RestrictionHumidity hangs;find myself staring out there.Inside, a window.
FlameWhite candle, alightas a daffodil always -what prayer now answered?
AgingWe age and age likethose sandy, worn-out beaches,rain and flood about.
HolidaysUsed speech, stumbling words,searching for the sentence likea flower, for guests.
two (after vildrosor)fell headfirst from cloudsplummetinglandingin gentle armsof a treeas motion stoppeda willow branchhit my facethe tears were wiped clean
At Cistercian, New Student Mass, 9/23/12Shadows of square pillarsfall geometricon the side aisle.Parallelograms overlapforming light and dark triangleson the gray floor.Overheard -the glory of humility,the excellence of being last.Mine eyes have seen design,simple and purposeful,and it too preaches.
TeachingStuck.Birds fan themselves;in heat they witnessmy slow foundation -so slow nothing builds.For me, no road.Even rodents quicklyscurry upon the ground,finding nourishment,strength.Soil. With grubs,manure, the dead -not my only refuge,but my only.A hoped-for flowering,a temporary beauty.Beneath the heat -before the cold -a sign things mightbe better.
EstrangedLife's strangeness is not "Why are we here?"Nor gripping a stone on the beach,dull and glazed with watery texture,wondering how what is solidis so slippery.The absolutely absurd alsoescapes analysis;we know it to be life.Our difficulty is in the trying.A sign of love exchanged by two -nervous, afraid, seeking affirmation -and only hearing the sound of silence,the pale, fluorescent library lightvaguely recalling the moon.
ExileDexterous turn of phrase -silver moonlight, summer's lake,illuminating nothing.
Daily NewsLike a high kite -almost above the wind.
SundayAir – thick with wet heat -surprised by a willingnessto move upon land.
The Death of Anton StadlerHatred didn't harden -it flowed to every extremity,every externality.To see was to see you,betrayer of all you begot,an arrogant sadist who saidhe healed just to push in needles.We didn't feel ridiculous. Our poverty,our disgrace, was inexplicable.We felt what we heard -that we must have deserved punishment,that we chose like stupid animals,that our gratification broke down trust,somehow.Less than human, our bitternesswas the only way out.Everything was your fault -to say otherwise was to deny the world,to call it cruel and perverse,to break ourselves again.And there was your corpse,yellowed eyes, pal
Love in Texas1. Today a stray cat approached a friend and me while we were talking. It rubbed against both of our pant legs and was tremendously affectionate. It had a wound near its head that looked like another animal attacked it.I'm calling animal control tomorrow, but I'm going to miss that cat. I really don't like the thought of it being put down: I just hope they can find someone who will take it. I'd take it if I weren't deathly allergic. The little cat hair it left triggered my asthma almost immediately.2. Friendship is probably not seen as valuable in a goal-oriented, materialistic age. There are things to be accomplished! You go to school to
TemporarySterile light, greasy diner.Chatter at the other table -two encouraging each other.No work, no desire to learn,yet he deserves a girlfriend.(Not his female listener,of course.)One almost feels sorrywhen she recounts the significanceof every game of houseplayed in preschool.Love eludes my friend and I.Our table has never graceda double date. Rather,fried shrimp, coffee, steak.One day, he'll eat healthier.I'll be happy for him,strangely missing this place.
Children vs. NinjasSwords had dispatched Legolas,ninja stars tore zombie pirate flesh.There wasn't much left on set.Jack Sparrow only escaped fiery ruinby becoming a hostage.The children at the mall were aghast.Some even left the Disney Store.A few chose to mourn privately -back to home to watch "iCarly."A tearful elite armed for war.At Wal-Mart, rifles and ammo."No need for armor piercing,"Depp's biggest fan screamed."They're ninjas.They don't have armor."All went welluntil the ninja with the body armor.The secret hideaway at the docks,marked "SECRET HIDEAWAY,"guarded by an intern atop a billboard.Shot loudly,dropped e
DisappointmentOver before it started -my long sigh a gentle, slow exhale.That knowledge fit perfectly into the world,notching into place.You couldn't escape your old habits.No helmets or seat belts,only the comfort of Jim Beam.Smoking around a gas tank,even thinking the image itselfcheats its star.Caution cast out:proof of you is yourarm wrestling Hercules.There is nothing to say.But, like code, there are solutions.Find an elegant line that fits -risk in order to know -and we can begin the processthe pictureof friendship.
On Philosophy and Wisdom TodayA small shop opening (tr. Hass & Blyth)Yosa BusonThe short night -on the outskirts of the villagea small shop opening.Comment:1. It seems fantastic to say philosophy is the discovery of wonder. What an arrogant, nonsensical claim! No field or mode of inquiry has a claim on wonder; all men wonder. In fact, it is because men wonder there is philosophy, no?2. This is Mijakayo, the short summer night. That night's light, heat, noise: is nature resolving into something? It seems so, and the curiosity is "the outskirts of the village." Why did the natural not become the village outright? Why a small shop, something we could romanticiz
JusticeFor my students – not everything I've learned. Just most of it.Maybe there's some realmwhere you're tougher than everyoneand all recognize, scatter.More than likely people plot.The many cut down the one -a red sun falls and reigns."Wrong us, shall we not revenge?"Over the wails of the sick and dying,the silence of the imprisoned,I hear you. I think about her.How her portly cat rolled,how she flooded her garden,how she sacrificed for even the deserving.I know the final test is not what you do,but who you are. Why that last moment matters.
DefinitionStream surrounds: texts,calls, expectations.Pulse within,that blank,feels strangely alien.Worry: the seed needsan acorn shell.Relief is release.Bee plays with a blade of grass:outside discovered.
Birdlike the soul findsFrown of frustration from him;she savaged the self crafted.A drop of sweat almost hit the ground,but the feathery arm was quite a surprise.Perched, it was no struggle to take off,and I met you while making loops in the air.Highly placed,transfixed by the refinement of brick, wood.Then, gliding between buildings,the power of the draft,the grandeur of building.Our day ended atop a telephone pole,seeing the bright orange and rosy pink fade away.We don't have a song.All we have is a natural strengthfrom an unnatural happening.You almost left your burden in tearsbefore you were on that skyscraper,searching.
Frustration with dA"Thanks for the watch,"then nothing else.Polite, meaningless words.Of course we know not every stroke can be stared at,not every noun can be analyzed.Not every one can be friends.I remember giving treatsto an old, deaf, ailing dog.I remember bearing its smellin order to pet it.A cat saw this. The cat wouldjump in front of me, trying to get my leg to rub against its fur.Animals may not know to be grateful,but they don't take for grantedwhat is good.
SummerRipples – murky pond -fanning out against the darkthe color of chalk
Kobayashi Issa: Don't worry, spidersHappy Mother's DayDon't worry, spidersKobayashi Issa (tr. Robert Hass, from The Essential Haiku)Don't worry, spiders,I keep housecasually.Comment:1. I spared many a spider growing up. Mom said spiders killed other pesky insects and shouldn't be smashed promptly. They could be helpers for keeping the house clean, if it weren't for those webs they tend to create.I still spare spiders for the most part. (Admittedly, I don't think I've ever lived anywhere spotless.)2. Hass makes two points relevant to our consideration of the poem. First, there is probably a hidden seasonal reference. This is about summer, where housekeepers are
We see the sky where it is skylessNot the crystal with the bluish tint,nor the dark wisps rising from cigars.Another realm entirely. There,day ends in royal purple, fiery orange.Gray walls hold those colors for an instant.Air places dew drops upon grass,as if to say the world begins afresh.Birds fly together, each supporting the other.Now the sound of change striking the sidewalk,the smell of dirty pigeons collected.Noting the white of the closed blinds of hospital rooms.
EyesLike a mosquito,her eyes spoke hunger, leavingonly freezing blood.
If you want a new beginning...If you want a new beginning, consider investing in a mechanized suit of armorStreets shattered as giant robotsstrode in the city's center to duel.They aimed pulse guns,hit everything but each other.That was the day I knew I had to move.A limb of steel and wirefell and smashed the garage.Salvaged my old journal,plans for a new design.Papers flying out of skyscrapersreminded of drawings you sent.I stopped by your house;in your absence left a letter.Finally, about to evacuate,an eyelaser wrecked the highway.Border of concrete and fire for miles.Sorry, right now I'm trapped in my fears.One day I'll sneak into a
For My MotherMarigolds tried to eat his leg,lilies wrapped around his arm.Gardening almost collapsed into chaos.He stepped away from the marigolds,watered the lilies.Consoled the piranha plantwith the googly, tearful eyes.Even got a wheelbarrowto collect from the money tree.In kindergarten they get bigger quickly -toys still lie scattered.Caretakers make us wonderwhen they can be shown care.A sun with a smiley facealways lets happy plants and resting gardenerscast playful shadows.
On a Quote from Anais Nin You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. –Anaïs NinThe collapse of conventionality can be more than fatal. Our death – heck, even just our failure – brings down others. I can't emphasize enough how correct characterizing the world as "delicate" is. The unjust, awful things that happen to us on account of institutions partly occur because they feel threatened by the smallest of problems and we don't wish to cause more trouble for others.Maybe we can say man is the conventional animal. Is he the one who can make his bed and lie in it? Not quite: the delicacy of the worl
Sta.sh
