New Blog Address

My new blog is call Step/Rock Journal. You can find it at: http://step-rock.blogspot.com/

Mike

Or Sooner

The new blog may begin sooner than I thought. The itch to write must be scratched!
-mce

In Which I Say Goodbye (For A While) And Take The Leap!

Well folks, a new life begins for me. I'm staying in Tennessee, where I'll be teaching at Tennessee Technical University. It feels weird, after 33 years in PA, but it is necessary.

I am also staying in LZ Serenity. Should be interesting to watch the seasons change from my deck.

This blog is over. Blogs have a life-span for me and this one, which was only meant for the summer, has reached its end. I will be leaving it up, but not adding to it anymore.

Instead, probably next month after things settle down, I'll begin a new one. I'll email when that happens. It will be a slightly different format, I think, perhaps more of a journal. I don't want to be limited to only poetry.

I appreciate your reading and commenting. Hope you will continue to do so when the new blog goes up.

Thank you,

Mike Essig

Postscript

Every ending includes
a beginning.

The past can
never be escaped,
but it can be
left in the past.

The tree that
falls and rots
feeds new growth;
it remains,
but is transformed;
likewise the past
must nourish
the future,
not stunt its growth.

Open your arms
to what might be
and what has been
assumes it's
proper place.

A damned fine world
waits out there:

time to get on with it.
_ mce

Friday Night

Just the tree frogs,
the birds and me;
funny, the company
you end up keeping.
- mce

It's A Gamble...

Buy a ticket
in the lottery
for our souls.

The prize:
a heart melded
to your own
truly and forever,
a passion
that will
outlast death
itself.

So much
to be won.

But as they say,
you can't win,
if you don't play.
- mce

In Memory Yet Green

Two years ago today
you dumped me.

Ouch!

Now, the world
has moved on
and so have we.

Only promise
you won't forget us.

I hope to inhabit
a (small) space
in your heart,
just as your smile
will always have
a place to stay
in mine.

The only favor
I ask of eternity.
- mce

A Necessary Alchemy

Fear and faith
rule our lives.

Find a way
to reconcile
them
and life
becomes
a path to joy.

Real work
worth doing.
- mce

The Precariousness Of Free Will

Every step you take
is yours to make,
but only God knows
where the path goes.
- mce

Questions Of Fear And Probability

If every time you rolled the dice
they came up snake eyes;
if every mouth you ever kissed
closed tight against you;
if the children you loved beyond life
turned from you in disgust;
if those you counted on as friends
found it easy to forget your name;
if every decision you ever made
dissolved to ashes before your eyes;
would you have the guts
to take one more chance?

Can you honestly answer yes?
Do you really have a warrior's heart?

Or beneath that calm and stoic veneer
are you broken and cowed?

Consider your answer closely, my friend,
and welcome to this moment in my world.
- mce

A Valley Green And Growing - After Rumi

"Your task is not to seek for love,
but merely to seek and find
all the barriers within yourself
that you have built against it." - Rumi

Love, there is a valley,
green and growing.

There, flowing waters
erase the painful past
and birds willingly sing
all the songs your heart
has never known.

Let the weary world
play out its dramas
in the lives of others.

Refuse your part;
reject your role.

Do not lightly
accept direction

Escape with me to a place
where we may become
the unlikely incarnation
of each other's dreams.

It exists, love;
it can still be done.

This requires merely
a moment's courage;
demands only
that you forget what was
and chance what might be.

Believe that you are worthy.
Know that this is possible.

My arms await your body;
my heart awaits your soul.

A valley green and growing
with waters fresh and flowing.

Come to me, Love.
I am waiting.
- mce

Invincible

No one is invincible.

The world makes soldiers
of willing nineteen year olds
because they believe they are.

I have heard them die
screaming for their mothers.

If you had heard them
whimpering and bawling
in their final moments,
completely amazed
by death,
you would understand
what they learned too late:

No one is invincible.
- mce

Gentle Readers

Let me say that taking what you read too literally may lead to misunderstandings.

Some of you who read this blog worry too much. Please keep in mind that these little poems are fictions. They are not suicide notes or otherwise cries for help. They are what I see, filtered through my imagination. They are just instances, true only in the moment of their birth; after that, I'm not responsible.

As I have written elsewhere: if I write "suicide," don't think I'm planning to; if I write "whiskey," don't assume I'm a drunk; if I write "sex," don't assume I'm promiscuous; if I write "despair," don't assume I'm depressed.

I appreciate the concern, but I get a lot of kind, but mistaken emails fearing for my life. Thanks, but - really - it's OK.

Truth is, I'm the best I've been in decades, with some hope that such progress will continue. Of course, making such a statement may tempt God's laughter. Time will tell.

If I were going to commit suicide, take terminally to the bottle or try to beat Wilt Chamberlain's record with women, I certainly wouldn't announce it in a blog. And when I'm really depressed, I can't write at all, so it won't show up here.

What you do see happening here is an ongoing look at a life in progress, one man trying to understand what he encounters and, occasionally - I hope - a worthy poem or two.

Robert Penn Warren described what I try to do here best when he wrote:

"This
Is the process whereby pain of the past in its pastness
May be converted into the future tense
Of joy."

Read, enjoy and please don't fret.

Mike

Still Climbing Struggle Mountain

Han-Shan got it right:

the fewer people,
the fewer distractions;
welcome visitors,
but discourage guests.

Drink to ecstasy,
but not remorse.

Let your children
lead their own lives.

Expect nothing
from anyone;
you will never
be disappointed.

Assume that death
waits outside
right now,
holding your car keys.

Keep your nose
on the cosmic grindstone;

keep you fingers
on the Dharma throttle;

place preparedness
for resurrection
at the top
of your to-do list:

nothing, but this
solitary moment,
is guaranteed.
- mce

Poetry: Blah Blah Blah

All these faltering words:

just a deal
I made with God
as a personal reason
to keep breathing;

my own
hermetic language
designed for discourse
with the Divine.

When you think
you are reading them,
you aren't.

Really,
you are only
eavesdropping.
- mce

Zen Hummingbird

Watching
an improbable
hummingbird
dart beneath
my deck,
I wonder
how being
without thinking
must feel.
Good,
I imagine.
- mce

Hearing Deficit Disorder

If you have never
heard God laugh at you,
you need to listen closer.
- mce

Long Ago Morning - Via Sappho

Just as day broke,
mission safely over,
red tracers reached up
to grab our chopper:
Ah, the rosy-fingered dawn!
- mce

Breakfast Thought

How easy
to bite off
more than you
can chew;
how difficult
not to choke
on it.

- mce

Squirrel Relativity

The squirrel
that regularly
visits my deck,
blinks at me
through
the dirty
plate glass,
unconcerned
as a fat, gray
Buddha,
just going about
his business,
casually and
without concern.
I can almost
hear him thinking:
what is that
in there?
- mce

Why Suicide Remains Only A Comforting Notion

The hooples say
life is all about
making good choices.

A quart of whiskey
and a forty-five
could end this madness
in less than a blink.

How strong
the raging temptation
to act a god!

Yet somehow,
with my luck,
I'd manage to miss.
- mce

Explanation - for JLB

"Hearts will never be made practical
until they are made unbreakable."
- Tinman (Wizard of Oz)

Met you
in a moment
of anguish;
loved you
in a time
of trouble;
lost you
to a world
wider
than mine.

Shouldn't
have done
any of it
at all.

Should have
known better;
should have been
practical.

But I couldn't
help myself,
and I'm glad of it:

you altered
my universe.
- mce

Spring Creek Haiku

Rushing creek water:
the earth wants to have it back;
soon it will be gone.
- mce

LZ Serenity - Front and Back - Beautiful High Summer Morning

Front

Back

How To Look At A Naked Woman

Appreciate the flesh,
but examine the heart;
one lasts,
the other can't.
- mce

True Love

All the lost loves
of my life
have prepared me
for you.
Isn't it about time
you show up?
- mce

First Things First

The heart
grows weary
of endless
debate.

Abstraction:
a human talent,
but not
a human virtue.

Keep it simple,
concrete, and local.

What can be touched,
can be counted upon.

Live now;
die later.

In between,
be alive
to the glory
and possibility
of Creation.

Pursue the eternal
through the portal
of your living flesh.

Difficult,
frustrating,
necessary.

If only this
can be done,
it is enough.
- mce

OK, Let Us Try Again

"To be alive is to be broken; to be broken is to stand in need of grace."
- Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel

Morning pokes a hole
in the nightmare fabric
of my tortured dreams.

Sunlight floods in,
soothing my heart
with green and bird song
and the gentleness
of flowing creek water.

Unexpected respite;
undeserved relief.

Coffee and Mozart
in a cathedral of trees;
a wafting breeze
caressing my mortal skin.

All good reasons
to try
to live another day.

Funny how often
beauty follows despair;
how the voice of God
lifts and sings out
in the jagged desert
of the broken soul.

Perhaps, this
is what is meant
by Grace.
- mce

MIA

Some evenings,
the voice
you don't hear
cries out
in your heart.
- mce

The Bitching Blues

Bored shitless,
pottering about the shack,
chain-smoking,
nothing compelling to read,
out of beer,
too early
to get high,
no one to talk with,
same birds and trees,
even the creek
sounds repetitive.

Oh, these mad,
unsettled days:
how they do wear.

Sometimes the desire
just to drive
until I am out
of gas and money
becomes a mania.

Contentment,
what did you say
your address was?

I'd like to visit
for a while.
- mce

Chewing The Cud Of Memory And Divorce - For Uli

Our marriage
began with laughter,
lust, hopes, plans
and the desire
to last until
death parted us.

It ended
with harsh words,
icy silences,
disdain, contempt
and flight.

Between the two
a lifetime leaked away.

Was it worth it?

This question,
and what went wrong,
will haunt me
to my death.
- mce

A Very Real Disease

Money makes men mad.

Caught in the dollar,
they lose touch
with the real values
beyond the cash nexus,
forget that love and loyalty,
friendship and honesty,
outlast worldly treasure;
forget that green
is the color
of more than currency.

They know the price,
but not the place;
the cost of living,
but not the worth.

Iniquitous Mammon,
twists the souls of men,
infecting most,
exempting few,
reducing life's joys
to the tedious,
inhuman bottom line.
- mce

Please Barmaid, Not Another Round!

So much rain.

I feel more and more
like a drenched mammal,
less and less
like a human.

And yet it continues.

Branch and creek surge,
tree leaves drip tears,
blueberries burst,
everywhere sticky mud.

The earth cannot
absorb this
this fluid bounty,
precious and necessary,
but too much,
too quickly.

As with life's often
painful torrents,
this would be easier
to sip than gulp.

And yet,
we are bound
to drink up
all we are served.
- mce

The View From The Dump Truck

The beauty
of high summer
just past its apogee.

Iron weed, bull thistle,
chicory, goldenrod.

Fields mown earlier,
left alone since,
restore themselves
to abundant,
tenacious life.

This moment explodes,
ripe and fecund,
warm and verdant,
green and glowing.

Yet, even now,
autumn whispers
its soft hello
as winter,
just behind,
looks upon the scene,
patiently waiting.

Seasons upon seasons,
change and renewal,
never ending.
-mce

For My Son, As His World Changes

"Courage is the virtue upon which all other virtues depend." - Socrates

The world consists
of daily fire fights
and constant skirmishes.

Beginning
and beginning anew
require the most personal
type of valor.

Loss and change
can drain
even a hero's spirit.

Just showing up for life
sometimes demands
more courage
than you think
you can muster.

Look within.

To be a man
demands a warrior's heart.

I know there is one
beating in your chest.

Listen to it.
- mce

A Moment's Decision

Sometimes
the dice
simply cry out
to be rolled:
pass them bones
over, God;
baby needs
a new pair
of shoes.

_ mce

One More Princess Poem

I peered into the dark moat
surrounding your heart,
no bridge in sight,
recognized the danger
and leaped in anyway
hoping to swim safely across.
Only you can know
what happened next.
- mce

The Nocturnal Predator

Loneliness
came hunting
last night.

Carefully, it stalked my cabin,
searching every black corner,
knowing it would find me
awake and solitary in the darkness.

It did.

- mce

Post-Coital Tristesse

If, in the afterglow of passion,
we two, spent and glistening,
cannot fall back and gaze
into our best friend's eyes,
what do we really have?
- mce

The Y Chromosome Decoded

Should women
truly learn
men's hearts,
convents
would flourish.
- mce

Invocation And Entreaty

Sing, Muse,
the broken dreams
of an aging man.
Even in my ruin,
lend me your voice.
So much yet to say
in these waning days.
Share with me
the divine fire
of inspiration
that I might breathe
a few final words
before I must move on.
Sing, Muse,
do not abandon me yet:
let your songs be mine
a little while longer.
- mce

Old Man, Early Morning

The older I get, the more difficult
each awakening morning.
Tired and achy,
dazed and wondering,
another day arrives
on the heels of nightmares,
fragmented dreams,
disturbing visions.
Sleep, I know, however fitful,
but oh, Sweet Lady Repose,
will you ever visit my bed again?
- mce

Enjoying My Winnings

The unexpected sound
of creek water flowing
in the still of morning;
better by far
than winning the lottery
or, maybe,
in a sense,
the same thing.
- mce

Alienation

If you don't know
your watershed,
the names
of local trees
and plants,
who grows
what you eat,
where your
waste goes,
and what
generates
your electricity,
how do you know
where you are,
much less
who you are?
We are local
or we are nothing
at all.
- mce

The Great Misreading

"Dominion over all the earth..."

This was a gift granted
that we might,
through nurture and husbandry,
earn our way back to Eden,
never a command
to ravish
and ruin the earth
for profit and ease.

When a god
kindly provides you
a fresh creation
and a second chance,
be aware that
the work of your hands
engenders providence.

What you make of it,
you make of yourself.
- mce

Job/Work: The Contrast V 2.0

Leaving this valley
to make some money.

The cacophony of toil
in the wider world:
air break blast,
traffic blare,
hydraulic whine,
compressor knock.

Ears and heart assaulted
by the necessary noise
of getting things done.

But later, back
in the patch,
blueberries
repose in stillness,
fat, indigo droplets
awaiting the touch
of my gathering hands.

At most, the earth sighs,
the breeze whispers,
the birds intone
songs ever fresh.

Real work
without din
or commotion.

The perfect blend
of effort and silence;
meditation, not drudgery,
quiet and complete;
the healing consolation
of honest sweat
and human doing.

This is possible;
this is nearby.

Blessed relief.
- mce

Petition

Come to me, love.

Put your body in my hands;
let your heart snuggle in mine.
Be the voice in my throat,
my warmth against the chill.

Together holds delights
solitary cannot imagine.

Let us sing, love, a duet
sweet as this morning bird song,
notes intertwined, filling
the day's freshness with harmony.

Only trust, love, and let the music begin.

We will teach each other songs
unimaginable alone.

Only sing with me, love.

All of this and more awaits.

Shooting Craps Or Karma?

Once, desperate
for freedom
I quit the game,
walked out the door
and didn't look back.

Now, reduced to a car full
of basic belongings
and a little cash on hand,
I have accomplished
the bare minimum
I thought must suffice.

No woman,
no kids,
no mortgage,
no boss,
no chains.

Fine.

But in the marrow
of emancipation,
something stirs.

The needs
for community,
companionship
and home
tug at my heart's
hard won, but
lonely freedom.

Somewhere,
the road must end.

Somewhere,
the end
must become
a beginning.

Perhaps
it comes down
to making
a choice.

Could this be
the time
and the place?

Only one way
to know:

shake them bones;
roll them dice;
get back
in the game;
take a chance.
- mce

4:30 Am Darkness

Why do I
always wake up
exactly where I am,
uncertain where
exactly that is?
- mce

A Morning Visitor At LZ Serenity

Blueberry Bhikkhu

Picking berries
for a buck and a half
a pound;

scuffling
for minimum wage
day jobs;

selling my shit
on Ebay
to make the rent:

the amazing
creativity
and hustle
involved in
just being poor.

Step outside
the hoople
safety net
and you notice
the details;
you scour
each moment
for every dollar.

Want bites
and makes you
pay attention.


Rich folks
must spend
large amounts
on Birkenstocks
and mindfulness
seminars.

I just wake up,
and wake up:

a mendicant monk
in a hungry world.
- mce

Kindle Prices Reduced - Ned Ludd Responds...

Dear Sirs:

Send me no more offers
for your unnecessary, $300,
bullshit electronic gadget.

Nothing fits the hands and heart
better than the heft
of a printed and bound book.

Nothing ever will.

Contemptuously,
Ned.

- mce

Not In War Only

Times show up in life
when a man must decide
to face the fire or to flee.

They have visited me before
with fabulously mixed results.

Now again I hear,
if only in imagination,
the sound of bullets,
the whine of shrapnel,
the drone of rotors,
whispering to me:

Your life; your choice;
stand your ground
or run away.

May my heart choose wisely.
- mce

Fatherhood

Not an easy thing
to be the father of sons.

Inevitably, you must
disappoint them;
inevitably, they must
turn away from you.

Embrace the necessity
of this distancing.

Do not become
an impediment
to the world
they must inherit,
the world that
you can never know.

Be joyful.

Trust that what
you have planted
will flourish
beyond your reach.

Dream the futures
you will never see.
- mce

The Magic of Vaccinium Corymbosum

Sunshine slowly warms
my aching, Yankee neck.

Disappointments
and failures slip
far away, seem vague.

Stretch, touch, pluck,
gather and enjoy.

Experience enchantment
in a handful of blueberries.

Nature's healing charms,
cast widely, within reach,
available for the picking.
- mce

"Not Universal Love, But To Be Loved Alone."

Be my lover
and I will bring you
blueberries and love songs,
smiles and sunshine.

Let the mad world
spin violently
out of control
as it always has,
as it always will.

Blueberries and love songs,
smiles and sunshine;
respite within chaos.

Only take my hand, love:
no better life is possible.
- mce

Be Here Now

An unexpected chill
kisses this soft, July morning:
a delectable shiver arouses
my still sleepy body.

The world delights
in providing tiny,
precious surprises,
if only we notice,
and appreciate.

Awakening involves more
than simply getting out of bed.
- mce

No Need To Kiss More Frogs

When you reach
that unexpected point
where you understand
that no magical person
will be showing up
to save you,
life suddenly becomes
very interesting,
indeed.
- mce

Simple Gifts - for Steve and Nadine

A few beers,
good friends,
shared food
and conversation.
These little things
provide shelter
from the storm.
These little things
are not so little
at all.
- mce

Spring Creek Surprise

The rushing sound
of creek water
punctuates the quiet
of morning:
God murmurs ecstasy.
- mce

I'll Be Ready In A Minute...

A night of storms,
thunder, lightening,
downpours.
Woke to four feet
of water racing down
the creek bed
dry for over a month.
Nature: a woman
who changes her clothes
and her mind
in a minute.
Treat her like a wife;
tell her she looks fine;
stay out of her way.
- mce

Walking In Tennessee, Remembering Greece

Frost heave,
water wash,
root pull:
implacable forces
of nature,
ever patient,
never sleeping.

This WPA erosion wall
built of heavy,
hand-placed stone,
not seventy years old,
now crumbling.

Knossos, Mycenae, Troy:
what remains
but rock, roots,
ruins and rubble?

Ever striving,
we imagine
ourselves the masters
of what we touch.

We craft the world,
mark it grandly
with great skill,
shape it
to our design,
but only for awhile.

No matter the effort,
our best creations
devolve to
random heaps
of broken masonry
trod upon
by clueless tourists.

In the end,
only the earth abides.
- mce

(Click on the above photo to see it full sized.)

An Eternal Question Regarding Progeny

Children: why do they arrive
with such a huge price tag,
but no instruction manual?
- mce

The Erotica Of Awakening

Morning elegance:
birdsong and sunlight
radiate potential;
this bright day
renews an offering
of hope and desire.

I don't deserve it;
no one does.

A bird does not
deserve the sky;
a tree does not
deserve the earth.

Existence, God,
fate and people,
owe us nothing.

No matter that
I am a flawed man,
an impure concoction
of good and evil
stumbling like a drunk
through this tainted,
gorgeous garden
of Creation.

I will take life
into my arms like a lover
for as long
as she will have me,
caress her, whisper to her,
embrace her, enter her,
cleave unto her,
penetrate her mysteries
with all the energy
I can muster.

And when
we are both spent,
our ephemeral coupling
inevitably over,
the climax of being
finally reached,
I will die satisfied,
breathlessly content,
thankful to have been
simply a man,
simply in the world.
- mce

No Saints, No Monsters - for RME

Life is not
a black and white
photograph.

At our best,
we are never
innocent;
at our worst,
never guilty.

Reality comprises
infinite shades
of gray.

Fumbling through
the fog of life,
we hurt
and are hurt
in turn,
love and are
loved in turn.

Neither feels
from inside
as it appears
from outside.

You can never know
another man's blues,
never feel
another man's pain.

Accept that.

Be slow to judge,
hope your sins
are forgiven,
forgive those
who have sinned
against you.

If you wish to be human,
there is no other choice.

Compassion, that most
demanding virtue:
absolutely difficult,
equally necessary.

Practice, fail, continue.

There is no other life.
-mce

Humility

"Say it plainly, the human name doesn't mean shit to a tree." - G.S.

Stumbling the rocky falls path,
two large trees,
hickory and sycamore,
fallen to the last thunderstorm.

Soil and stones
festoon their naked roots;
leaves still fresh,
green, not wilted.

I clamber over and continue.

Now an obstacle,
in the cool of autumn
we will return
with chain saws, axes,
cut and carry this wood,
transform it into heat
for winter.

Walking, falling, cutting, burning:
all magical steps
in the inescapable process
of age, death, decay and rebirth.

The earth provides
and points the way.

We do what must be done,
following her lead,
taking our place,
in the process,
not so different
from grubs or termites
as we might like
to imagine.
- mce

Near Life Experience

On Tuesday I drove near
my ex-wife's house
for the first time
in almost three years.
At just that moment,
in just that place,
my car's clutch blew up.
Curse or coincidence?
Spooky to think about.
Hard to say.
- mce

Caveat Emptor

Do not mistake
the poems for the poet.

The exquisite grace
of a panther
stalking the jungle
in blackest night
renders it
not one iota
less dangerous.

Enjoy my words
at a safe distance.

Never, dear reader,
confuse the words
with the man.
- mce

Hejira

Interstate or airport,
every journey leads home.

Odysseus sailed to Troy
and discovered Ithaca.
Ahab found domicile
in the mouth of a whale.

All roads lead back
to the self;
no other destination exists.

Arm yourself, pack, go;
you cannot get further
than who you are.

Welcome home.
- mce

The View From LZ Serenity's Rear Deck

Looking Forward

What is the smell
of yesterday,
the color of pain,
the taste of love?
How many blueberries
in a second?
Are women
really human?
Does death
make a sound?
Are cats truly smart
or just pretending?
Will those I've
loved and hurt
ever forgive me?
So many questions
to answer
before I can depart.
- mce

Aphorism

The ultimate arrogance:
believing you can live a life
without consequences.
- mce

A Short Comment On Patriotic Holidays

At once
the great strength
and likely tragedy
of America:
stubbornly
and sincerely
believing,
against
so much evidence
to the contrary,
in the home
of the brave
and the land
of the free.
- mce

A Pickle Poem

The threat of death
makes a wondrous
condiment.

Eighteen months ago
my dolorous doctor
announced that my liver
might have
but three to five years
left on it.

Time passes.

Now I notice that
birds sing louder,
trees grow greener,
and strangers
smile more.

Every day,
a present
to unwrap.

Thank you, Doc,
for shaking that
unexpected spice
onto my life.

The closer
to the end,
the more alive
I feel.

- mce

Ode to Chiggers

Chiggers: a truly
southern-fried
pain in the ass.
Invisible;
inescapable;
inevitable.
Still,
the torment
of this
constant itching
reminds me
that beauty
always comes
at a price.

- mce

Picking The Patch On A Grey Day

Blueberries:
a double whammy
of delight.

Lovely
to look upon;
delicious
to taste.

How these little,
indigo globules
manage not
to explode
from goodness
astounds me.

One more
curious mystery
to ponder.

- mce

A Sunday Prayer

Another new day, God.

Make me large enough
-like Buddha, like Jesus -
to accept and overcome
the wrongs done me,
the wrongs I have done.

Help me to rise above
the shallow selfishness
of my mortal concerns.

Grant me the courage
and the compassion
to be a better man.

The time is short, God,
but the road is long.

Directions are welcome.

- mce

Preparing For A Journey

I have forgotten
what it is like
not to travel alone.

No big deal,
just another
lonesome highway
leading back to myself;
just another reminder
of how long
and inevitable
and solitary
our journey must be.

Get gas. Add some oil.
Check the tires.

Life is an Interstate;
death, the only exit.

Keep your foot
on the gas.

Pay attention.

Drive.

- mce

Why It Is A Wonderful Or Terrible Thing To Be A Poet

When you write it down,
you relive it.
- mce

Mykonos - for H.M.

"Memory is a kind of accomplishment." - William Carlos Williams

Forty years later
I still see you
standing on that
dazzling Greek beach
wearing nothing
but your bikini bottoms
and an innocent grin.
A vision like that
can last a man
a lifetime.
Where are you now
smiling Venus?
- mce

A Question Of Risk

If every door
was a portal
leading
not to a room,
but a new world,
would you
hold my hand
and cross over
with me?
- mce

A Kind Of Immortality

If death should
turn out to be
complete unto itself,
it is enough
that my mortal body
rot to humus
and nourish the fruit
that are yet to come.
- mce

Blueberry Madness!

Another Princess Poem

Only what is worth losing
is worth reaching for.
- mce

One Small Step For A Man

Sunlight, rain,
mist or rainbows;
walking out
on my deck
each morning
opens up
a fresh glimpse
of Eden,
the possibility
of a world reborn.
- mce

Optimism

Place your hand
inside my chest
and touch my heart.
It beats
for the possibility
of you alone.
- mce

Olfactory Orgasm

The simple smell
of new mown hay
on a cool, dry morning:
ambrosia for the nose!
- mce

The "Show Up For Life" Poem

Remember:
the chance
you won't take
is the life
you won't live.

Pull on your boots.
Be open
to possibility.
Saunter forth.

Trust God
and curiosity
to manage the rest.
- mce

The Geology of Life

Walking the dry creek bed
this cool morning,
my boots stumble
upon millions of years
of geological debris.

These countless rocks
washed how far
by current and storm?

Born of fire and water,
broken by time and motion,
shale and limestone splinters
testify mutely
to the potent
anonymous forces
that shape and deposit us
on this ground
where we stand,
unsure how we arrived.

We are rocks in this stream,
our lives shaped by powers
We cannot know,
do not understand.

Creek bed, debris,
fragments, shards
and morning chill:
the ineluctable,
unknowable reality
of what is now.
- mce

A Mystery

Heroin, war,
marriage, divorce,
madness, freedom:
who knew the last
would be hardest
to survive?
- mce

The Cookie Question

When your heart
is broken repeatedly
does it become stronger
or does it just become
another crumbled cookie?
- mce

The Road Does Not Take Questions

At sixteen
I said fuck it
and ran away
from home.
Forty-one
years later,
I'm still running.
Forty-one years
still seeking
the answers
to that
wayward kid's
questions
and not
one step closer:
from what,
to what?
- mce

But This Is Hard V 2.0

"The poem reveals itself only to the ignorant man." - Wallace Stevens

Become a child again;
indulge yourself
in ignorance and wonder;
be open to paradox,
uncertainty and amazement.
Recall the very first time
you noticed fireflies
blinking out rapturous glory,
the mystery and grandeur
of that innocent instant.
Return your heart to that state
of spontaneous marvel.
The world will reveal itself,
transformed and articulate,
into small, exquisite fragments
manifested as poems,
a wholly fresh vision
of the same old universe
experienced through
the welcoming eyes
of an idiot.
- mce

Dusk on Spring Creek

Ed Abbey said
that freedom begins
between the ears.
He was right,
but the questions remain,
where does it lead,
how does it end
and can we endure
the journey?
- mce

A Simple Question

What happens
when every road
is a detour
and you are
too tired
to keep driving?
- mce

A Morning Meditation on Fire and Loons

The loonier you get,
the more you write.

The popping flames flare
in your wobbly, burning head
igniting each random word.

Your brain catches fire
and becomes a furnace.

Into it, you heap more words,
make it blaze
ever brighter, ever hotter.

Then you reach
into its glowing coals,
snatch out some
untempered syllables
and beat them
with the hammer
of your imagination.

From this raw molten stuff,
you forge the shape and form
of these poems that tell you:

you are still alive,
you are still here,
you are still you.

It is a process
as simple and complicated
as madness.
- mce

The Old Trees Preach A Sermon On The Curious Notion of Posterity

Just at dusk, when the birds settle
and the light has nearly fled,
gnarled and broken fruit trees,
weeds reaching to their hips,
covered with phosphorescent lichen,
loom in the overgrown, abandoned orchard
glowing faintly in the gathering darkness
like forgotten, malnourished ghosts.
- mce

Unexpected Blessing

It is good
to be a curmudgeon,
even better
to have been committed
at least once;
nonplussed,
the hooples
giggle nervously
and leave you
in peace.
- mce

Coming Suddenly Upon A Wal-Mart In Rural Tennessee

The real America
died at Wounded Knee
where this plastic,
shit-coated monstrosity
we now call home
was born,
appropriately,
in a hail of bullets.
- mce

An Incomplete Set Of Simple Rules For Living

Avoid interstates and airplanes
whenever possible.
Never clean your shotgun
while listening to George Jones
and drinking whiskey.
Visit between the thighs of women,
but do not become stuck there.
Remember that gold is only a color.
Consider that while drunk
is sometimes absolutely necessary,
sober has its virtues, too.
Assume that you are wrong
and you will probably be right.
Believe in birdsong and blueberries.
Know that when the chips are down
water is usually thicker than blood.
Doubt the lulling attractions
of usury and power.
If there is any way to stay clear
of marriage and war, do so.
Make your own list, take it to heart,
and never consider it finished.
- mce

Brautigan Was A Drunk, But He Got This Right...

"I am here
and you are distant."

The essential sadness
of those words
seizes the heart
of loneliness.

Here/distant:
the kernel
of so much despair
and poetry.
- mce

Birds Vs. Bankers

Last night up on the ridge
a whippoorwill sang
its incessant sweet song
in the thick, firefly darkness.
Dante was right to make Hell
a place without birds.
They fill the world with music
and ask nothing in return.
The purity of sweetness
without the demand for profit.
What a lovely notion.
- mce

Supplication

Use me, God,
as you like,
or dispose of me
as you see fit.
Only do not
keep me present
and useless.
That is beyond
my strength,
beyond my capacity
to bear.
- mce

Epistemology

I do not know
what rivers mean,
how buzzards think,
what the sun imagines,
or how snowdrifts feel.
This is sad and puzzling.
You would suppose
that in fifty-seven years
even a crazy man
might learn something
of consequence.
- mce

Mortality

My father has had
a mild stroke.
I sit in the sterile
emergency room
and listen
to the screams
of a child
down the hall
underscoring
the tiny space
between
the pain of birth
and the pain of death.
- mce

Madness V 2.0

It is not a state
of mind,
but a place
in hell
that you
do not wish
to enter,
although
you have no choice;
once you have visited,
nothing will ever
be the same
again.
If others
understood
the finality
of this horror,
they might not be
so quick to judge.
- mce

A Birthday Poem - for Richard

When you were just small,
you and I and Icy D. Bear
would lie in bed at day's end.

We would talk
until your silence told me
that you were slipping off
into your dreams,
but I would remain,
listening to your breath
become even,
until I knew you were
asleep and safe.

That was the warmest place
I have ever been.

Now you are nineteen,
a grown man
whom fate and madness
have taken from me.

I imagine you now,
knocking at life's door,
demanding your due,
as youth and strength require.

How I pray, my little/large son,
against my certain knowledge
of the world's cruelty and caprice,
that every door you touch
opens smoothly before you,
that all your sleep
may be warm and safe,
and that someday
your heart will soften
and admit me
once again into your dreams.
- mce

Whence It All Arises

The mundane world of details
yields only to the imagination.
Facts do not make a life;
events alone cannot explain a human.
A butterfly is just an insect
until the tale teller awakens its potential;
a lover is just a lump of flesh
until a story renders her beautiful.
The fictions we create generate a reality
beyond the dreary limitations of mere truth.
Knowing only the particulars
amounts to knowing nothing.
Lift your brush and paint a scene;
speak your words and create a world.
- mce

Gender Confusion

Women, generally,
desire stability,
and suspect intensity.
The more alive
you become,
the more frightening
you become.
A certain loneliness
adheres to freedom.
The price of being
must often be paid for
by waking up alone.
- mce

Celestial Payola

I vaguely recall whole nights
of deep, refreshing slumber,
waking renewed and ready.
Now, every morning,
I stumble into consciousness
from an exhausting welter
of dreams and demons
wondering how much
must you bribe God
to get a single, decent night of sleep?
- mce

Blueberries Incoming!

Yesterday,
I tasted
the first ripe
blueberry
of the season.
The explosion
of its flavor
on my parched
tongue:
first blast
of the luscious
blue barrage
to come.
- mce

5:30 AM Blues

Heavy rains last night;
thick mist this morning;
tree leaves dip and drip.
Not a glimmer of sun.
Even the birds sound
muted and distant.
Some days are born lonely.
- mce

From Troy to Laos V 2.0

Once on a miserably
hot, humid day
cruising above
a silent jungle,
I watched
a twenty-two year old
Cobra pilot
clear his machine guns
on an ancient,
abandoned,
Buddhist temple.
All the hubris
of western civilization
explicated
in one burst.
Homer, who best
knew the hearts
of men at war,
could not
have sung it better.
- mce

The Innate Physicality of Grief

How much
suffering
is bearable?
How much,
too much?
Only
the finger
caressing
the trigger
knows for sure.
- mce

Morning Mystery

If I am a loser,
so beneath contempt
as to merit
three years of silence
why do you bother
to seek out
my humble musings
on this obscure blog?
What could the words
of a dead man
possibly
have to offer you?
Am I like a train wreck
you can't help
but watch,
or do you remember
better times than these,
and miss them,
as I do?
Questions,
silence,
morning,
mystery.
- mce

Sunday Morning Invocation V 2.0

"Practice resurrection." - Wendell Berry

This sabbath morning
dawns vibrant
with Tennessee birdsong
and sunshine.
It is a prayer
to the freshness
of possibility,
driving the past away.
Keep me safe
in the freshness
of now.
Let the brilliance
of this new day
carry me
toward better tomorrows.
Stop my hands
from wanting
to strangle the world.
Make me a vessel
brimming with
love and forgiveness
for those
who have hurt
and deserted me.
Touch their hearts
with the same.
Take the bitterness
from my lips,
the despair
from my heart.
Keep me safe,
redeem
and resurrect
my soul.
The world
is a burden
too heavy
to lift alone.
Give me the strength
to continue
this journey,
and along the way
to hear the birds,
feel the sun,
and smile.
- mce

The Complete Experience of Father's Day

.

- mce

The Ex-Wife's Revenge

Since
she left me,
I have never
really
been able
to unpack,
not once.
- mce

Considering The Troubles After Three years

Walking this morning,
I frightened a white tail
at the confluence
of two creeks.

Hearing my approach,
it bounded
through the water,
up the bank
and vanished.

This deer
I never meant
to harm,
like those I loved,
never looking back,
simply gone
in a heartbeat.
- mce

A Cogent Existential Justification for the Necessity of a Second Pot of Coffee

Some mornings
are just that way.
- mce

Listening to Mozart While Cleaning the Shower

The experience
of the sublime
enables me
to endure
the reality
of the mundane.
Thank you,
Wolfgang,
my shower
sparkles
with your
brilliance.
- mce

Malaria Woman

Just when I think
I am cured,
the fever strikes again.
- mce

A Toss Up

Solitude/Loneliness:
two sides, one coin.

Solitude:
sitting silently
on my deck
in the velvet
Tennessee blackness,
alone,
watching thousands
of fireflies
blinking out
some fundamental,
incomprehensible
message.

The glory
of being alone.

Loneliness:
waking up,
alone,
from troubled dreams
of war
and lost love,
staring
at the same ceiling,
thinking,
shit, another
empty day
to fill.

The pain
of being alone.

Solitude/Loneliness:
two sides, one coin.

To be alive
means to flip it,
accept and embrace
what comes up,
glory or pain,
and move on.
- mce

The Inevitability of Morning V 2.0

My neck aches
this morning.
I can't read
without glasses.
Two cups of coffee
no longer
do the trick.
I'm getting old.
I live alone.
I'll never be rich,
famous or admired.
But none of this
matters at all.
The world
remains out there
and while I breathe,
I must show up.
- mce

On Meeting A High School Acquaintance After 40 Years V 4.0

He told me once,
at seventeen,
in my parents' attic,
that he would be a star,
remake the world
in his own image,
forge his life
by his own hand
with his own tools.

It would all happen,
he assured me,
through his own will
and determination.

Other people
were unnecessary;
fate, destiny, karma
and bad luck
only existed
in the heads
of losers,
not for him.

He was exempt.

Nothing could stop him.

He declared
himself
invincible,
(he had been reading
Ayn Rand)
and smiled
patronizingly
at my own
pathetic hippie
lack of ambition.

Now,
forty years gone,
divorced, broke
and unemployed,
he bums a cigarette
and whines
about the economy.

Apparently
the world
had other plans.
- mce

A Study in Silence

Returning alone
after work.

The shack
sitting empty,
waiting
for no one;

mist rising
from the still meadow
like silky,
slender ghosts;

the trees
keep their thoughts
to themselves;

a light rain
begins to fall;

no sounds,
but bird sounds
and my own breath,
both hushed.

How far away
the world
and all its bustle.

Money, ambition,
achievement
and success -
the cacophony
of modern life,
just so much noise.

In this silence,
I become
the best part
of silence:
myself.
- mce

Joy on a Hot Day

Discovering
that what you
were sure
was you last beer
is actually two.
- mce

Doggerel - for Anonymous

The man of deeds who lacks the word
is simple, stupid and absurd.
He works and struggles all the day
for nothing more than mindless pay.
He loves the rich and thinks them smart
for gaining through their lack of heart.
He loves his boundaries; worships rules;
considers those who break them fools.
His mind is closed; his world is small;
he has no words to think at all.
His conversation tends to stink
because he never learned to think.
His only drive is buying more;
he's little but a Hoople whore.
He does and does and that's enough,
if he can just keep buying stuff.
He never questions what he's told;
he's just a thing that's bought and sold.
And when it is his time to die;
he'll lack the words to wonder why.
- mce

Blueberries Better Than Sex - for Brinna V 2.0

Rows of blueberries,
silver leaf
and green stem,
dance gently
beneath
the unforgiving
Tennessee sun.

Reach, pull, tie,
prune, weed,
sweat, curse,
move on,
repeat.

Simple work
demanding
subtle skills.

You must come
into communion
with these plants.

You must know
their needs
and tend them.

To tend
means to touch
with love and grace,
with care.

Love, grace,
tending, caring:
these qualities
elevate the menial
to the sublime.

Your payment
is joy
in the process
itself,
the doing
of real work
that matters
to the silent earth
that will outlast
your efforts.

And,
of course,
that delicious
indigo bounty,
when the plants
reward you
with blueberries
better than sex.
- mce

Coda to the Morning Report

A poet writes
what he writes;
the reader reads
what he reads.
The real poem,
the poem
of the mind,
exists when
the two collide
and belongs -
exclusively
- to both
and neither
of them.
- mce

The Morning Report: How It Works

I get quite a few questions from readers about my writing. Generally, these questions fall into four broad categories. They concern why I use a blog, my method, my style, my honesty and the problem of hurting or offending people. Let me briefly speak to each of these.

I use a blog for self-publication because it allows me to publish and rewrite at my own convenience without the delays and politics inherent in traditional publishing venues. There are almost no markets for poetry these days. Those that remain are small and self-referential. You are put in the awkward position of trying to guess what will please the editor rather than what pleases you. You send a poem to a publisher and it takes months to hear back. If it is published, you can bet the magazine or website doesn't have many more readers than this blog. Moreover, you lose control of the poem. You can no longer re-write it; it becomes frozen in form. Thus, the only reason to publish in traditional venues is the ego boost of seeing your name in print. I've done that before and am over it. Now I am more interested in the writing itself. Blogging allows me to focus on the writing while avoiding the bullshit.

My method is harder to describe. I don't honestly know where this stuff comes from. It just shows up in my head. I have to polish it and craft it, but usually things come to me in whole first drafts. I get up early, drink a lot of coffee, smoke some cigarettes and wait to see what happens. 95% of my writing is done before noon. After that, the fickle muse goes off to bestow her favors on someone else. One morning last week I was driving into Cookeville to run some errands when the first draft of the poem "What the Earth Means," began to take shape in my head. I pulled off into the parking lot of the Smyrna Church of Christ and wrote it down on the back of an envelope. On the drive back, two more poems began to manifest themselves. Again, how this happens is a mystery to me. I just go with the proverbial flow.

Style is more concrete. Some of it comes from forty years of reading poetry. The poets who have most influenced me are Wallace Stevens, William Carlos Williams, Gary Snyder, Wendell Berry, Richard Brautigan, Jim Harrison and certain Japanese and Chinese poets. Anyone who knows these writers will easily see their hands in my work. Other non-poets, Edward Abbey for instance, inform it as well. I like short, epigrammatic poems written in a personal voice. Our age has a short attention span; the long poem is dead. As for the voice, you can never remove the poet's consciousness from the poem, so why not include it, acknowledge it, and use it as a tool? For better or worse, that's what I do.

A young friend recently commented that she admired the honesty in my writing. I replied that it is easy to be honest when you are old, alone and have little to lose. That is true, but not complete. Honesty is affected by age and experience. When you are looking at sixty, time presses and what you are afraid to say now might not get said. But honesty is also necessary. Self-censorship is the death of poetry. If you dance around a subject, you might as well abandon it. Everything must be on the table: ex-wives, lovers, friends, children, failures, disasters, despair, even madness. Any hesitation or embarrassment I feel tells me that I am on the right track. My maxim is: be honest or be silent.

This leads me to the question of offending or harming others. In the first place, this is poetry, not reportage. Nothing I write is ever written with the intent of hurting anyone. Of course, my intent and what actually happens sometimes diverge. That is because what I write is my version of experience. It is experience filtered through my imagination. My ex-wife, former lovers, my kids, my friends, they would all - necessarily - have their own, probably quite different, versions of incidents I make use of. We all tell ourselves our own stories about the events in our lives. I am only telling my version; their versions belong to them. I am not telling the truth; I am creating my own imaginative version of the truth. A good example is the short piece, "The Girl Who Knocked." I knew it might offend, but it wanted to be written. I counted on the people I thought it might offend, including the girl herself, recognizing that it was partly autobiographical, partly fiction and being able to tell the difference. I'm happy to say that they did. Sometimes that may not be the case. I may, inadvertently, cause hurt. If so, I can only repeat what I've explained above and say again that I do not use poetry as a weapon. It is inescapable that if you know a writer, you might find yourself in something he writes and not like it. If that bothers you, try to avoid knowing writers.

I don't enjoy explaining my poetry. I really do hold the old Modernist view that the poem must speak for itself. It works for you or it doesn't. If it requires explanation, it probably isn't successful. But these peripheral questions do arise and people keep asking, so this is my early morning attempt to provide some honest answers. I hope they suffice. Now for more coffee and cigarettes and - hopefully - some real writing.
- mce

Sunday Morning Meeting

The Cedar Waxwing
on my deck railing
delivers a brief,
melodic sermon
and then departs.

The voice of God
speaks in many tongues,
equally beautiful,
equally difficult
to comprehend.

What can be done,
but to listen
and to hope.
- mce

What the Earth Means V 2.0

This day
lives in radiance,
clear and sparkling.
The sun shines
warmth and promise.
Colors abound:
powder blue,
the sky above;
along the road,
tiger lilies
shout orange;
the trees express
a green perfection.
No accident
could engender
such beauty.
No human words
can recreate it.
The earth presents
the mind of God,
within which
we come to know Him,
living out a prayer.
Creation:
always a wonder
to behold.
- mce

The Delight of Recalcitrance

I have grown
a beard,
luxuriant
in its whiteness.

Whenever I encounter it
in my mirror,
it says, sensibly:

Behold, Mike,
time is short.
Grow up,
find a place,
take a wife,
be an adult,
settle.

To which I reply,
delighting
in my recalcitrance:

No way, beard!
The difficult
is my destiny.
Black or white,
I will always
be a pirate.
- mce

No Ten Day Forecast Here

I am a weather map.

Within me
tornadoes whirl,
sunshine glistens,
winds howl,
storms explode,
stillness reigns.

Change is constant
and expected.

You cannot forecast
a life.

An Unfair Competition

A lover,
whom I cherished
(and who left me)
once said:
I will always
love your words;
apparently,
my words
are easier to love,
than I am.
- mce

Storm Season

Women
blow through
my life
like neurotic
hurricanes.
In their
aftermath,
I repair
what I can,
knowing
that the next
tropical depression
gathers
just beyond
the horizon.
- mce

Father's Day

An old acquaintance
disturbingly told me,
when I proudly
announced
my oldest son's
first step:
Keep in mind, Mike,
every step they take
is a step away from you.
Twenty-five years
and countless steps
have passed;
he was exactly
right.
- mce

Sehnsucht

In fifty-seven years
as a refugee,
I have never really
unpacked, not once.

Every place
is just a place.

People arrive
and disappear.

Home, hearth
and household
do not adhere
to me.

This morning
rain drips
from the trees;
birdsong
fills the air;
in the mist
across the road
from my cloud cabin
three deer graze.

A good place,
but not home.

I belong nowhere;
I will not stay here;
I know that.

I am the shade
of a Long Hunter,
always passing through,
never settling,
or a Hungry Ghost,
observing, remarking,
but never involved.

I am not
a determined king
and no Ithaca
awaits me,
no rooted bed
or loyal hound.

Yesterday
I followed a path
through the woods
that went nowhere,
simply ended.

Perfection,
of a kind,
existing for itself,
no reason
or destination,
just a way.

But it is my path,
and I will follow it.
- mce

The Futility of Possession

A few moments ago,
my computer crashed
and I lost a poem
I had been writing since dawn.
Why did it vanish?
Where did it go?
Possession
is a comfortable illusion,
but uncertainty
is the true face of God;
we own nothing in this life,
not even our words.
- mce

Invocation

Only visit my heart,
dear muse,
and together
we will launch
a thousand poems.
- mce

On The Efficacy of Prayer

Worst case:
you have spoken
honestly and humbly
to your own heart;
best case:
God hears;
what have you got
to lose?
- mce

Silence Speaks Volumes

Some days
nothing
is the most
eloquent
statement
you can
make.
Shout it
out.
- mce

Danse Macabre

The poet owns
a closet packed
with dancing
skeletons,
whirling and gliding;
he never needs
to dance alone.
- mce

After Work

Hours
in the hot sun
at an end.
Muscles,
sore and aching,
begin to relax.
The sweat
of honest labor
dries upon your body.
The beer
is cold
and forgiving.
The promise
of evening's cool
beckons.
Time to sit still
and be silent.
In this moment
of respite -
no thought,
no mind -
everything
is possible.
- mce

The Divorce: A History In 97 Words

Your ex-wife
takes your money
and your life,
feels nothing,
gets a face lift
and buys a new life;
your kids
take their leave,
imagine mommy
a wronged saint,
forget everything
you ever did
for them
and disappear;
friends you have known
for fifteen years
take cover
and vanish
for good
without a word;
the cops
take you to jail
and find your situation
amusing;
the judge
takes your freedom
and dignity,
frowns intently,
and gives you
a criminal record;
your lawyer
takes what's left;
you take
a beating
and walk out
to face the world
alone:
simplicity itself.
- mce

Comments V 3.0

It's odd. People love to read the comments that are posted here, but very few actually post comments. Come on folks, join in. Positive, negative, whimsical, serious - say something. All you have to do is click on "comments" beneath the posting and say what you like. It is set to allow anonymous comments, so you can even be a mystery if you like. Love to hear from you.
- mce

The Lost Wife

I loved you
and tried to become
what you wanted.
For decades
I tried to tame myself
to please you.
Couldn't do it.
Disaster ensued.
Could we really
have been so wrong?
So much hope
and effort
for nothing;
thirty years and more,
erased, wasted.
I don't know
what to do
with that loss.
Do you?
- mce

Not to Worry

On my desk,
empty beer bottles
and a spent pipe,
the evening's debris.
Last night
a bed full
of nightmares:
war, death and
a lost child.
This morning,
sun on the ridges,
a gentle breeze
sways the trees,
coffee and birdsong
on the deck.
Everything
comes full circle;
it is all part
of the process.
- mce

Why I Write V 2.0

People ask me why I write. It's a fair and obvious question. After all, I don't make money at it and I'm not interested in traditional publication. So why? And why put it on a blog for people to love, hate or ignore without generally even knowing which reaction they choose?

Well, it's simple. I write for the same reason that I breathe: to keep on living. For me the equation is simple: no breath; no life; no words; no life. Or perhaps, no self-expression; no self. But, I don't just express myself when I write, I discover myself. Writing tells me about who I am and it often tells me things I didn't know about myself before.

I don't choose to do it; I am compelled to do it. I have to, just to continue being. It's not what I do; it's what I am.

Was this always the case? Yes and no.

I wrote a lot when I was young. In high school and the army, I fully expected writing to somehow become the cornerstone of my life. It didn't work out that way.

I got married and for thirty years I stopped. Why? Writing must be brutally honest. My ex-wife didn't appreciate honesty that strayed outside of her very limited, conventional mindset. I loved her and I didn't want to upset her, so I squelched myself. It was either that or practice the most dishonest kind of self-censorship. I preferred silence to that.

Problem was that I voluntarily removed the thing that meant the most to me from my life. That made my life feel empty and unfulfilled. Those feelings accumulated over the years and the result was that, not only was I unhappy, so was she. It is hard to be a good husband, father or even person when you are only feeling half alive. In the end, I resented her for what I had done to myself to please her. And that had a lot to do with the marriage ending.

When it did, the faucet turned back on again. Through the last four (very difficult) years, writing has been my one constant; the thing that has sustained me through some very, very bad times. It still does.

As for the blog, it provides me with an audience without the hassles of traditional publishing. True, I don't know much about my audience, but I know it's there, and that's enough for me. It provides the very small amount of ego massage that I need.

Not a very cogent explanation, I suppose, but the best I have. I intend to keep writing. I hope you keep reading. Hell, I even wish my ex-wife would!
- mce

True Friends

It is simply
impossible
to survive
without them.
- mce

But What Could It Be?

Women:
they show up,
they smile,
they love my poems,
they grace my bed
and then,
they leave.
Something
is awry here.
- mce

LZ Serenity - The Mysterious Inner Sanctuary

The official 70s porno movie coach. I inherited it. Brown velour with faux leopard skin cushions. Really ladies, who could resist?

The mysterious no electricity heat source. Just throw in a tree and get cozy. Magic.

The central command center whence all official LZ Serenity communiques originate.

Serenity Renamed Landing Zone Serenity. Hoists Jolly Roger. Declares Itself "Hoople Free Zone."

An Awakening

Morning; reentry.
This can be
difficult.
When your nightmares
feel more vivid
than your life,
it takes
a little time
to sort things out.
Take a breath,
drink some coffee:
try to be sure
which is which.
- mce

Film Noir Breakfast

Thunder storms,
crazed lightening,
downpours,
nightmares,
intermittent sleep.

How different
the world appears
after such
a tortured night.

Grey, dripping,
bleak and dismal.

God must be
in Portugal
working
on his tan.

I feel like
a minor player
in some cheap
film noir movie
trying to remember
my lines.

Shooting starts
any minute now.

Damn,
who am I?
- mce

What Time Does Not Diminish

Thunder pounds the ridges.
Rain beats on the tin roof.
Past midnight and I can't sleep
for thinking of you.
There really is no fool
like an old fool.
- mce

What Really Matters? V 2.0

Incomes,
didn't match;
families,
didn't match;
ages,
didn't match;
backgrounds,
didn't match;
souls,
bodies,
minds
matched perfectly.
Life departs
in only a moment.
What really matters?

A Princess Poem

There have been
many since you,
but not one
like you.
- mce

First, Let It Rot

The poem sprouts
from the compost
of the mind.

People, events, desires
memories, hopes,
dreams, disappointments,
all mixed and turned,
watered with imagination,
until something
catches and clutches,
pale and fragile,
and begins to grope
slowly for the light.

Coax it,
nurture it,
tend it.

Pour your soul
and your love
into it.

Bring all that is you
to the task.

Perhaps a poem
will blossom.
- mce

The Virtue of Necessity

The whirr of chain saws
in the morning drizzle;
real work
stops for nothing.
- mce

A Mad Farmer Speaks... V 2.0

Why, at this late date, am I attempting to become a farmer? Why spend long days in the hot sun doing difficult manual labor?

For one thing, it is challenging to encounter new problems and learn new skills. To do this I have to dabble in small engine repair, plumbing (hydraulics), carpentry, as well as pruning, mulching, out-house construction, weather watching and many other pursuits that I have never encountered before. It is exhilarating to do things I have never tried before.

There is the autonomy of it, too. No boss, no computer, no staff meetings, no "team player" asininity. Just see the problems, make a plan, find the tools and do the job. There is nothing alienated about this labor.

Then there is the sense of immediate accomplishment, so unlike teaching. When I finish a job here, I can look at the tangible results and think, I did that. None of that "touching the future" bullshit. Even so, as I do the daily work, I have to be able to imagine ahead to the future, to the harvest. Farming requires faith.

Books, words and ideas have been the primary domain of my life. I love them and consider it a life well spent. But there is something about getting my hands dirty...
- mce

After Images

Closing my eyes
for a little siesta
after three hours
of sweltering sun
in the patch,
immediately
the image
of blueberry leaves
fills my head
swaying
- gentle, pale, green -
in my half-dreams,
both a lullaby
and a reminder
of work still undone.
- mce

Morning Alba

You wake
in a warm bed
and feel her
female presence;
she wakes,
opens her eyes,
and smiles.
What is more
lovely
and reassuring
than waking up
next to a lover
who wakes up
smiling?
The entire
coming day
seems to smile
along with her.
Small instances
like this
make the world
not only bearable,
but beautiful.
- mce

The Abolition of Work

Read Bob Black's great anarchist essay on the chief cause of misery in the world. It is an essential component of the anti-hoople reading list.

Find it at:

http://www.spunk.org/texts/writers/black/sp000156.txt

So Much For Self-Help

The Oracle at Delphi said:
Know thyself.

Oscar Wilde said:
Only the shallow know themselves.

After long, painful consideration,
I'm with Oscar.
- mce

Depression at Dawn v 2.0

Waking,
disoriented,
to the weight of it:
dislocation, depression,
despair.

Struggle, it's what I do;
it's what must be done.
Life is combat.
Stand up; soldier on.

Show up for life.

Make the day
or it will make you.

Sunshine helps.
So does birdsong,
friends, whiskey
and ganja.

Still, past failures
nibble at the edge
of my consciousness
like hungry stalkers.

Reflection
is both the joy
and the curse
of aging.

Always,
the old question
haunts me:
am I a fool
and a loser
or have I simply
lived out
my karma?

I expect
no answer,
but in death.
- mce

Your Graduation - for Richard V 2.0

I won't be there,
but my
broken heart
will be,
and my
undiminished love.
At the right moment,
we will reconnect.
Until then,
fly away, Son,
time for you
to soar.
- mce

The Fickle Muse

Sometimes
she is all kisses
and warmth;
sometimes
she is distant,
unresponsive
and cold.
Does she want
to be wooed
or left alone?
No man can know.
It is no accident
that the muses,
like wives,
are female.
- mce

Why Suicide Is Not An Option

Hope rarely flies straight;
it flutters and weaves
like a butterfly
in a stiff breeze,
sometimes making headway,
sometimes blown off course,
sometimes interrupted,
but never completely
disappearing;
always present,
always whispering:
maybe.
- mce

Note to Self

Here
is a shot
at a
wonderful
new life:
don't
fuck it
up.
- mce

Psychiatric Meteorology

My blues blow in
as abruptly
and unexpectedly
as these sudden
southern thunderstorms:
sun and warmth
one minute;
rain, thunder
and darkness
the next.
The weather
of the world;
the climate
of the soul;
both consistently
unpredictable.
- mce

Why I Live This Way

Today at work
I saw:
A box turtle
treading water
while
a three foot long
water snake dozed
on a nearby rock;
two Admiral butterflies
making shameless, passionate
colorful love
in the uncut clover;
four indigo buntings
slicing the air
like Imperial lightening;
six vultures
sailing the thermals
above the berry patch
in an eternal gyre.
What did you see?
-mce

Unrequited Love V 2.0

These black raspberries
do not understand
the intent
of my caresses.
When I reach
to prune them,
they scratch;
when I try
to weed them,
they clutch;
when I lean in
to mulch them,
they slash.
They are like
angry lovers
who want
to make love,
but want
to draw blood,
too.
Perhaps a poem
will soothe them;
it often works
on women.
- mce

Post Memorial Day To Do List

Finish that essay.
Clean the outhouse.
Mulch berries.
Buy some food.
Apply for jobs.
Carefully
usher the dead
back into their graves.
- mce

Thinking of Those Who Died Too Young

A tattered,
veteran drill sergeant
said to me:
Boy,
you don't get no older
than dead.
- mce

Identity

The owl's call
at three in the morning
asks the question
who I am.
- mce

Poetry Casserole: The Recipe

Take an instant,
a snapshot
or sound byte
from your life;
attach an emotion
or a thought;
couch it in
the fewest best words;
let it gestate
until your head
goes into labor
and it will
be born like a real child
that is yours,
but has a life
of its own
and leaves you
to inhabit a world
you'll never know.
- mce

The Girl Who Knocked - A Prose Poem

He had only been home from the war for six days when she knocked on his door. He had been contemplating suicide. Sworn to secrecy by law and strange spooks with dead eyes, he couldn't tell her that. Whatever wounds he had suffered were his to bear alone and would be for many years. Still, his world was so turned upside down by the madness he had just escaped that her unexpected arrival seemed appropriate.

San Francisco, 1972; not the halcyon hippie days, but the lull shortly thereafter. It was a good place to be, safe and cheap. Much better than upland Laos with its piles of dead gooks and terrifying fire fights. His apartment at Geary and Van Ness cost $275 dollars a month and felt like a sanctuary.

And there she stood, even more beautiful at nineteen than she had been at fifteen when they first made love on the grass in their hometown cemetery beside the Civil War memorial near the pile of cannon balls. You don't turn down a vision.

Come in, he said, and she didn't so much enter as flutter back into his scarred life. Her traveling companion, a non-descript hippie wannabee, stood beside her. She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and he disappeared.

That night, they made love like tigers. All the unspent lust accrued in battle erupted out of him and flowed into her. He wasn't gentle or considerate or skillful. When they fucked, he smelled cordite, heard choppers beating, and saw bloated corpses. It was like another deadly encounter in the bush, ferocious and abrupt. What she made of it, he couldn't tell, but she was more than game.

He had orders for Germany, but that was weeks away. They spent those weeks mostly in bed, as only the very young can manage, doing it every way they knew or could imagine. That tornado of desire took the edge off his rage and sense of betrayal. It may have saved his life.

Later, when he flew away, she stood and waved, astonishingly lovely in a miniskirt, her long chestnut hair flowing. She had no idea what she had done.

Things changed. It was decades before they really talked again. By then not even her name was the same, if she even really had one. Although their lives had long diverged, the connection remained, name or not. When he saw her after all that time, all those bodies, all those endless miles, she was exactly the same girl who had knocked on his door those thirty-six years gone and he knew in that instant that nothing true ever really dies.
- mce

What Thou Lovest Well Remains

I call
my white Saturn
Moby.
She is
the most
constant woman
in my life,
ever.
Ah, true love...
- mce

A Tentative Ode To Desire

Approaching sixty,
I find that
I still love women,
but not as much
as beer and ink.
- mce

Take That, Heraclitus...

Each day
when I take
my morning walk
along the creek,
everything
is different;
some things
never change.
- mce

Close Encounter of the Bird Kind

An indigo bunting
landed on my deck railing.
We looked at each other
for a few seconds
before it flew away.
Beauty explodes
in an instant.
- mce

Tennessee

Why does this place
pull me so hard?
I have always
felt the call
of lost causes,
fallen banners.
Perhaps it speaks
to the rebel
in my soul.
- mce

A Beer At 9 AM

Ah, the breakfast of champions!
I take a drink
and listen as the creek
whispers something
I can't quite make out.
Where are the answers
to all these questions?
- mce

The Good Citizen's Life

You sit in front
of your computer
and telephone
thinking of the wife
(or husband),
the kids, your IRA,
making money
for other people.
Who loves you, baby?
How long has it been
since you could call
your life your own?
Do you possess
what is yours
or does it
possess you?
Obligation
is not a virtue.
Does your heart dance
or does it merely labor?
There is still time.
Reject the full catastrophe.
Dismiss obligation;
embrace possibility.
There remains
a beautiful world
out there:
live like a pirate,
get naked,
dive in,
be alive.
-mce

Vietnam: A Memorial Day Postscript

Sadly,
you can take the boy
out of the jungle,
but you can
never
take the jungle
out of the boy.
- mce

What I learned in Laos - for Memorial Day 2009

"By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next." Shakespeare

Courage

She was my student;
twenty-five years younger.
I noticed her
the first day of class,
got to know her slowly,
fell into bed
with her later,
and then
in love with her
abruptly.
It was unlikely,
broke many rules,
was doomed from the start.
Still, I have never
regretted a moment of it.
You never get to touch
what you are afraid
to reach for.
- mce

The Lie of Mortality

Sunlight dappled
through new, green leaves.

I'm fifty-seven;
my liver could die
at any moment
and I would follow
directly.

Oh, to be alive
and awake
on this beautiful
spring morning!

Nothing else
really matters.
- mce

Ithaca

A perfect Tennessee morning: sitting on Serenity's deck, sunlight through the tree tops, birdsong, Bach, creek water, coffee and a cigarette; after so many years, Ithaca. It's good to be home...

My Shack: Serenity v 2.0

A view from Serenity.

Another View.

Serenity herself (of course, she is a female).

I have decided to name my shack Serenity. Not so much for the state of mind as for the spaceship in the series Firefly. That Serenity also floated in space and was a refuge for a crew of misfits after war and upheaval, seeking a home. I like it, and so it is.

Gender Wars V 2.0

I'd like
to get
deeper
inside your head
she says;
I'd like
to get
deeper
inside you,
he thinks.
-mce

Instruction Manual

It is simple
to be a poet:

slice your chest open
with the fine edge
of imagination;

wrench your heart loose;

take a bite;

smile and offer
a taste
to anyone
who might be interested,

not caring
whether they find it
sweet or bitter.
- mce

Comments V2.0

If you want to comment on a posting, just click on the word "comments" below the entry. No ID is required. Comments are welcome. - mce

Karma V2.0 - for Richard

The heart
that will not forgive,
in the end,
will break itself.
- mce

How To Tell It Was A Hard Winter

Get up in the morning,
look in the mirror,
and realize
that you have aged
ten years
in eight months.
- mce

On The Current Financial Crisis

Wallace Stevens
once wrote
that money
is a kind of poetry;
he did not say
that it is good poetry.
- mce

Martial Thoughts - for Paul Brandt

Wandering
in an old graveyard,
I came upon
an untended marker.

A man's name,
two dates,
USMC
and these words:
Peleliu, Iwo Jima, Okinawa.

That mute slab
spoke to me,
saying:

consider, Stranger,
in this world of blood and fire,
the final hope of glory -
not medals or praise,
but the exquisite good fortune
of dying at home
in your own bed.
- mce

Conundrum: The Clash of Plato and Aristotle

It is easier
to be in love
with the woman
of your dreams,
than with the woman
beside you.
- mce

Walking the Streets of My Hometown At Night

A sparrow lights upon
a black phone wire,
sits a moment,
and takes wing;
two minutes later,
a cardinal
takes its place.

What has changed;
appearance or substance?

People, places, things -
ephemeral
until
infused
with meaning
carefully chosen,
like the fragrance
of lilacs
filling a room.

To be a human
is to be a poet;
to be a poet
is to be a god.

Every story told
engenders a creation.

What is imagined
is real;
not the orange,
but the graceful,
white fingers
peeling it.

Ergo:

a man
tells stories
about a man
telling stories.

The instances
of a life -
imagined -
create
and recreate
that life.

The picture is seen;
the picture does not see.

Heads spin,
not the world.

This has all
happened before
and will all
happen again.
-mce

Odysseus Dreams of Spring and Home

So many
empty days,
lost faces,
frozen dreams
empty beds;
soon:
spring breezes,
the asphalt seas,
another voyage
in search of
Argos,
Ithaca,
Penelope,
peace.
- mce

Credo

Say it. Say it all. Say it out loud. Do not be afraid. A poet must first be bold. Will they disapprove? Who are they? Fuck them. Say it. Say it all. Say it out loud. Be true to your muse. That's all you've got and it is everything...

The Necessity of Temperance

Too much whiskey;
Too little time.
Life is a bitch.
- mce

Ode An Die Freude

No matter
what you think,
I have never
stopped missing you.
Your electric touch,
your magick words,
your peridot eyes
have never
left my heart.
Sometimes
all a man can do
is step aside.
My absence
is my gift
to your life.
Cherish it
as I cherish
your memory.
Live well,
Princess.
- mce

Kindermord

In one frozen moment
I watched my friend's guts
erupt from his body
onto the deck
of our aircraft.
Thirty and more
years later,
it visits my dreams:
this image of death,
ineluctable
as death itself.
Wars end;
war never does.
- mce

A Theological Apology

The fiction
that you choose
to believe
becomes a reality
no less real
for being fiction.
Faith is magical.
God lives or not:
you decide.
- mce

The Messy Poem

An old lover
called me Messy
instead of Mike.
She was right
(always).
My gift orders words,
not things.
I exist
in a cluttered world,
but reside
in the order
of imagination.
I am a ruby
gleaming
in a pile
of dog shit.
Watch me shine!
- mce

A Brief Treatise on the Nature of Lust

Anticipation
holds the key
to paradise:
not the moment
of entry,
but the instant
before.
- mce

An Uncertainty Principle

She once said:
Boy, you've got
no butt at all.
Complaint
or compliment?
I never knew.
- mce

The Anxiety of Anticipation

If I reached across
the void between us -
age, position, convention -
to enfold you
in my arms,
would you open
to my embrace
like a rosebud
to spring rain?
Would you unfold
your self,
draw me
into your warmth
and hold me there
until you tremble?
Would we melt
into each other's body
until nothing remains
but a salty pool
of sated passion?
I don't know.
Only your lips
can answer these questions.
Whisper, now...
- mce

A Solution to the Fallacy Contained in Time, Memory and Reality

man
bench
sun

Facts are not
a life.

Details.

old man
park bench
hot sun

Better,
but not enough.

An old man
on a green park bench
baking in the hot sun.

Closer,
but not the truth.

An old man,
still boyish,
sitting on a
green park bench
baking in the hot sun
remembering
that strange young girl
wearing
a paisley scarf,
red and blue silk,
standing like Venus
poised above
blue Aegean water
on the deck
of a white steamer,
her black hair flowing,
four decades past.

Closer still, yet missing...

An old man,
still boyish,
sitting on a
green park bench
baking in the hot sun
remembering
that strange young girl
wearing
a paisley scarf,
red and blue silk,
standing like Venus
poised above
blue Aegean water
on the deck
of a white steamer,
her black hair flowing,
four decades past.
He smiles,
considering
her hot breath,
her long sighs,
her silken thighs:
she lives again.

The poem at the confluence
of memory and imagination
engenders the stories
which render meaning.

Stories about stories;
all we can know of life,
yet enough.
-mce

The Usurers' Jamboree

Within their somber suits,
they dance and celebrate.
The world crumbles;
their powers wax.
They are final as death,
eternal as tomorrow.
They believe in their magic,
the force of interest,
and cast its spell
upon us all.
Even the parasite rich
must bow to them.
Around and around they go.
Their dance, their world,
without end.
- mce

The Knower and the Known

These maple trees
leaf out, each year,
copper-purple.
They know spring,
but they
do not know
of spring.
- mce

A Consolation for my Physician

Not to worry, Doc.
Don't mean fucking nothing.
We are all dead men here.
- mce

Timely Thoughts

I have heard a lot over the last few years about dealing with the past and future. Notions that the past can be overcome or "moved on" from or even forgotten have been pressed on me by well meaning people. I have also been told that the future can somehow be different or new without regard to either the present or the past. Having considered this at length, I have to conclude that they have been mistaken.

Their mistake lies in seeing life as a series or discreet events, as a time line with events as points when, in fact, it is not. It is more of a continuum, more like a river than a line. Thus the present is continuously informed by everything that happens to us prior up to the present moment. Everything that has been in our lives - positive or negative - resonates in and informs the now. Moreover, life is never a straight line. It is better described as a trajectory that is determined by and includes all of the events, people, etc. that we have encountered along the way. They are always present and always influencing us, whether we are aware of that influence or not.

As to the future, obviously it doesn't exist. The longer you live, the more aware of this you necessarily become. The future is a pleasant illusion for the young, but an absurd delusion in the more experienced. Obviously, your future is wherever you are now.

Now, in fact, is all there is and it contains both the so-called past and the alleged future. The only way to escape this phenomenon is to stop breathing.

Until then, it is create, interpret, re-interpret, renew, resurrect, recover, begin again...