
perturb you
agitate your good spirit
down to the marrow;
but if you do this,
listen,
follow,
learn,
work,
trust,
fight
and never give up,
then we’ll win,
together,
you and I
under the watchful eye
of the benevolent keeper.
Folly
Being in your presence
has curative properties
your smile sends warm
feelings flowing within
but it’s the folly of love
that leaves me dejected,
bemused and wondering
if I will ever rediscover
the essence of life that I
once so masterfully and
artfully possessed in the
naive years of my youth.
Deception That Our Minds Form
The best tricks
are the ones
we play on
ourselves;
the lies
we tell
the tall
tales
and
all
expose
the human
condition and
reveal that it is
nothing more than
a series of carefully
executed fabrications
elevating our eminence
to the heights of fools and
fibbers and dreamers who live
only to see the odyssey end in folly.
Pure White Snow
I never understood how
snowflakes are formed;
I get the idea of water
freezing when coming
into contact with cold
air, but what gives the
snowflake its unique
outline and size and
how, when and why
do the single falling
glassy slivers heap
into a fresh carpet
of flawless, virgin
pure white snow?
I often wonder if
these miracles of
nature are truly
that, or if they
are merely a
deception
that our
minds
form.
Snowslide At Dawn
At
the
very
pinnacle
of life lies
the destiny we
have created in
the depths of our
imaginations where
our ambitions become
the whole of our existence
and the dreams we dream are
born and die from the very same
desires we have to discover the secrets
of the universe, to decipher the meaning
of life and, like an avalanche at first dawn,
blot out the winter sun obliterating everything
from our path leaving only a mantle of pure white snow.
The Great Unknown
It’s where peril
meets paradise
a place that I’ve
only dreamed of
where you and I
will finally meet
again to live the
life we never had;
the great unknown
it’s life and death
where shadows and
clouds obscure the
truth leaving only
the sadness of our
existence in hues
of muted sunlight
and a silence that
is as piercing as a
snowslide at dawn.
My Hot Weary Soul
The virus infects my body
but it’s the fever that
punishes my soul
.
My temperature rises
I become weaker
my thoughts fail
.
I am weary and
delusional, reality
distant and obscure
.
I have no home or
memories of the past
no final resting place
.
There is only heat,
pain, suffering and
the great unknown.
Sweet
There are many ways
to get the fix I need
they call it a sweet
tooth but it’s not
my teeth that
long for the
sweetness
of your
kisses;
I have
kissed
lips of
honey,
but none
as candied
and syrupy
as your lips,
moist, sugary
and warm like
a balmy summer
drizzle that stings
the flesh but cools
my hot weary soul.
Euphoria
There are times
when even the
slightest bit of
happiness can
take hold of my
spirit and whirl
it around like a
rodeo cowboy’s
lasso; that’s the
feeling I get when
I am swept up in
those rare moments
of euphoria when at
last my tears taste sweet.
I Wonder What Will Be In The End
In many ways we are barbarians
but then again we all suffer the
same condition, we’re all cut
from the same mold, made
from flesh and blood and
bones which crave food
and water and sex and
knowledge; but what
makes us different
makes us alike,
we are grains
of sand in an
infinite and
unyielding
universe;
so I ask
myself
how I
think this
will all end;
I wonder what
will be when all
is said and done and
our gods devour us again
and spit us out into some new
wretched existence where we can
learn once again to hate, kill, and pray
to entities that we worship because our
souls burn with the desire to be equally
loved and hated with the flaming passion
that only humans could equate to euphoria.
Seems Fair
There is no such thing as fate
we all create the realities we deserve
we are at best shallow crevices in the universe
where pebbles, shards of glass and infinite wisdom
collect like dust between the panels of the thick drapes
that hang over my bedroom window that hiccup millions
of microscopic particles that dance in the rays of sunlight
flowing through the glass illuminating every imperfection
of the face that stares back at me in the mirror which
reminds me in the most cruel and spontaneous way
that I am aging and that my hair is thinning and
that my forehead and eyebrows serve as an
oasis for flakes, dead skin and dandruff
and that the graying stubble that
grows from my chin will be
there even long after I’m
dead and buried; though
it seems fair that life
takes these turns,
I can’t help but
feel sorry for
myself as I
wonder
what
will
be
in
the
end.
Faithlessness
My belief in God
transcends religion
and is so very, very
personal that if you
were to ask me about
my views concerning
religion, I would probably
sock you right in the nose;
so let’s make a deal: you don’t
express your religiosity in my presence
and I won’t sock you in the nose; seems fair.
My Own Reality
My own reality
is about not having
the strength left to write
even a single line of poetry
or change a diaper or walk the dog;
it’s about feeling betrayed by every
person I know even though my
paranoia is unwarranted
and the only betrayal
that exists is my
own despairing
faithlessness.
His World
Distance is the cruelest foe
it keeps me from gazing
into his world, one that
I used to feel a part of,
one that is now only
what I imagine it to
be, one that every
so often I peer
into barely
seeing the
little that
remains of
something
that is no
longer a
part of my
own reality.
It Might Be Him
I see him
from time
to time
in dreams
in clouds
in those odd
floating visions
I see when I look
into the sun with
my eyes closed;
I know it’s him
because I can
smell the rank
sweetness of
Skin Bracer
and coffee
and feel his
warm and
gentle air
surrounding
comforting
protecting
carrying
me off
to his
world.
A Thing That Money Can’t Buy
When I was a little boy
every Saturday was toy day
and my grandmother would
take me to Cut Rate on
Devon Avenue and I was
allowed to buy whatever
toy my little heart desired;
but how could a little boy
know that what his heart
truly desired was the love
of a man he never knew,
one who never came to pick
him up though he waited for
him for hours downstairs on the
stoop dressed in his baseball uniform
clutching his ball and mitt gazing beyond
the church on Thorndale Avenue for any
car to turn onto his street with the hope
that maybe, just maybe,
the next car might be his.
Moral Folly
I’ve never
been with
a call girl
though I
can’t tell
you why
maybe it
is fear or
perhaps I
am just a
man who
can’t be a
customer
to women
who sell a
service to
men who
I feel are
taking for
granted the
beauty and
translucent
allure of a
thing that
money
simply
can’t
buy.
I Do
I first said these words
twenty years ago
it was April
Fools Day
1992
but at the
time I hardly
thought it was
a foolish thing to do;
and
now after
all these years
have come and gone
I realize that my marriage
was just another fantasy that
I created and lived out in my mind;
but in retrospect I am grateful to
having had the chance of being
able to experience one of the
great social peculiarities
known to humanity
where a man and
a woman are
betrothed to
one another
in what is
but an odd
ritual of
servitude
and moral
folly.
Battles Only My Mind Could Wage
I’ve tried for
all these years
to come to some
understanding
with myself;
one where the
battles that are
fought inside
of my mind
could lead
to a better,
more vivid
dimension
of truth and
where one
day I may
discover
that the
only real
enemy I
ever had
was the
one that
I invented
in my head,
the one who
looked, acted,
sounded and
had the same
skewed sense
of reality that
I do.
Fury and Rage
Perhaps it’s a condition of age
this repugnant rendition of fury and rage
that leaves me bitter, weary and disengaged;
but if I were as wise as the wisest sage
my wit and knowledge I could engage
to test the limits that one could gauge
of battles only my mind could wage.
Submission
It’s
about
having
control
keeping
semblances
of normalcy
in an otherwise
chaotic existence
I have no intention
of letting emotions
rule the reality
of my ever
changing
world
that
will
one
day
end
in a
din
of
fury
and
rage.
The Cruelty Of Fate
We’ve all known misery
we’ve all been blindsided by fate
there is no harsher reality in life
than those cruel moments that takes us by surprise
knocking the wind out of us leaving us paralyzed
totally incapacitated to confront the
reality which stands before us
waiting for our submission.
Mere Happenstance
Giving it some thought
I’d like to think
there was an
explanation
or a reason
that we
almost
lost
you
but
I
can
not
find
words
precise
enough to
ask what I
fear to have
answered by
the cruelty of fate.
Imaginations
At the heart of
everything that
has ever been
created is what
the mind devises
and what others
deem as nonsense;
these oftentimes
illogical outcomes
that begin as bursts
of images and ideas
linger in our shared
consciousness and
reveal that we are
none the cleverer
for what our coy
imaginations conjure
up and that we as
a species live in
a precarious globule
of mere happenstance.
Within Us All
Within each of us
there is the capacity
to elevate humanity to
the highest highs and at the
same time bring it to its lowest lows;
in each of us there is a coward and a demon,
a genius and a moribund wasteland of eternal doom;
yet if we choose our paths wisely and commit to lives of sanctity,
the good within us all will prevail over the evil that only exists in our imaginations.
Struggle For Survival
It’s not only about staying alive
it’s not about sustaining bodily functions
it’s not about love or intimacy or sex or sensuality
and it’s not about trust or money or worldly possessions
it’s about our struggle to merely survive from day to day
to do whatever is humanly possible to ensure we see the
sun rise and set and the moon and stars illuminating the
darkness of the night sky that guides our spirituality
and awakens the sensibilities that lay dormant
within the depths of our imaginations and
fuels the fire that our souls desperately
need to liberate the clarity and calm
that burn to be free within us all.
Victims of War
It’s not always
about bullets,
guns, bombs
and murder;
in one way
or another
we are all
victims of
the wars
that life
wages
on the
weak;
in the
end we
are unable
to save ourselves
from ourselves and
from the devastation
we create in our endless
pitiful struggle for survival.
Living
I couldn’t bare
watching the
footage of
that dying
baby who
reminded
me of my
own baby
daughter;
those last
breaths I
knew in
a matter
of a few
seconds
would
leave
its own
parents
living
victims
of war.
To Live Forever
It’s something that
crosses the mind of
every mortal at least
once during the course
of a lifetime; the possibility
of living forever, vanquishing
illness, disease and every malady;
conquering the last frontier of science by
defeating the only fear that torments the living.
Fleetingly Alive
If it weren’t for oxygen
there would be barely
enough will in me to
sustain my life;
but if disillusion
and despair were all
the body, mind and soul
required for sustenance,
then I would possess all
the nutrients needed
to live forever.
Let The Medicine Decide My Fate
No matter how it’s ingested
what is meant to cure
always kills us
in the end
though
our
illness
rests in
remission
what remains of
the pills and drips
keep us fleetingly alive.
The Subtle Art of Dying
If I knew it would
please my maker
I would put forth
a greater effort to
die in a more subtle
and graceful way;
if I thought there
would be any
any redemption
in leaving this life
composed and placid
rather than kicking and
screaming, I would simply
swallow the pills, shut
my mouth and let the
medicine decide my fate.
Pain That Only Death Brings
I imagine it tastes like
orange blossom honey
fragrant like serenity
blowing in from
a jasmine sea;
the only pain
that death
brings is
in the
subtle
art of
dying.
My Own Despair
I suppose I owe it to you
to tell you about my own despair,
that missing you causes more pain
than I’m physically able to bear;
these rushes and tantrums
and feverish torment
lead me to the brink
of madness where
images of my
past life fill
my mind
with the
sort of
pain
that
only
death
brings.
The Only Living Soul Around
What if mine
was the only
voice I heard;
my shadow
the companion
with whom I
shared my
loneliness;
and what if I
were the only
living soul around;
would I even
notice or would I
merely dissolve into
the void of my
own despair.
I Wasn’t Really Alone
It’s a discomforting sensation
being surrounded by loved ones
smothered in affection and knowing
there are people in this world who hold me
in high esteem, who look up to and admire me
while there is a loneliness and feeling of longing
and despair that overwhelms me at every turn seemingly
plundering the little happiness that comes in small infrequent
bursts of contentment while only providing temporary solace from
the indignity that I suffer in a world where I am the only living soul around.
What We Are Able To Bear
The snow has melted
and I have bid you
farewell again
rode the train
home alone
from the
airport
again
and
slept
in a
haze
where you
you came to
me in a dream
and reminded me
that I wasn’t really alone.
Dodgeball
Life teaches us
many lessons
some more
important
than
others;
but what
is a life spent
dodging bullets
with skin so thin
that even the sting
of falling rain reduces
our tolerance to pain to the
very limit of what we able to bear.
Misgivings and Subtle Ineptitudes
Living in a state of
constant unease
wearing these
misgivings
like an old
coat whose
tattered
sleeves
and
fraying
collar let in
the cold winter
air that chills my
bones bringing to mind
recollections of all those
winter mornings standing
on the corner of Granville and
Mozart waiting for the call of “e-o”
that signaled all patrol boys could head
in rushing to the gym where the PTA moms
had pots of hot cocoa, marshmallows and cookies
waiting for the legions of orange belted youngsters who
stood outside bearing the elements only for the chance to
be excused from classes on Friday afternoons to play dodgeball.
A Fool For All To See
It’s enlightening
when one comes
to the realization
that rather than
fading away,
dreams, like
any other
fantasy
the human
mind is capable
of conjuring up,
can be realized by
simply following the
right path, the one that
is illuminated by our desire
to only be led astray by our own
misgivings and subtle ineptitudes.
About My Own Self
It’s only a fool
who, when given
the chance, reveals
about himself that what
others already know about him;
if only I could paint a picture of
the me I had always
hoped to be, I would
gladly acquiesce
and be a fool
for all to
see.
Ruin and Decay
Twenty-five years ago I was a much younger man
who knew so very little about people
who took things at face value
who hadn’t a clue what it meant for someone to have low self-esteem
and had I known then what I know now
I might have been able to comprehend
just what you meant
as you stood there staring into the
bathroom mirror
telling yourself
over and over again
how ugly you thought
you were;
I still know very little about people
even less, perhaps,
about my own self.
A Warm Summer’s Day
Now only
a distant memory
though the sun shines
brightly in a cloudless sky,
I have but scant recollections
of the last time I felt warmth radiate
within me deeply penetrating every frozen
cell in my body that today seem to be dying in
an icy wasteland of inhospitable ruin and decay.
What We Too Will One Day Become
It is said that we eventually
become the thing we hate
but how my dreams can
prosper in a cesspool of
malaise and despair is
beyond the realm of
what my mind can
comprehend;
and should it
come to pass that
I die before my time
I have only one wish to
leave behind: that what I
was will come to be no more
and the words that have emanated
from my mind dissolve into a stinging mist
bursting from a storm on a warm summer’s day.
Their Own Parents
I see people nowadays
treating their own parents
with such disdain that I wonder
if I too am beginning to look upon
my own mother and father with indifference
as they suffer through the realities and maladies of ageing;
it’s one thing to hold our parents in contempt for
our feelings that the failed to live up
to our expectations, but it’s
another to rebuke them
because we see in
them what we too
will one day
become.
A Child’s Heart Can Truly Adore
There is nothing as innocent as what
a child’s heart can truly adore
the uninhibited delights
and endless curiosity
the perfection they
see in everything
even the gaping
imperfections
in their own
parents.
A Cold Grey Wintery Sky
The first snowfall of winter
is a pristinely indulgent affair
while the skies bleed flakes of awe
I sit in the warmth of privileged comfort
as my young daughter looks through the window
out at the falling snow with a look of wonderment seeing
only what a child’s eyes can see and only a child’s heart can truly adore.
Liberated
I am no longer bound
by anything other than
my desire to let thoughts
flow from a mind that is at
once both tormented and serene
melancholy and completely at peace;
let me be redeemed and the words that
find their way onto these pages be liberated
like the first snowflakes that, at the beginning
of time, ever fell from a cold grey wintery sky.