Milestones
I live with indecision
Grown to find comfort
In her mysterious ways
There are no gifts in remorse
No one to take your hand and
Lead you towards revealing all
You failed to see in this lifetime;
But if there is one regret
One road that I would walk
Down again with a different
Destination in sight, that would
Be one where I would never miss
A single milestone in your lives, the
School plays and games, the birthdays
And even the insignificant moments that
Make life the most pleasurable and the most
Regrettable, the times where it’s enough simply
To be present and to share the embrace of our affection.
.
The Replacement
What any halfway decent poet
Should keep nearby in a drawer
Or safely folded in a vest pocket
To be removed only when what
Had been planned fails dismally
Is a poem of little significance,
One that can easily blend into a
Repertoire of more masterfully
Crafted works dealing with love
Or folly or the folly of love or
The things lovers of poetry love
Such as long country roads that
Have been blanketed in autumn
Leaves, auburn sunsets like ones
Remembered from campouts in
Our youth where the smells of
The crisp evening air and thick
Aromas of crackling hot bonfires
Rekindle moments that have been
Lost in less poetic times when our
Sensibilities are stunted and our
Perceptions of beauty dwarfed by
The inescapable reality of prose.
.
When The Soul Dies
There is some kind of light in the sky
But I can’t tell whether it’s nighttime
Or day, whether it’s cloudy or clear
Whether I’m alive or dead and merely
Filling some space in time with a soul
That is weathered and worn, battered to
The point where the body it occupies
Can no longer bear its presence and the
Feelings that were once so prominent are
Beginning to flee, to look for some other
Vessel in which they might be able to thrive;
The truth is there is more proof than not that
I am alone in this world, that everything I
See, every bird, every tree, every insect,
Person and physical thing is merely what
I create in my own desolate imagination;
This is what it feels like when the soul is
Dying, when hopelessness becomes the
Disease and departure to another realm is
The only remedy for preserving one’s senses.
.
Three Lives
It’s like trying to live
Three different lives
Each one a surreal
Affair that when
Looking back I
Can only
Recall
This:
That
Every
Moment
Spent living has
Been an unnerving
Sequence of events,
Frenzied, doleful and
Spewing with despair.
.
Kindred Spirits
I can’t explain what’s going on
And wish there wasn’t a need to
But there is always this emptiness,
A small but significant disparity of
Solitude and longing fueling the fires of
My reaching out and seeking kindred spirits;
.
It’s what the long, lonely nights
Bring that comfort my weary soul,
It’s what satisfies the hunger to be a
Part of something of my own creation
Seeking out in others what is missing in me
The part lost long ago never again to be found;
.
This is about me so please don’t
Try reading between the lines as you
Will soon find there aren’t any, and if you
Truly knew me as well as you say, you’ll know
I long for what all men do, and that is to simply
Let their silence say what their words never could.
.
Anniversary
It’s been a good many years
Since exchanging marriage vows
On that cool October evening in Green Lake;
We stood beneath the velvet chuppah sipping wine
From a common goblet, breaking tradition by exchanging
Family heirlooms as has been done in your family for generations
And by the two of us stomping upon a glass to remind us of the destruction
Of the Temple as Jews have been doing on their wedding day since olden times;
However, our marriage, as countless others, ended, falling victim to the cruelest
Reality there is in life, the one where men and women who once were deeply
In love grow to despise one another, their lives becoming an arduous,
Insufferable affair, a hurricane of emotional heartache and
A tormentingly agonizing turn on the unpredictable
Road of life whose winding roads and narrow
Thruways sometimes lead to a place
Where new beginnings await.
.
The Dilemma
Every time I pick you up
And hold you close and
Look into your eyes I
Realize I am the
Most fortunate
Man alive
That I am
Able to spend
These long days
With you while you
Grow up sharing all that
Is new in your budding lives
.
But you are only half of the
Joy in my life, your older
Siblings live in another
Place and they too
Require love,
Attention,
Time and
Support; so now I
Must contemplate a
Way out of this dilemma
One where everyone wins
And where no burdens remain.
.
Connor Street
I’ve had a stroll
Down the street
Where you were
Born
.
I’ve been there a
Thousand times
In my mind
.
But today those
Dusty, desolate
Roads
.
Are sunlit and
Full of life
.
They remind me
Of moments
Frozen in time
.
When a little girl
Played on the porch
Carefree and innocent
.
Daydreaming like
She still does now
So many images
.
Fill her mind’s eye
With recollections
Fading and returning
.
Flickering in the
Depths of space
Like a dying star.
.
Busting Out
Busting out is
Thrusting out
Is managing a
Deep pain that
Lingers in the
Pit of the soul
.
It explodes in
Black and tan
Colored chips
Staining walls
Leaving small
Drops of rage
.
It is as lifeless
As that and we
Cede to its one
Solitary motive
To pillage what
Little life remains.
.
Dubrovnik
There is majesty in your stone walls
That have survived eight centuries
Of bombardments and attempts to
Throw you back into the deep blue
Calm and salty mist of the Adriatic;
.
They have come seeking safe harbor
When others cast them away into the
Frigid depths of history and you have
Given them refuge in the safety of your
High rocky hills and rich green forests;
.
The constant thunder resonates like a
Godly voice rumbling through the sky
Telling stories from a past that has seen
Conquest, death, destruction and peace
But also heavenly beauty, art and song;
.
It is the curse that many beautiful women
Are forced to endure when men are willing
To die to possess them, to make them theirs
To win their hearts and minds in battles that
Can only be won on the battlefields of love.
.
Sleeplessness
Without you
I would miss
The sounds of
Waves crashing
Against the rocky
Shore and lifting my
Emotions high out above
The sea where my dreams meet
Reality and the essence of what I most
Desire drifts back out into the blackness of night.
.
Marriage
An age-old institution founded on values that
No longer exist today, marriage is the ultimate
Manifestation of our need to possess and to be
Possessed by another human being, to call that
Person “ours” and to associate ourselves as one
Who is “betrothed” to another in what more often
Than not becomes an insufferable union leading
To the demoralizing anguish of unfulfilled dreams,
Bitter resentment of those we once loved and now
Can barely tolerate, and the heartbreaking reality
Of the aftermath of matrimony that leaves us alone,
Broken and hopelessly lost forever in love’s fatal wake.
.
The Human Heart
It’s a vital organ
Whose meaty folds
And calamari-like
Tubes pump blood
Through ventricles
And arteries and
Has nothing to do
With romance or
Love, feelings whose
Origins are located
In the brain’s 30 billion
Neurons, the same ones
That are responsible for
Madness, murder, mayhem,
Genius, judgement and joviality;
But humans need a special place
Where love is born and dies and
And when loss is more than we
Can bear we can exhibit our pain
With a gesture to our chests so
Everyone knows that our hearts
Are broken and what our brains
Manifest is the outward expression
Of our lasting, inconsolable sorrow.
.
Traveling With Small Children
The early morning darkness
Washed away by a stinging rain
The rumbling of the streetcar
Sleepy riders who wish they were
Still in bed where their souls remain;
.
So we board the train with two babies
In tow and our assorted baggage and
Belongings hanging from our backs,
Dangling on stroller handles and barely
Rolling along on worn rubber wheels;
.
And in between feedings and diaper
Changes in the sterile white room
That most certainly was designed to
Have been a janitor’s closet, I sit in
An aging chair questioning my sanity;
.
Then one flight followed by the next,
Security checks, stroller folding and
The long hard stares from people who
Seem to be asking themselves why anyone
Would want to travel with small children.
.
Stillness
It’s no longer about light
Or comfort or beautiful
Things
.
It’s not about love or the
Glow that radiates from
Above
.
And it’s not about feelings
Or the way your sadness
Swells
.
It’s the way my heart beats
Sending every wave to the
Surface
.
I can not be moved by what
Stillness leaves dying in the
Sea.
.
Joey
There is very little we can do
To change the past except for
Altering our recollections of
The events we were unable to
Navigate to our contentment;
.
I can’t recall how many times
I have recounted your story to
Acquaintances and passersby,
Those who’d stop to ask me
How such a story could unfold;
.
I’d tell them it was a deal I made
With God, that if He saw fit to
Do this one thing for me, I would
Respond in kind, and in the end
I was to garner His favor and gifts.
.
And as our time together comes to
An end, it is I who must embrace
Regret and live the rest of my days
Questioning my deeds and looking
Hard at my own scornful reflection.
.
