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I was the open shirt
and the journal palm,
not a pair of wings,
the recorder of passersby.
They did not know what
to do with me. I strung
together metaphors while
they talked about baseball
cards. While they volleyed
juvenile experiences of lust,
I read the thoughts of
expatriate Parisians, sarcastic
polarizing prophets, and poems
balanced on an image. Popping
in compact discs, I imagined
the world I might one day
engage in, sketched in pencil.
I am a Muslim
I am a Jew
I am Catholic
I am an Arab
I am Protestant
I am Agnostic
I am Baptist
I am Secular
Feed me please
Love me
All I ask
At skyscraper’ edge
I can see clean to the spot
of sidewalk where I stood
looking up.
Clean back to the place
I was born.
I think of the balance
of the tightrope
walker, adjusting for the
wind. Now, here it is.
I’m tired of walking
on eggshells. Such a worn
out phrase. Like the phrase
worn out. But I perched
on pristine shell a few
years ago. Afraid to speak
and afraid to offend.
This may be tenuous,
but I’m tired of people
pleasing and saying yes.
I’m not going to offend
for a pastime.
Never on purpose.
What I’m talking about
is liberty to be without
straining each word
and thought like a fine
soup, served flaccid
by the time it arrives.
I’m sorry, dear words,
for promising you place
then being fidgety.
Tossing you out.
I’m sorry, dear poem,
for failing to write you
down. You see,
I thought you’d stay
awhile but then you
ran away with whatever
else was in my shopping
list, never to be reclaimed.
Sorry at last for being
fickle with art, instead
of tender, reassuring, true.
Instead of a space
I offered a vacuum.
No amends can be made
now except a new draft.
We all must have our anchors
to keep us sane, whether they be
family, friends, a job or hobby,
solid things to ground us in reality
or perhaps enable our escape from it
too much truth being dangerous
as the wise old poet once claimed.
Alas, she, she who had all of these
has slipped free of her moorings
and has sailed far out of reach
her mind adrift on stormy seas.
Windows are open
Shut doors, blow the wind
Hustle leaves rustling
Windows are open
Play music, shut out the noise
Windows are open
Unlock all doors, open skies
Windows are open
Open out arms, protest
Let crying rains fall
Windows are open
Let monkeys and rabbits enter
Write a poem, recite it clearly
Windows are open, let houses crumble
Banish roof tops close doors
Shut the gates, bolt the rooms
Windows are open, remain safe
Protect trees, flowers, clean the garden
Windows are open, sigh.
The bell’s knell resonates through the narrow streets,
Filling the air with a thick, steely hum,
Synchronizes with the pitter-patter of the rain.
The heavy, dry, curls in the air,
Like thick cigar smoke,
Leave wispy, harsh trials of sound,
Footsteps echo through the streets,
A desperate attempt to stomp out it’s worrisome tone.
Time flows, smoothly but surely,
Distinctly burning age into the world.
Execution and delivery crawl closer,
Fueled by the churning sea.
Life and death wait anxiously, ready to reveal themselves to the world at Father Time’s signal.
The clocks count down, slowly but surely,
Devouring them with ease.
Time stops for none.
Weighing on the mind
Is the fear that out of a corner
A dream will come true
Dreams then will be forfeited
Cast into a mould
Of bare forgiveness.
Diane Sawyer ought to be a lawyer
carefully avoiding reading any news
unflattering to her sponsors’ views
she always looks so harried
wonder if Diane is married
Barbara Walters’ voice falters
she never wears any halters
Barbie can drag out over an hour show
a five minute yarn we don’t care to know
favoring the gossip over the serious
making the trivial sound mysterious
Dan Rather doesn’t seem to matter
60 Minutes doesn’t have much in it
weather reporters gab for a long time
about some trivial change in the clime
This sort of banality is so trashy
Ron Burgundy keeps me sassy
Now or whenever you
Sought to point it out
To me that a mistake
Was to be addressed
In total promptness
Almost without further delay,
I took it to be a pleasant job
To be kept warned before
A major fall was mostly sure
And in avoiding it in time
It was success that
I was only bound to
Embrace fully awestruck.