The Beautiful Game
I have never subscribed
To the idea of kicking a
Ball for leisure and sport
Until realizing this global
Pastime is perhaps the
Most important religion
In the world, its minions
Flocking in droves to oval
Cathedrals praying to their
Gods of the Ball; rising to
Their feet in song, jubilantly
Chanting anthems of praise,
Sanctity and adoration as if
What they were witnessing
Was not merely a game, but
A manifestation of godliness,
Piety and the desire that every
Man holds deep within his being;
To conquer, to triumph and to
Embody the invisible deity that
He has prayed to and worshiped
Since the very beginning of time.
˜
Saving For the Future
If I could save
Every tear
Every fear
Every year
˜
Put them into a
Savings account
For the future
˜
Depositing the surplus
Withdrawing prudently
˜
I would live forever
Crying only out of joy
Dreading nothing and
Keeping death endlessly at bay.
˜
Period of Adjustment
New walls enclose my thoughts,
Ceilings which have never contained me
Now have me looking up so often as if there were
Stars or spaceships floating within their stuccoed pocks
˜
There are new doorways and archways leading to rooms
And to spaces that I have yet to occupy or designate
A specific purpose or assign possessions to;
Places I have yet named or sanctified
˜
There are switches, knobs and latches,
Cables leading to nowhere, blocked keyholes
Hiding within their memories a million curiosities and
The answer to every question I have ever asked the universe
˜
And through these windows I shall see my entire life unfolding,
Ducks and geese raising their young on the canal banks,
Herons sunning themselves waiting for morsels;
My children waving to me from below.
˜
The Best Thing You Never Had
It’s probably the last
Thing you’d ever think of
˜
That rare encounter
With an aftertaste of lust
˜
The intimate moment
That seems to last forever
˜
A love so penetrating
Only death could transcend
˜
The first time a baby
Looks deep into your eyes
˜
That amazing sunrise,
Mountains kissing the sky
˜
A white sandy beach,
Warm winds quietly calling
˜
These are some of the
Best things you never had
˜
But the very best of all
Has yet to make itself known
˜
And if you’re deserving
It will probably be a slice of pie.
˜
Today’s Poem is Postponed Indefinitely
Where am I expected to
Find the time to indulge
Myself in writing poetry
On moving day, when I
Awake at four a.m. to
Pack up what remains
Of my short time in this
Dinky little house where
My unborn daughter was
Conceived and where my
Dog died in the corner of
The middle room; I would
Have preferred to create
Lovely verses today, much
Kinder than the humiliation
Caused by flat-pack beds
And wardrobes or by my
Father-in-law’s scoldings
For my being clumsy and
Sluggish and for having
Massive feet that always
Seem to get in the way or
Step heavily where they
Should be stepping lightly…
So tonight I will sleep on a
New bed, in new digs but
With the same old despair,
Longing and trepidation
That I had at my previous
Address; and tomorrow,
Should I remain in God’s
Favor, I will find the time to
Write some lovely verses.
˜
I Can’t Imagine
I can’t imagine
All you’ll see
And dream
In this life
˜
But I will hear
Every note of
Every song
You’ll sing
˜
I will taste the
Sweetness of
Every fruit
You taste
˜
And remain
Eternally in
Your every
Breath.
˜
The Fragrance of Summer
In heavy currents
Of air
Thick and undulating
Like
A forest fire
Or a ghost
Riding a cloud,
My nostrils
Burn—
Ridiculed
By the
Sweet fragrance
Of summer.
˜
The Edge of Birth
Just when life was getting
Interesting, youth in full bloom, I
Lost the old man (and myself);
Letting go of the past you
Opened a new door to every
Yesterday, reminding me
Of what it meant to breathe;
Unlocking passion while discovering
New ways of experiencing life,
Great expectations and endless
Wonderment, never again having to
Endure the cycle of loss and yearning;
Someday I will look deep into my own soul
To remind myself what it felt like at the edge of birth.
˜
Requiem for a Pigeon
It was heartbreaking
Seeing you walking in
Circles, desperate and
Panic-stricken over the
Death of your beloved
Lying there in a tragic
Mess of feathers and
Blood beside the curb;
I could truly feel your
Sorrow and despair as
If it were my very own.
˜
Impediments
Like a ball and chain
Tied firmly to old ways
Impeding forward motion
Obstructing clarity and passage
Preventing every good thing I desire
Leaving only a void in the wake of failure;
Luckily my thoughts are well guarded within me
For should they be revealed I fear I would lose everything.
˜
Sugar Buzz
I have been told many a time
To stand clear of poems that rhyme
That poetry should be poignant and serious
Not taken lightly or made hilarious
But the temptation is far too strong
To think that my instincts are wrong
So forgive me if these verses offend
Or if the rules I slightly do bend
For my intentions are mostly pure
Like the sea deep and intensely azure
And while hardly as profound as Joyce
You’ve read it by your own will and choice
And if it pleases you than I’d recommend
That you share it today with a friend
But if it has perturbed you in quietly reading it
You’ve my consent for immediately deleting it.
˜
Spitting Image
I am the
Spitting image
Of myself
˜
Resembling
Everything
I pretend
To be
˜
But please don’t
Hold the mirror
In front of my
Face
˜
For I have to
Look at myself
In that mirror
˜
Every day.
˜
Liberty
We all want to
Free ourselves
˜
To liberate the
Part of us that
˜
Remains bound
And immovable
˜
We are slaves to
Injustice and the
˜
Impermeability
That resonates
˜
Like thunderclaps
To the very core of
˜
Our existence; we
Are lost in torments
˜
Of mediocrity, our
Intents and deeds
˜
Are noble though
The substance we
˜
Lack in our feeble
Attempts to free
˜
Our minds from
Evil only serve to
˜
Enslave us more,
Binding our souls to
˜
The indestructible
Stone of creation.
˜
My Secret Profession
Time to pack boxes
Again
˜
My secret profession
˜
Never in
One place for
Very long
˜
Not because
I enjoy the change of
Scenery
˜
Or that I’m
Reluctant to
Lay down
Roots
˜
It’s just that
Fate seems to
Want to
Keep me
Transient;
˜
If only
I could
Pack away
Dread and
Ineptitude
˜
Leave all
My maladies
Behind
Buried in
The back garden
˜
Protected by
Snails, spiders and
Bumble bees
˜
And Simon’s soul
Which will remain
Forever in this house.
˜
Houseguest
Everything
Familiar to me
Is new to you
˜
The landscape
Intertwined with
Mosques and
˜
Windmills;
Gigantic people and
Blooming poppies…
˜
If only
To see
The world
˜
Again
Through
Nineteen year-old
˜
Eyes;
To feel my baby’s
Breath upon
˜
My face
Like it was
The first time;
˜
And to while away
The long hours of the
Night until
˜
At last morning
Comes
And I can
˜
Finally eat
The cherry pie
That awaits me.
˜
When Did Our Daughters Grow Up?
When did our daughters grow up?
(And where were we?)
Now they attend senior prom
Fly alone on transatlantic flights
Wander streets of European cities
Carrying cell phones and credit cards;
˜
When did our daughters become young ladies?
Window shopping and fussing over their clothes
Spending more and more time in the bathroom
And less and less time seated quietly at the dinner table
Before rushing away to use Messenger and Skype to
Make plans for meeting up with their friends;
˜
When did our daughters grow so tall and beautiful?
When did they stop needing to hold our hands to cross the street
Or comb the tangles out of their hair? When did they become
So strong and independent, so lovely, charming and poised?
Though I am filled with delight and proud of the woman you are becoming,
I can’t help seeing you as the little girl who stole my heart all those years ago.
˜
Confession
I confess that my
Poetry is not art
But a way for me
To rationalize the
Way I look at life;
A kaleidoscope of
Emotions that I try
To express purging
Thoughts through
Gaping holes in my
Soul, revealing all
My fears and flaws,
The imperfections
Exposed for all the
World to see, every
Ounce of truth and
Every lie my mouth
Has uttered in futile
Attempts to create a
Life of my own design;
I confess to being a
Coward, afraid of my
Own shadow and the
Voice in my head that
Tells me over and over
Again to run and hide
And find a place where
I can finally free myself
From the despair that I
Alone created from the
Darkest, deepest depths
Of desperation and desire.
˜
Granada
The crisp spring air
Transforms my thoughts
To sunny days in Granada
Where I lived in a small one-room
Apartment on the street of mercy’s oven
Where I made oatmeal for breakfast on a single burner
Ate cheese sandwiches with strawberry jam for supper and slept
On a mattress on the floor below a tattered poster of Che Guevara;
˜
I would spend my days
Wandering the streets of
Old Spain, passing long afternoons
In the Moroccan tearooms on the backstreets
Of the calle Elvira, joining friends for pizza at Gabriel’s
Nameless pizzeria where you helped yourself to the drinks
From the fridge and paid what you could and where a friendly
German Sheppard emerged from the kitchen to offer you his paw;
˜
I hadn’t a worry in the world,
Those days were innocent and
Carefree, I played my guitar in the
Alhambra, watched the Cubs games on the
Satellite TV at the mall while eating Napoleon slices
And drinking coffee, I was a world away from everything and
Everyone I had ever known but somehow it all felt familiar, like
I belonged there amidst the ancient air and fragrant Moorish breeze.
˜
Holy Land
One would think
That the
Holy Land
Should encompass
The whole of our
Great Earth,
Not merely a
Patch of desert,
A decaying wall
And a few old
Edifices;
˜
For if God’s
Greatness indeed
Created the
Totality of
This planet,
Should not
Every inch of it
Be considered
Holy
To all
Religions of
Humankind…?
˜
Fall of the Roman Empire
I’ve
˜been
˜˜drooling
˜˜˜and
˜˜˜˜dreaming
˜˜˜˜˜of
˜˜˜˜˜˜white
˜˜˜˜˜˜˜mice
˜
˜˜˜˜˜˜˜I’m
˜˜˜˜˜˜having
˜˜˜˜˜rock
˜˜˜˜and
˜˜˜roll
˜˜fantasies
again
˜
˜˜Is
˜˜˜˜it
˜˜˜˜˜˜an
˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜omen
˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜or
˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜simply
˜
˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜Oh, man, not again…
˜
My Neighbor’s Dead Wife
You took your own life in
The bathroom while your
›
Husband sat on the sofa
Watching football on the
›
TV downstairs; it wasn’t
Your first attempt; a month
›
Earlier he found you in time
To call an ambulance and have
›
You taken to the hospital but
This time you accomplished
›
What you had set out to do;
But now it seems as though
›
You have changed your mind,
You’ve returned, looking better
›
Than ever (I might add); happier,
You’ve put on weight and seem
›
To have discarded the conundrums
And worries that had been mounting
›
Over the years: feeling tired, not
Wanting to age or to confront the
›
Maladies and dread of days to come;
Your youth and beauty decaying like the
›
Old, decrepit women who attended
Your gymnastics class at the old age home;
›
You couldn’t ever imagine becoming like
Them, but you already had…
›
So you’ve decided to come back; saw
That what awaited you in the afterlife
›
Was no better than what you had here;
But your husband of nearly fifty years
›
Has forgiven your travesty and has moved
On; he will marry your younger sister who
›
Has been in love with him all these years,
Never married, waiting for the opportunity
›
To be with the only man she ever loved;
And now you see that all you had is lost
›
Forever, the only sensible choice to make
Is to go back to where you came, perhaps
›
Then, whatever love remains locked deep
Within your heart can shower down upon
›
Your husband, allowing him the happiness
That you stole away from him in the upstairs
›
Bathroom while he sat innocently watching
A football match on the TV downstairs.
›
Sleepwalking
These times
Whittle away
At my sanity
˜
Aware of
Every
Heartbeat
˜
Senses
Overly
Aroused
˜
Mind
Burdened
With inconsistencies
˜
Somnambulant
Though
Sentient
˜
Reaching out
But feeling
Nothing
˜
Living
My life
Day to day
˜
Minute
By
Minute
˜
Second
By
Second
˜
On the
Cusp of an
Epiphany.
˜
Latchkey
If you lived with me
You’d never be alone;
Endless hours sat upon
That white wooden chair,
Meals accompanied only by
Street noises and my voice on the
Telephone; I’d be there to
Greet you at the door, to
Send you off with love
Telling you how much
You mean to me…
˜
If you lived with me
Your dreams would be
Filled with moonbeams and
Giraffes and you’d wake up happy
Greeted by sunshine and loveliness
You’d be sent off with a sweet kiss upon
Your cheek at the school gates; No
More cafeteria lunches or sitting
For hours alone in the library
Because I would be there
To take you home.
˜
Untitled
If missing you
Could be measured
In tears
˜
Mine would fill an
Ocean
˜
My longing for you is
˜
Undeniable
Intolerable
˜
Like a cancer
Corroding my soul
˜
Leaving an emaciated
Skeleton
˜
Brittle bones dangling
Like wind chimes
˜
Awaiting a gentle breeze
That never blows in
From the sea.
˜
