Category Archives: My Poems

My Poems Raw Poems

wild ride

great fun to be flung around
at high rates of speed on
roller coasters, flying swings,
even merry-go-rounds—
much too fast for toddlers
and old folks though, whoa

amusement parks we call them;
wild, mechanical, herky-jerky joy

have you considered, however,
that our earth spins at nearly
one thousand miles per hour?

or, how about the thousand
bacteria species alive in your gut?

get some nachos into that crowd!

stand where you are and
feel the stationary in motion;
incredible, cosmic flux

embrace the ride and
raucous party that is
the dizzying, wondrous
amusement of human life

My Poems Raw Poems

an abysmal reflection

not just hot air forced through
pursed lips while fiercely railing
against the injustice of stale
bread and moldy cheese—
those should’ve-been-sandwiches

much more than peculiar nods
toward the unanswerable,
flashes from the mirror of why

Why is there something instead of nothing!?

perhaps less than the jumble
of hastily scribbled reminders
and phrases stuck to the wall:
     1) clean bathrooms, do laundry, thaw sausages for dinner…
     2) ”Handle each grain of rice as if handling your own eyes!” (Dogen)
     3) ”No man is a toboggan.” (anon.)

What use, these words when the rafters fall!?

bare soles and illusory souls
still reveal only fragments
of the grand mezzotint print,
past deeds, memories and hopes
mysteriously heaped together,
our curious pursuits and endless
yearning toward big love and away
from the background ache of malaise

What of it, the whole deal and my involvement!?

a brilliant mess here, this mind—
an indigo moth flutters past a
horse-drawn school bus winding
along a dusty mountain road,
teetering above the edge of
an impossibly calm, deep abyss

ABYSMAL, these haphazard thoughts,
you’ve already thunk in hasty judgment,
perhaps, but the image is yours now too:

Have another look!

Yours and mine and none of ours.
All of this together, our collective
of sacred poppycock—

It’s our mess now … our mess now.

My Poems

our love won’t be folded into a card

how cliché to write a love poem today,
but not nearly as inept as the card
I could otherwise settle upon—
the same card gifted to hundreds of
wives and girlfriends alongside heaps
of chocolates and flower bouquets

(no offense to the creative exploits of card writers, chocolatiers or florists)

worth careful consideration is what
brought us to this point in our lives—
countless conversations and shared
study sessions in college, the gradual
mingling of plans and aspirations,
the decision to go forward together

we’ve moved far away: from Rochester
to Lincoln, then Fairbanks and now St. Cloud—
each place with unique twists, ups and downs;
well, not Lincoln with its pancake-flat prairie,
long sunsets and skies stretching on forever

Alaska snow twinkling with an ethereal
glimmer while aurora sways overhead,
cold made warm with a ready embrace
or a moose unexpectedly passing by,
nodding hello while munching willow

now home by Sucker Creek— named
after the fish I remind others, but we’re
certainly suckers too, not for living here,
but for falling headlong into the expectant
promise of love, a promise sometimes
broken since nobody always reaches the
impossibly lofty ideals set before us

yet we keep trying, together, day by day…

we try for each other and, even more
importantly, now for our daughter, Elena—
our love made real in a remarkable being
all her own, our spirit brought together
and magnified, our entire universe
personified and growing before our eyes…

such beauty, such massive cosmic love!

thank you for helping me to become
who I am now, so much more than
I would have been alone; thank you
for you, and especially for Elena;
thank you for family and togetherness

this is our love. Cupid’s arrow has
no bearing on any of it. this is our love!