Autumnal Thoughts (Taking Notes I Am Not)

Cool air whisks through the trees.
Orange. Red. Yellow.
Streets on fire with bright leaves.
Yellow. Orange. Red.
Autumn leaves on my shirt.
Orange. Red. Yellow.
Real leaves make my eyes hurt.
Yellow. Orange. Red.

10/6/09

Class Notes (What the hell are we talking about?)

It's a little unpolished-but here it goes:

How did we get here?
The subject was so clear.
Respond to the reading,
express what we're feeling.
Where did it all go so wrong?

The conversation has taken a turn.
How are we to learn
When there is no focus or teaching.
Everyone talks, about what I know not:
I lost track three conversations ago.

7 o'clock. One hour is shot,
one article we have discussed.
Now we talk of assessment...
Your guess is my best guess
on how this subject is relevant.

What the hell does this have to do
with finding resources for you,
Oh scholar of the Humanities.
I shall not be rude, though I want to:
I just want to get up and leave.

9/09

Ode to Edith (Granger)

Edith Granger, man. Yeah.

She worked in a shop...
She couldn't find stock...
Her customers, they were annoyed.

She needed a fix...
Some kind of index...
Sell more books, remain employed.

She thought, "Poetry's hot!
We'll give it shot."
The rest is reference history.

By subject you search...
First line you can look...
Last line and words that are key.

Dear Edith is gone...
Her work still lives on...
In the Columbia Granger's Index.

It will help you find...
Poems that rhyme...
From epic, free verse or sonnet.

Edition number 8...
Seems almost like fate...
How easy it is to consult.

At the library you'll find...
Copies online and in bind...
Purchase at bookstore or Internet.

Insomnia

I lay down to rest and
simultaneous images of
simultaneous happenings
flood behind my eyelids
as I lean one arm over
my bed cause I can't sleep.

I'm writing.

Sleep has to sneak
by the words.
Naps are best.
The words are resting.

Darkness hits and the words begin nesting in my brain, in
my heart. Running so fast I don't know where to start. Will I
remember these gems of wisdom in the morning?

No. Can I rest now? No... guess I'll keep writing.

11/99

For Sisters, at Christmas

Even though you are miles away from me
I hold a picture of you in my heart,
and that image never fades or dims.
It is eternal, a priceless work of art.
Christmas isn't just about giving and getting
or last minute trips to Wal-Mart.
It's about those whom we hold dear.
That is indeed the best part.
So Merry Christmas, my dear sisters
and although gifts for you haven't filled my cart
I hope this gift will hold some memories:
Not a lifetime's worth, but it's a start.

12/2000

The warm weather acts like a beacon
leading all to it's bosom, outside.
Canines frolic, leaping into lakes,
hopping out, enjoying a good shake.
Happy threesomes lithely toss frisbees.
The wind catches it more ofter than not.
Mini tornadoes whip leaves around
the legs of the Great Outdoorsman.
It's a calm day, a peaceful day:
Warm, but not uncomfortably so.
Muscled midget men show off.
Well-dressed housewives do tooo.
The smell of poop competes with the
new scent of Spring.
Words and pictures document the
first great Saturday of the newborn season.
Eureka! She catches one. The wind has
lost that round. The frisbee falls.
"Poop free!," the exuberant cry.
The sun, which had been napping
behind a cloud stretches its sinews
and is ready to touch us again,
warming our winter frozen limbs.

Spring 2002

Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright.
The heart of man burns brighter than the day.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.

Life is beautiful in the creator's sight:
He created us to live in His way.
Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright.

The world has seen its share of plight.
Even a saint might be filled with dismay.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.

Heaven gleams an immaculate white.
Angels will greet you and say,
"Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright."

When the world is rough and the dog continues to bite,
think of the child born to sleep on hay one December night.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.

The Prince of Peace was born to cleanse our sins
And through His grace a place in Heaven win.
Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.

To Be Born, To Die

To be born-
a woman must labor.
To be born-
a man is expected to help.
To be born-
a woman should feel she deserves it.

To be born a woman is to know-
that we must labor to be beautiful,
even when we are not (or don't want to be.)

To be born a woman is to know-
that we are expected to want to marry,
just because he wants us.

To be born a woman is to know-
that we must stand by that man,
especially when he doesn't deserve it.

To die a woman is to know-
that we failed to be beautiful,
especially to ourselves.

To die a woman is to know-
that we are expected to go gracefully,
even when we want to kick and scream.

To die a woman is to know-
that we must lie beside that undeserving man,
in his family plot, for eternity.

To die-
a woman must labor.
To die-
a man is expected to help.
To die-
a woman should feel she deserves it.

Love Song (adapted from the Song of Solomon, also called Song of Songs)

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth!
For your love is better than wine.
Your anointing oils are fragrant.
Your name is perfume poured out:
I compare you, my love,
To a mare among Pharaoh's chariots.
My beloved is to me a bag of myrrh
That lies between my breasts.

As a lily among brambles,
So is my love among maidens.
As an apple tree among the trees of the wood,
So is my beloved among men.
Let me see your face, let me hear your voice;
For your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.
O that his left hand were under my head,
And that his right hand embraced me.
How beautiful you are, my love, how very beautiful!
Your lips are like crimson thread.
My beloved is mine and I am his;
He pastures his flock among the lilies.

Sustain me with raisins, refresh me with apples,
For I am faint with love.
With great delight I sat in his shadow
And his fruit was sweet to my taste.
Until the day breathes and the shadows flee,
I will hasten to the mountain of myrrh
And the hill of frankincense.
You are altogether beautiful my love, there is no flaw in you.

You have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride,
You have ravished my heart with a glance of your eyes.
How sweet is your love, my sister, my bride.
Let my beloved come to his garden,
And eat its choicest fruits.
This is my beloved and this is my friend.
I come to my garden,
I gather my myrrh with my spice.
I eat my honeycomb with my honey,
I drink my wine with my milk.

Eat, friends, drink,
And be drunk with love.

Ah, you are beautiful my love; ah you are beautiful;
Your eyes are cloves.
Ah, you are beautiful,
My beloved, truly lovely.

I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine;
He pastures his flock among the lilies.
I am my beloved's and his desire is for me.
O queenly maiden, o loved one, delectable maiden;
Your flowing locks are like purple;
A king is held captive in the tresses.

Set me as a seal upon your heart,
As a seal upon your arm;
For love is strong as death,
Passion fierce as the grave.
It's flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame.
Many waters cannot quench love,
Neither flood can drown it.
If one offered for love
All the wealth in one's house,
It would be utterly scorned.

O you who dwell in the gardens,
My companions are listening for your voice;
Let me hear it!
Make haste, my beloved,
And be like a gazelle or a young stag
Upon the mountain of spices.


7/11/00

Love: what is it?
Where is it?
What the hell is going on?
Why can't I follow?
Why do I feel dumb?
Numb?
Vain (empty)

I need to write.
I need to think.

I need to move.

God Resides in the Little Things

God resides in the rainbow glint on a raven's wing,
And in the egg waiting to hatch.
God is the pearl nestled in the folds of the oyster,
Who in turn is cushioned at the bottom of the sea.
As far as the eye can see, there is evidence of the Creator,
Whether it be a tree, flower, insect or even cloud.

We may feel like a dandelion scattered on an April breeze
But He knows when we have been blown off course,
Because God lives in the tiniest details of life,
In order to show is that He is always there.
He is the smile on every newborn baby's face,
And exists in every kindly act rendered.

God resides in the little things of life, but in big things too:
For He resides in my heart, and He lives inside of you!

3/8/1997

The Atom

Do humans, like atoms, need
their inner levels filled?
Atoms give or take electrons so
that their inner and outer
levels are balanced and full.
Is this not what people do?
Give and take "love" until their
inner and outer is balanced?

When the atom splits it shatters
everything around it.

Sound familiar?

In Dream

In Dream he comes to me,
Beckoning, seducing, pleading:
"Come love with me and be my life."
He awakens my body into being.

Loving caresses and gentle words stir
My soul to join him there.
Elysian Fields he doth me offer...
He should not tempt so. 'Tis not fair.

The home he shows me will never do.
My mother, Goddess, forbids it. Harvest she
Would cancel, growth of crops she'd bar.


I awake again and still reside above you.
Your Reign below torments both of us, fore
I will shall always remain a Dream away.

Emotions flood my brain;
Ideas crash into my core.
The brain knows what the
heart should feel but that
stubborn organ doesn't obey.

Love crashes onto the shores of
my dreams but life is occurring
in the desert, where fantasies are
cactii, prickly and green.

If my soul is ever inflicted with
that emotion poets rave on,
will it be true or a bribery of
reason with a message that
it is tired. Of being alone.
No man's an island.

Maybe I'm mistaken.
Maybe that mutinous muscle does feel something,
but still I hear whispers...
No, you're wrong.
Always wrong...

1/29/98

Near to the Heart of God

Inspired by hymn 163 from the Sacred Selections hymnal

I walked alone, traveling companion to none.
The journey did not begin so:
Friends aplenty set out with me
But where they got to, I do not know.

The road was straight and flat
And our walk was easy and light.
Suddenly the trail began to curve
And so the first friend took flight.

More loyal pals others did not have-
Courage, Riches, Strength and Beauty
I counted among my clan.
They were part of me, had pledged fealty.

Difficult to travel the road had become
But not all had fled, just some.
Those that stayed were not quiet though,
Crying loudly, "I want to go home."

She was a journey that I had to make.
It had been commanded of me.
A higher power once hopefully spoke
Of those that were blind being made to see.

I sent the others away. It was what they wanted.
That I ended alone I found not odd.
I completed the journey and found my place,
Forever, Near to the Heart of God.

War of the Words

Before you can be rebellious
and break all the rules,
you should understand the forms.
To not understand against what you are
uprising is to not know your enemy.

Fatal Mistake.

For poetry is a lot like war:
with its stratagems and codes
of chivalry and honor that must
be adhered to. If heraldry is
blatantly bucked, you are not the victor.

The Red-Coats are Coming.

Originality is not truly original. It grows
out of ancient practices and customs
that the wise can adapt to new situations.
You can't create something without knowing
and being proficient at the old ways of the art.

Know the Rules:
Then Break Them.

The death of an ideal will be grieved
Whether if be Freedom, Love, Pity or Hate.
When it's gone we all feel a bit bereaved.
Something is dead. There can be no worse fate.

Freedom's voice rings clear through all lands:
No one is immune to its siren's call.
Freedom's death is dealt with all too evil hands,
Bringing desolation and fear to all.

The death of Love is especially sad,
We feel is so much more than all the rest.
Love is what keeps mankind from going mad:
Gone--we feel its loss deep within our breast.

Of what importance is pity, you ask?
Why, it is of great importance indeed.
It allows us to rip off our cold masks
And help others who are so much in need.

Hate's death is really no surprise at all.
'Twas bound to happen sooner or later.
When Hate cracked his door, 'twas death come to call:
"Leave I must," Hate said, "but my conscience is clear."

Epitaph

Here lies Freedom, next to him Pity.
They tried to succeed but were unable;
Both fought hard and their deaths came valiantly.
Without them we are not quite as stable.

Here lies the ideals of Love and of Hate.
Together in death as they weren't in life.
Who would have thought: two such unlikely mates
Hand in hand, marching onward, toward the light.

4/28/99

The whisper of a hymn on a Spring breeze,
an overture inspired by the season's
virgin batch of bright crocus, was the mel-
ody my heart heard when you sang my name.

The caress of a leaf as if floats by.
Thunderstorms that drench all of creation
into newness: such freshness I knew not
until your cool hands brushed soft my hot skin.

An eagle panning the vast Horizon.
The brightest body in the endless night
navigating the path to Paradise-
I finally saw when your eyes found mine.

Now I taste the briny sea with every
memory. Thoughts of you come with the smell
of danger. I couldn't guess that you would leave
me open to the wolfish howls of grief.

3/22/99

Total Cliches of the Heart

On a day as cold as Hell I trudged

to class, feeling like shit and looking
it too.

Saw penny, picked it up,

And all day I had good luck.

Lunch time rolled around and I was as hungry
as a horse and could eat a cow.

I go to my room to study; I'm tired, so tired
I'm not tired. I'm wired. I think my brain is
going to explode.

Walk outside for a breath of fresh air. The
wind hits me like a tidal wave. Did you see
that? Did you see that wind blowing?
Another joins me outside. He's as ugly as sin.
He's a slob, a pig. He tries to hit on me. He'll
Succeed when pigs fly and cows dance.

Then I see him. He's so hot, he's strong as an
ox. He can run like being shot from a gun, like a bullet.
This is it, he's the one. WRONG. Out she walks, the
stallion. Two-faced back-stabbing witch. The words
he says cut me like a knife, taking a little piece
of my heart.

Nothing is sweeter than a
kiss from Derek Jeter.

I go back to the room. It looks like a tornado
hit it. I can hear a pin drop.

She's as pretty as a picture. She walks with her head
in the clouds, yet with her feet planted firmly on the
ground. We used to be like two peas in a pod. She's a cow.
Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle. Day has ended.
I look out my window.

Red in the dawning, sailors take warning;
Red at night, sailors delight.

Now I lay me down to sleep, and pray the Lord my
soul to keep. I'm much too young to feel this damn old.

Star light, Star bright,
The first star I see tonight.
I wish I may, I wish I might
Have this wish I wish tonight.

10/14/96

Musing on an Early Spring Day

Muse on high, hear my prayer.
On this day designed by the Olympians
to reassure we mortals that they
care, let me not fail them
in my praise.

Mighty Zeus held his
thunderous bolts in check.
The fresh breeze purges the stale
air from the hearth, Hera's realm.
Phoebus Apollo has set his chariot high
in the heavens. It has been hidden lately.
The wise man soaks in the day as
Pallas Athene would wish.
Lovers are again in love thanks to
Aphrodite and her impish offspring, Eros.

Muse, please inspire me to accurately
portray this most blessed day. A
Spring afternoon such as this returns
meaning to the frozen hearts of the
cold season. The picturesque clouds in
a glassy blue sky: such a blue
was mixed specially by the high ones
to be used on such a day as this
and the buoyant clouds received
a breath of life from Aeolus to
transport them through the perfect sky.

A child of Zeus that ignores such a day
ignores the Gods. They that appreciate
such a gift receive the Gods' blessing
and participate in a most meaningful
worship.

Solitude

A quiet calm descends upon my soul
as the cool, tranquil breeze envelops me,
and my dreams, shaky as a new born foal
flutter softly as the autumn-stained leaf.

My heart is light. I am content to be
what I am. No more, no less; vanity
is forgotten, arrogance as well flees
and imperfections of humanity.

Can one walk alone and not feel lonely?
Yes: if one is secure in who they are.
Yet amidst the chatter of the friendly,
the merry, one is lonelier by far.

I am at peace with my self and my lot
as I sit here, purifying my thoughts.

11/13/97

For April and Crystal

Tell me a story of love,
one that is pure and true.
It must be steady and strong.
Tell the story of me and you.

Tell me a story of love,
A story to last all time.
Tales that will live for generations-
Tell the story of you and I.

Sing a song of joy,
one that the lucky few understand.
Weave a beautiful melody of us,
connected, hand in loving hand.

Sing a song of joy;
Hearts that are full to brimming.
Play a flowing harmony for
all to know why we are singing.

Pass on a praise of peace.
Contentment only soul mates know.
Laughter and weeping; anger and forgiveness--
The key is to let it show.

Pass on a praise of peace.
While it reigns the soul is free.
Lovers at peace are tranquil,
Like the blue of a calm, deep sea.

Tell me a story of love,
one that is pure and true.
It must be steady and strong.
Tell the story of me and you.

Tell me a story of love.
A story to last all time.
Tales that will live for generations-
Tell the story of you and I.

1/24/99

The trees are still bare
but so are the people.
The sun shines brightly
in my eyes.

It is chill February
but all have Spring Fever.
The clothes come off,
The drinks come out.

The bells toll on this bright day:
Even they know to come out of hibernation.

2/25/2000

May your love frame me, oh my soul:
Make the corners tight, the canvas cannot roll.
This binding circle around my digit
Seals me to you. I shall not fidget.
Nor would I want to be released from this:
Our union is sealed with more than a kiss.
I am filled with you. My thoughts proceed
To want more time with you. As in idolatry
I am tempted to worship at your shrine.
I can scarcely believe that this love is mine.
Once I was a layman to loneliness:
I have been converted. Now my only wish
Is to serve you as Love's priest-
To not do so would bring me grief.

This is my mind and that is my heart:
I give you both in the name of Love's art.

Her heart is breaking.
There's nothing to say.
He is just waiting.

She begins her packing,
the children's stuff is away.
Her heart is breaking.

He is still working
his eight hours a day.
He is just waiting.

She can't believe it's ending.
They wed on the 5th of May.
Her heart is breaking.

He is not hurrying,
he will get his way.
He is just waiting.

Today, papers they are signing.
The sky, well, it is grey.
Her heart is breaking.
He is just waiting.

I'm bored
torn
tired
admired
quick
sick
dumb...
numb.

MHT 4/12/99