Friday, December 24, 2010

The Gap

In a sea of white
You spot the speck of gray
In a world of rights
You watch the bit that's wrong
Of the things I've done
You ask about the one I didn't
What I want to do
You delight in telling me not to

Does it make you fulfilled
To notice the fault
Does it make you feel superior
To detect the errors
Do you find joy
In killing mine
Does reminding me of my flaws
Justify yours
Does clipping my wings
Free you from the pressure of your own flight
Does keeping me from shining
Excuse you from seeking your own light

You focus on the gap
You seek what's missing
You fail to see what's there
What's good, what's pleasing
You zoom in on the worst of me
And highlight the parts I want to hide
You uncover those
I need to deny

Yes, perfect I am not
And for praises I whore
They're just cheap words
Yet you give so little
The economy of your flattery
Is the hunger of my soul

Sunday, December 19, 2010


Would you have been a writer
Or a call center agent
Or somebody who insisted
On being neither of his parents

Would you have been creative
Like mom, a spaced out artist
Or would you have been street smart
Like dad, a pragmatist

Would you have been a rebellious teenager
Driving, moving under some bad influence
Or would you have been a good son
Blessed with perfectly good sense

You probably would be chubby
Not too big, not too tall
Maybe just a little bit athletic
Chances are, you could not sing at all

You would break my heart
Every time you get sick or hurt
You would break my face into a smile
With your charm, your mirth

Surely you would have dimples
And a laugh that can get others laughing too
Surely you'll be assured
I would spend my life loving you

Would you mind it so much
If my tired, achy heart stops hoping
And my long-empty womb stops waiting
Because the years have not stopped me from aging

Son, I loved you before I could meet you
I wanted you long before I could bear children
And even now as hope wavers and desire tapers
I still ask if not now, then when

Sunday, December 12, 2010

The Last Time I Was in Love

With envy I look
At young new lovers crazy in love
Naïve, clueless, fresh
Untouched by real pain
of real life
and unreal love
Unaware of hurts that lurk
and gash one’s heart
When one so loved
Stops loving back
or wavers and betrays

With jaded eyes I see
Silly love
Foolish hopes
Stupid smiles
Adoration unabashed
I smirk thinking someday
You’ll be hurt too
Beyond belief
Heart shattered
Illusions destroyed forever

With the wisdom of pain I gaze
At him who has
shattered my heart
Destroyed my illusions forever
Wavered, hurt, betrayed
And my old, badly bruised heart melts
My weathered face breaks into a stupid smile
Reflecting foolish hope and silly love
Loving beyond belief
Even after a history of forgiven hurts

The last time I was in love was only minutes ago
Not in the clueless fashion of ages ago
Jaded I guess I am not
Foolish I may be
Envious of youth I remain
But love recurs
Rarely forgets
But to the last, I will love

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Sarah's Pains

Nobody admiring me
Nobody's excited by me
Listening to Henry
Fossilizing under the drip of conversation
Living under an illusion
That allows me to forget
That I'm a bitch and a fake

paraphrased from Graham Greene's The End of the Affair

image stolen from here.

Monday, October 25, 2010


Gossamer wings
Showing things
Behind and underneath
Filtering light
Blurring colors
But not concealing
Just hinting
Revealing more than what they're hiding
But where is the mayfly
Is it there
Is it real
Is it something
Of is it just what is behind it
Does it disappear to what is beneath
Gossamer wings flitting
Diminishing to nothing

(Haven't written poetry in a while. Rusty.)

In response to a prompt from Every Photo Tells a Story.
Photo by Rizo Tarum

Monday, April 5, 2010


I was reading Tristine Rainer's The New Diary, and I worked on one of the journal starter suggestions -- to write a simile about yourself, about my now. And this is what I came up with.

I am old clay
Slowly losing its malleability
Yet still unformed
Colors all mixed up to a murky gray
Misshapen mass of past mistakes and do-agains
Mashed by many hands
Bits and pieces lost forever
Still there but not quite
Still workable but not for long