Poemography 2023 | R.M. Usatinsky

POEMOGRAPHY | 2023

Poems by R.M. Usatinsky

pōəˈmäɡrəfē, noun: form or process of writing and representing poetry

JANUARY

01JAN23 | THE FIRST DAY

It’s the first day of a new year

as I sit gazing into the waterway

watching as the water moves gently on its way

I wonder where the ripples will take me on this new journey

downstream, perhaps, to warmer, gentler streams

to a place where I’d be at one with the current

where cool air melds with the gentle breeze

where I can fill my eyes with sunshine and blue skies

I wonder if the universe has any more miracles up its sleeve

any more magic I can wave my wand above

any more spells to conjure up that could lead to tranquil shores

to nights filled with drowsy love and shimmering stars

and while I long for forgotten things

I’m not as lonely as I was yesterday

there is promise in the air and spring is close at hand

close enough to smell her budding flowers

02JAN23 | STONE WALLS

I wonder how much of human behavior is genetically acquired

my grandmother––as genteel as she was––often held grudges

and sometimes they were held for days or months or years

she would forgive, she used to say, but she would never forget

there have been times in my life when I have turned away

tuned out those who I loved the most; tuned out and inward

in the summer of 2004 I stopped talking; I was at my wit's end

divorce looming, middle age creeping, children growing

I had nothing more to say, nothing left to communicate

even the voices inside my head were rendered silent

later that autumn, my grandfather died as I chanted a prayer

thousands of miles away; his final letter arrived the next day

and now it's nearly three years since you raised a stone wall

and others nearer still have been raised since then as well

they rise and they fall and leave their crumbled fragments

strewn about the surface of my fractured mourning heart

03JAN23 | TUCKED IN

I've spent most of the last 25 years tucking kids into bed

but last night it was I who was tucked into bed by my

youngest daughter who has been spending more time

with me as of late; chatting long about this and that

and as she patted the blankets down all around me and

kissed me goodnight twice, I couldn't help but wonder if

there was something she knew; knew about the impermanence

of things, the fragility of life or if she sensed the winds of change

and when I woke up this morning there was a note beside my bed

that said open in the morning don't sneak; and when I unfolded the

note it read: love you, good morning, from Delilah, it's morning

and as I sat there on my bed reading what my daughter had written

I too couldn't help but wonder about what lay upon the horizon

so many unrevealed matters and unanswered questions to ponder

but the memory of being tucked into bed will linger for a lifetime

as will the immeasurable love I hold dear for all of my children

04JAN23 | THE MIRROR

I look at myself in the mirror every day

but today there was something different about the face

that was peering back at me; something disconcerting

something that felt uncomfortably out of kilter

I wonder if it was the storm and its raging winds

the out of balanceness that the elements often provoke

moments where I close my eyes and can feel the

passing of time as it envelops me in its cocoon

but upon closer inspection I came to realize that my

face like all the billions of faces on the planet are

creeping ever so slowly toward a common end

where our faces are dusted with the splendor of death

maybe what most astounded me by the face in the mirror

was how long and wistful it appeared; its moonlike surface

with its shadows and incandescent glow, its lines and welts

and leathery rind attesting to the decay of its master's shell

05JAN23 | THE SEAGULL

I heard a seagull crying in the darkness of the early morning

or at least that is what I thought it to have been

perhaps those soft melodic sounds were merely the faint

whistles coming from deep within my wheezing lungs

as I sat up in my bed I strained to listen more closely

but I was still unable to distinguish what or from where

those sounds were coming from; I put my slippers on

and walked to the living room window only to see no

seagulls or birds of any kind afloat upon the canal;

as I observed the water I couldn't help but notice how

still it had become after the gales of late had churned

it up revealing debris and discarded Christmas trees

so I stood at the window for a while longer looking

for signs of life, looking to the sky for anything to

remind me of my existence but all I saw was a clouded

gray reflection of a melancholy face staring back at me

06JAN23 | THE PARTING

I don’t know how my heart will survive this parting

a parting like no other that has ever come to pass

one that is incomparable, one whose suffering will

be unlike any suffering ever inflicted upon my soul

but where there is a parting there is sure to be a

distant shore on the horizon where a dove with

an olive branch in its mouth will lead me to a

tranquil place where new dreams can soar aloft

and in this new paradise I shall be reborn to a

brighter sun and warmer days and tranquility

that will ease my weary mind and body to sleep

in earthly delights in calm and peaceful surrender

and there I shall drink holy water and be sustained

by the harvest of truth and virtue; I will drift out

upon the river bathed by slowly moving currents until

I arrive at the place that destiny has prepared for me

07JAN23 | BARE BRANCHES

I spend far too much time peering out the window

looking at the canal and its willows who seem more

barren this year than last; the trees with their empty

branches swaying to and fro in the winter wind

I miss the leaves and their abundant grace

the way they ripple and dance and hang

ever so gloriously from their branches until

the first frosts come and loosen their hold

the bare branches remind me of my aging hands

pained with stiffening joints as I hold them up

toward the light looking for signs of petrification

observing as the skin becomes translucent and pale

but unlike the branches whose leaves will burst forth

and bud out again in spring, my hands will remain in

their delicate state of deterioration and over time

lose their ability of taking your small hand in mine

08JAN23 | MILESTONES

There are often too many numbers running

around inside my head; like my great-grandfather

who upon his deathbed at Edgewater Hospital

counted chairs, tables, cups, saucers and rabbis

but my numbers always correlate with time;

how old will I be when this or that comes to pass?

how long would it take me to write as many novels

as John Irving has if I continued writing novels today?

and more pressing still is the milestone of an

upcoming birthday, one that will mark a significant

quantity of years that I have lived or at least have

made an effort to live in good standing with humanity

and on this very day fourteen years ago, I said my final

adios to Valencia after more than a dozen years and

moved to the Low Countries (perhaps the lowliest of

them all) where the miles of stones continue piling up

09JAN23 | A WINTER'S VOICE

My voice is ever so much aligned with the seasons

the spring voice resonates re-birth and renewal

while summer's voice carries richness and reason;

autumn's voice is clear, resplendent and undaunted

but winter's voice is shallow and unbecoming of an

eternal optimist; it is dark and melancholy and void

of purpose and lacks the candor and joviality of

other season's voices which brim with life and song

I often speak aloud to myself during these long

winter days, taking the sun when and where it

appears like the old men who stand against walls

in sunlit squares in shivery Mediterranean cities

and I search in vain for a voice that is soothing

one that lets me know that the raspy crackles of

broken discourse subject these sunless soliloquies

to ears that would rather be filled with gentleness

10JAN23 | SAVIOR

It's been a while since I've dreamed of you;

you tend to visit me when I need you most

when things get to be a bit too much

like they have become lately

but I imagine you have other things to do

other dreams to flow through

other weary souls to soothe and other

matters which require your attention

perhaps I'm being too selfish, too demanding

of your time and efforts; or maybe I simply need

you now more than I ever had in the past

but there are some walls too high to climb alone

you've been my savior in my darkest hours

meant more to me than I ever let you know

and when you appear to me in my dreams

your silent presence always shines a guiding light

11JAN23 | SAD SONGS

I only know how to write sad songs

melancholy melodies and lamentable lyrics

tunes that recall unhappy times and broken-hearted

memories of long ago people and forgotten places

it's the bitterness of the past whose taste lingers

on my tongue but the sweetness of your kisses

remains upon my lips as fresh as the last time

you kissed me on that long ago day at Green Lake

and while those days were testing and fraught

with disillusionment, I wouldn't hesitate to

relive them if only to see the expression on

your face the first time you heard my songs

you removed the cassette tape from its player

and said if I wanted it back I'd either have to

kill you or marry you though I did neither but

often wonder if there hadn't been another way

12JAN23 | RETROGRADE

One step forward and two steps back

human nature in its most awkward

clumsiness; never really knowing if

we're coming or going, going or coming

but there are moments, fleeting as they are

when the planets align and the constellations

are at their very brightest when clarity and

sapience guide us toward enlightenment

and if the moon and her gravitational pull

seem a hindrance, the tugging on heartstrings

can feel even more taut and debilitating as the

fragility of love is a wayward, difficult one

there are no simple answers to these quandaries

no easy way around the troubled waters whose

bridges still smolder in the aftermath of the fire

its embers drifting high into the astral plane

13JAN23 | AIRSTREAM

I've been trying to find a friend in the storm

but the wind only brings rattling windows

and moments of palpable distress (and where

exactly does all this wind come from?)

there are moments when it seems the trees

will become uprooted, branches once flailing

crashing into the ripples of the canal below

then sweeping the currents with violent strokes

for a moment I close my eyes and listen as the

wind seems to be calling to me; the airstream

has a voice and it's my name in its breathy call

summoning me to rise and step over to the window

as I peer out into the morning darkness there is

a momentary pause in the gusting gales just

long enough for me to catch a glimpse of a small

lonely cat wandering about in the footpath below

14JAN23 | FOURTEEN

It's been fourteen years, fourteen long and

sullen years; but like every tempest there

were moments when the storm clouds parted

and glistening rays of sun shone through the darkness

but those moments were few and far between

too few to remember and so far between that

the memories fade and transport me back to

only one moment in time that is now gone forever

we stood along the shore of the river and threw

our pasts into the thick murky water watching as

the small bands of gold sunk quickly out of sight

as if they'd never existed at all but in a transient dream

and now all that remains are the broken pieces of

what never was able to be; remnants of promises and

hopes of better days that simply never came to pass;

and that will soon drift into a different kind of oblivion

15JAN23 | INTROSPECT

I've been spending more time than usual

looking inside, searching within, asking

questions and seeking out truths I'd otherwise

thought were clearly so but apparently not

and such meticulous introspection often leads

to scrutiny beyond the realm of what I am

capable of understanding or accepting; that

which confirms I have indeed lost my bearings

but the lines between the past and present are

beginning to blur which leads to greater

clarity and a heightened sense of purpose

if only to serve as a guide towards the future

if only to find a way to look beyond my failures

to greet them kindly and learn from what they've

been trying to teach me I might be able to elevate

my being and achieve what never before was possible

16JAN23 | FIRST SHAVE

Five years ago today I walked into a barbershop

not knowing where the journey would lead me

I'd been a teacher for a quarter of a century,

content with work that gave me purpose

then Sam, without as much as batting an eye

or showing any fear or trepidation, told me to

put a blade in the shavette and shave his face

no matter how long it took or what the results

it was a sort of baptism by fire, my fear quickly

converted to this seriousness, this challenge I was

definitely up for, feeling that my life was changing

right before my very eyes and most certainly it was

now five years on I'm still facing the challenges, still

learning, still growing into the role I created for myself;

striving to become the best version of that self and forever

grateful to everyone who's been a part of this amazing journey

17JAN23 | RED FLAGS

I was probably too young and inexperienced

to have seen the writing on the walls, the

so-called red flags that should have warned me

off and driven me far away from what was to come

but I trusted my instincts and ventured forward

with trust and good-natured devotion, accepting

whatever would become of things; I was eager and

willing to overlook even that which was in plain sight

she stood in the bathroom peering into the mirror

talking to herself saying the most berating and

cruel things to the reflection that gazed back with

tears flowing through a river of black mascara

and years later when I came upon bag after bag

of another woman's clothing it should have

reminded me of her and the hundreds of manic

interludes, obsessions and unstoppable exploits

18JAN23 | HOODWINKED

It never would have occurred to me

that I could have been so naïve

so blissfully unaware of what was

going on around me for so long

but I suppose when you're the masterplan

of somebody else's masterplan, it's easy

to succumb to the deeds and doings of

those who do whatever it takes to prevail

I'll be the first to admit there were mutual

benefits and the odd moment or two of joy

and solidarity when the planets seemed to

align and radiance burst forth from our union

but sadly I was hoodwinked; wittingly misguided

through a labyrinth of lies and deceit that could

only end up as badly as it has, leaving me with

emptiness, regret and a depleted sense of being

19JAN23 | PAIN (FOR P.V.)

It's only pain when it hurts;

like white noise that really isn't

noise but a distraction that can't

burst an eardrum or break a heart

it's only pain when knights in shining

armor lose their luster or damsels in

distress begin to cause the stress; it's

pain for pain's sake and little else

it's only pain when we lose a best

friend; when we see others in pain,

pain we can not even begin to soothe

let alone fathom in its immense amplitude

it's only pain when we say it is and it's

only pain when there's nothing better to

describe the malaise that weighs heavy on

our souls and hinders the levity of life itself

20JAN23 | TEASPOON

For as many years as I've been alive

I have rarely lost or misplaced anything;

in fact, I can't remember the last time I

lost or misplaced something

but somewhere in the late nineties

or early noughties, we attended a

picnic in Valencia with a few other

families in the dry riverbed park

upon arriving home I emptied our

picnic basket only to discover that

one of the teaspoons was missing, a

teaspoon from our everyday cutlery set

when we asked the lady lawyer who never

succeeded in her bid to become a judge if she had

seen the teaspoon, she had and it was in her cutlery

drawer though for some reason we never got it back

21JAN23 | TOXICITY

In your presence my blood boils

my breathing becomes labored

my senses distort reality and I

become an unfamiliar version of myself

the toxicity is palpable, like steam

rising from the bog that penetrates

my nostrils and leaves me gasping

for breath and praying for relief

and no matter how many times you

flip the knives or shift the basket or

poison my soul with contempt, my

feeble attempts at resiliency founder

there is simply no other way to eradicate

the base and relentless cruelty than by

taking leave from the turmoil and seeking

once again to sew new seeds of paradise

22JAN23 | SELECTIVE MEMORY

I always boast of having a good memory

especially long-term memory; I can recall

old phone numbers, birthdays, events, times

and places normally with pinpoint accuracy

but when Lance reminded me of the time we

met up in Granada—and provided proof in the

form of a photo of us standing in the Patio de

Los Leones in the Alhambra—I was flabbergasted

even my ex-wife (who I texted to ask if she

remembered) was able to recall how we invited

Lance to join us at her parent's house in Alicante for

Christmas dinner (which seemed to jar my recollection)

I wonder what else my selective memory has swept

under the rug; perhaps next week when I finally return to

Granada after all these years I'll discover some old memories

or maybe, just maybe, create some new ones with old friends

23JAN23 | LIVERPOOL

It’s been a dozen years since Liverpool

a dozen years since I went to bed crying

every night despite being wrapped in your

warm embrace, lulled to sleep by your soft caress

but I missed what I had left behind so very badly

that dreams became a torment and days became

an insufferable reminder that I had become just

like him doing what I vowed never to do

but this time there will be no warm embrace or

gentle caress; there will be no shoulder to cry on

or tender soul to make the pain go away; there

will only be loneliness and unimaginable grief

so I am preparing myself for whatever will be

whatever will come my way; I will look to the

light for solace, look inward for forgiveness

and take comfort wherever comfort may be found

24JAN23 | CHANGE OF AIR

Time for a change of air, to see familiar

faces and well-known places; to walk streets

that were walked decades ago in my youth

in times of unsophisticated uplifting innocence

the change of air will do me good, to take warm

rays of sunshine standing against a wall or a tree in

the square or while sipping a cortado at a sidewalk

café; lingering in the afterglow of my contentedness

I lived in this Andalusian city many years ago

but its spirit and splendor are forever etched

upon my heart as are the friendships I made

and continue to cherish to this very day

I'll arrive, and stay, as I have so many times

to rejuvenate my spirit and return to the

source of where love was born and dreams

were dreamed in a place I once called home

25JAN23 | THE JOURNEY

The journey begins at the end of the line

but I always arrive at the beginning;

I’ve returned to this place where my heart

was born and my soul was made whole

every time I come back the streets seem

to remember me, greeting me with familiar

sights and sounds; trees seem to sway as if to

bow in gratitude for my long-awaited return

there is such an abundance of life here,

joy and vivacity, everyone’s coming and going;

bars, restaurants and cafés overflowing with zealous

patrons; beautiful men and handsome women

and for a moment I lose myself in a nostalgic daydream;

was it really me who wandered these streets some

thirty-odd years ago or was it yet another creation

born of my innermost imagination

26JAN23 | EL ARCO DE ELVIRA (BÁB ILBÍM)

To lose myself in these streets, these narrow passages

of ancient stone and history; to walk in the shadows of

Moors and martyrs where blood was spilled and

divine intervention took place

the tear stained walls of Elvira’s archway are pockmarked

with the blistered screams of mothers whose sons,

husbands, brothers and fathers never returned home

from the multitude of battles and wars

and while the names of streets and squares no

longer bear the dread of the past, the horrors and

torment have left their scars on the soul

of these hallowed places forever

what tales the trees could tell, what songs the wind might sing;

as for me, I’m merely a curious observer walking through the

remnants of my own past whose spirit has floated ever so

gently through this place for a thousand years

27JAN23 | OLD FRIENDS

It was nice spending time with old friends

reminiscing over food and drinks and talking about

the past and how quickly the years have flown by

since I first arrived here a little more than 35 years ago

we’re all older now and have lived our lives

and raised our children and have had our share

of loss; but the enduring spirit of these kind and

gentle people remain just as I remember;

these are authentic people, as authentic as they

come; they hide nothing and reveal every detail

of their souls, sensibilities and suffering; they

are true in words and truer in deeds;

and I can’t help but feel some remorse in telling

Alicia my story about “old luggage” and how

I didn’t intend for that analogy to provoke a tear or two

that she was hardly able to contain from her glistening eyes

28JAN23 | FLYING THROUGH JELLO

I love the analogy that likens flying through

turbulence to being suspended in a jello-like

compression of air protecting the fuselage

from any sort of major catastrophic event

I'm sitting in this flying toothpaste tube tightly

sandwiched between a slovenly Dutch girl sloppily

crunching potato chips and masticating Haribo worms

and a maskless cretin mouth breathing and gurgling

the fasten seatbelt sign illuminates as the pre-recorded

monotone voice tells passengers to return to their

seats and buckle up as we are entering an area of

turbulence for which the captain has switched on the sign

but it's just a hot dog floating in jello, I remind myself

and I'm safe in this gelatinous soufflé of clouds and air

protecting me and my fellow travelers from being ripped

from our seats and crashing to our deaths on the ground below

29JAN23 | PISTACHIOS

As a child I was treated by a psychotherapist

named Appel who had a nervous vocal tick and

obsessively ate pistachios from an unusually

large glass bowl that sat atop his coffee table

this guy was clearly unwell but for me, at eleven

or twelve, I was hardly in a position to make

any claims about the mental health of one who

purported to be a professional psychotherapist

Appel was much more interested in pistachios

and taking my working class parent's money

than helping me navigate through the murky

waters of adolescence and abandonment issues

so he "oyked" and kvetched his way through

sixty minutes of therapy time while cracking

open pistachios and pretending to be interested

in a boy who was in desperate need of enlightenment

30JAN23 | LINGUAL

Talk is cheap, or so they say

guillotine sharp, razor honed

tongue lashing vibraphone

owls hunt their prey using sound

tell me a story about anything

lie to me about something true

confess your sins in darkness

and lay your head beside me

you knew me when I was a child

held me close to your bosom

kissed tears from my weeping eyes

and broke my heart when you died

it never stopped raining that day

though the sun came out at noon

I looked for you at the funfair

but you'd already gone to the moon

31JAN23 | COWLICK

I couldn't make out who that tall woman

was in my dream last night; we were walking

side by side along a wide bustling boulevard

in Paris just as the sun was setting over the Seine

from her towering vantage point the

woman squinted as she gazed upon

my head then pausing our slow but

calculated stride by touching my shoulder

I asked her if everything was alright and

she patted my head on the crown, turned

to me and made some comment about the

cowlick that was growing wildly there

it's a work in progress, I said, attempting to

smooth out the patch of disarranged hair in vain;

I'm trying to grow my hair out and it's in a bit

of a crazy stage right now, I added...then I woke up