regret

i attended mediocre schools to prove
branding proves nothing:
geniuses will genius be--anywhere!
Future politely informed me
otherwise; also, of arrogance.




april 2012

statues

______________


we paused at a statue from golden ages
so bright and proud! a chiseled distant name,
reminiscent of better times than these.
i held my father's hand--or was it
grandfather, perhaps several further back--
and told him o! oh, how i missed those days somehow,
i yearned to see the bright ships sail, to watch
proud armies marching, marching on in nobler times.
life fills me with the telling: flecked
with crawling fear he'll tell me nothing changed,
men were small and weak then, too,
only statues must be legends, so they are. Doubt
expects such bittersweetened tones, a melancholic tale
of familiar dark and weakening days.
or a fallen kingdom, he'll describe: former glory,
faded since to rusted gold. what tragic youth!
to have missed such time. i sigh; a silent age
has passed us by. my timid telling hangs between,
too much weight for our slender string
slung from mouth to ear; but he turns--

i become him then, peering longishly
through so much generation and descent;
and tell such eager, youthful eyes to laugh--
for splendid years they were indeed! that built this stranger
and his statue: but i knew him well, we together
basked in summer splendor then when life was hard,
but richer for the cost. in those days
the city shone like marble, silver, a bright thing in the hills
we rode so gallantly bestride. Autumn filled our nostrils!
yes, those were Years! i tell
the eager self-child--
and no regrets! this automobile electric time
is no lesser, nor was the ancient past so cheapened
by less ancient errors. as glories then, still today
such wonders persist: though weightier they seem,
with so much generation and descent above.
statued monuments we, too, shall leave behind;
grandfathers shall stand again at their stony feet,
old voices full of marvel at the ages past.
the grim encompassings lend nobility through
time's deep-digging brush. i shall remember for my grandsons
the wonder of these years, the golden glory
of my youth to give them. no weaker years, my sons:
men have long been small and weak, 
but these are times of triumph, all.




4/2012
1/2009

we are at peace

i don't belong here
or either where i'm going
reason being no-one waits for me t
here. and, since Scott told me
"Spirit does not inhabit places!"
which by inference i mean
to exclude people--
and, since i see myself
mildly Spirit, so then
i don't belong where Spirits aren't.
which is why, when you
passed me on I-495
going north fast
i didn't mind either way.

as a side note, by the way
i disagree with Scott: i've seen the mortal
planes glow Spirit-touched.
but let's be real, it's I-495.




april 2012

_______


and in a rush we realize what we somehow knew before: perhaps in life, or death, or childhood.  paused then, we take in that giant scent, that perfect knowledge innocent.  it is the universe; only now are we alive.


so then!  wildly unfurling this hideous talent--unformed, uncleaned, unloved, unknown: lurch forth!  we are the Earth!  no-one taught us thus, and none shall rob it back.  we tumble forth in orbits none shall ever know, learning nothing: we are free.


for truth is never learned; mere mortals, we recall its immortal breath in these few furtive gasps.  we pause, we pause: and do not let it pass.








april 2012