Quick Note

 I’ve been attempting to publish poems in journals, and many of them have strict requirements against previous publication—even on personal blogs or social media. I’m still writing poetry, but I’m taking a break from posting for a bit. I think I may post drafts of poems here in the future, and only post final versions when they are published.

Apologies for the silence. 

equivocation

Milling about as if--

there's nothing better to do

nothing we could be accomplishing

we chose to stand in the heat

our children irritate us on purpose

life is a useless tract of time

meaning is meaningless

--but none of it,

hear me, none of that,

is so.

9/2/23

celebration

the sad executive
upon promotion, drank heavily

robbed of his resentment.

what now? happiness?

not from seeds of such rich malaise.

cups empty, thoughts wild

he dreams of moving on

stray visions of mountain poetry

while practicing false smiles for the meeting.

9/2/23

dad

Name it
or don't--
anxiety clawing a hole in my chest

oh that's trite, isn't it?

Mosquitos slinking around, landing:

not sure why I'm like this

maybe I could sleep it off,

maybe that would make it worse.

Do loud noises set it off

cacophony of happy childhoods

or autocorrect, say everything twice:

I might be a good parent

but do I hate parenting? I think I do.

Endless interruption

endless interruption

endless interr--

try not to be short with the little ones.

I'm having an anxiety attack.

I don't have time to but I am:

the questions don't ever stop so

I guess I'll have this crisis later.

Sure kid, let's play

Dad

Dad

hey Dad

Dad?

Dad. Dad. Dad.

Dad--

Dad

There's a scream in my throat

I'll let it out when I'm fifty maybe

or from the grave.

8/21/23

retreat

the lethargic urgency of wooden folding
chairs in the Christian retreat center
every group that visits thinks some other group
must usually be here, but they aren’t
and at puberty i remember stealing glances
in that different place, different time, at Emily
sure i’d say or do the right thing Here but i never did

one night after dark they had a bonfire by the lake
we teenagers kept playing volleyball after sunset
someone, maybe me, found the floodlight switch
but kept stealing glances through deep blue grays
from Here to where the winking orange flames
silhouetted our adults; i worried mostly about bears
even though i felt a little shame

my children are approaching that age now
while the Peter Pan in me assesses: good kids, but
maybe too tender. Here, take my hand
we can fly right over most of this, stick with me
but when the lost boys pile into sleep i sit alone
stealing glances at a past that doesn’t even exist

as if i could wait
for a different story
to begin



10/29/23