WHILE TRYING TO TAN THE FINGER WHITENED BY A RING

For unfortunate reasons, divorce has been on my mind for a while now. I wrote this poem over ten years ago, well before I met my current wife...and suddenly I'm not only thinking about divorce, but manifestation.


WHILE TRYING TO TAN THE FINGER WHITENED BY A RING


Sixteen servant girls
were perched on the shore
using stones to scrub the laundry.

The silver river rushed beneath their rags,
the falling leaves collected in their hair
and the curious crayfish crawled around their toes.

Using wildflowers as a shield,
I approached them as shyly
as my status would allow.

Aroused by indiscretion,
I secretly pondered the possibility
of loving sixteen women all at once.

BOONE'S STRAWBERRY WINE

I don't know why it's so hard to stick with this damn blog! I promised one poem a day, and I can't even manage that. I feel like the world is somehow against poetry right now. That might explain why things have gone so crazy. A world without poetry is a world without love...and we can't have that.

Anyway, this post has reminded me of this poem, which talks about the demise of poetry. I'll let it speak for itself.

BOONE’S STRAWBERRY WINE

The poet is an organic recorder,
a two-penny transcriber, an empty goblet
waiting to be filled with intoxicating words.
He’s a cheap wine offering brief euphoria
for those willing to partake, but he’s also
the morning hangover and nausea, the
twisting sickness in the stomach that
occurs whenever somebody tastes the
acerbic bitterness of near truth.

That is why, more often than not,
the poet is left on the shelf,
forgotten and dusty, idly fingered by many,
but ingested by only by drunkards and college students.

LOVE IS ALL THIS AND MORE

I am sorry, world... I take that back, my apology is larger than that. I am sorry, universe, for the promise I broke. I promised to post a poem a day to make the world a better place. And then tragedy struck, one that broke my heart, and shattered my faith in the world.

And I thought, "Why make the world a better place when the world is so cruel?"

Then, just as I was regaining my feet, another tragedy struck, and again I blamed the world. Just as I was regaining my feet, yes, another tragedy struck, and then another and then another. I didn't know if I was going to survive, and my interest in poetry, what I consider the very foundation of the universe and existence, simply disappeared.

I didn't want to help a world that obviously didn't want to help me. I was bitter. I was angry. I was confused. And, in rebellion, I stopped posting.

This was going to be a permanent rebellion and, every day, I told myself that I was going to take down this blog as it represented my broken promise to the universe. (Could there be anything worse than that?)

And then, yesterday, perhaps the largest tragedy of them all happened. And yet I'm still alive. Still able to smile despite everything. Still able to keep my heart open. And I realized the universe has been with me the entire time...

And so, today, I begin my task anew--to post a poem every day. Little gifts to a universe that has given me so much in return.

LOVE IS ALL THIS AND MORE

A dancing clown,
a minstrel’s song,
the chattering beak of a wayside wood thrush
peeking its head through fecund families of forest fern—
love is all this and more.

A saccharine goodbye through soul slipping lips,
an empty room, an empty house, unheeded homecomings,
a breakfast table once bent under bliss
now begging to be so burdened,
a half-used bed now twice too big,
the sad cry of a suitor made stronger through silence,
love is all this and more.