maker, worker, writer, do-er

Do!
I'm a human doing
I did calculus problems for fun
civil engineering problems as a self test
I climbed rock faces to see if I could
I sat on the edge of a road with cars passing on one side, and a hawk hovering on the other
mainly to dare the winds and gravity
I solved engineering problems at home
worked on computer problems people had told me were unsolvable
I walked, I climbed, I danced
anything but talk
ask me to talk and my mind seized
and now you want me to lie still?
heal?
is there a simpler language I could use?
I do
that's how I live
no, I cannot simply wait a while
fingers told to rest fidget
if I must sit still a while
at least
get me a sword to sharpen

analysis

reading a book of poems
I catch myself
preparing for a test
what do I like
dislike
admire
what extends the art
or practice
what do I learn
there may be no wrong way
to read poems
but this
comes close

survivor

perhaps you have met him
the ragged wanderer of deserts
half-mad or at least incoherent
with his story of sharing
the last meal of a god
or a god's son
whatever that distinction is
and then doing nothing
though anyone sane might ask
what he might have
against the drawn swords of an empire
or the ruler of a puppet court
pulled out of bed to judge
a trial put on to reach
a judgement already prescribed
that the god's son be whipped
impressed with thorns
and nailed to a cross
then hung in the desert air to die
while strangers mocked and taunted
and followers agonized
over courage, despair, or conformity
but lived to see whether the son
would really resurrect
but this one
staggered down the hill
wandered into the desert
ashamed to pray
not daring not to
and wandered to see
Buddha fight his battles
beneath the bodhi tree
China invade Japan
Martel's son
forge a new empire
and trembled to watch
a tower blaze god's wrath
onto a New Mexican desert
which drove him here, he says
the city of the angels
surely here if anywhere
he will hear mercy from the god
but while he's waiting
can you spare a dollar?

hooboy

I have sent this blog off in so many directions!  Well, three, four, or several any way....  Stop by again soon, see where it's going then.  Brownian motion we call this, right?

After reading Tara Evonne Trudell

 I listened to you breathe
All night
Or rather woke often
Listened
Glad to hear the steadiness
Outside
A brother
Did not as well
Choked
Coughed
Scratched at our gate
Seventeen bullets in him
From a cop's gun
The cop thought
The brother pulled a gun
No one else saw
I did not know
I listened to you breathe
The night darkened
Brightened
Turned gold
The brother died
Cops stood around him
Then released him
To the coroner
I woke
And heard
Then read
And felt guilty
To feel such relief
I listened to you breathe
And will again

the bridge

his father met his mother when he (the father) was twenty-six
after he'd jumped off the bridge at twenty-one
jumped off and didn't break his neck
or drown
or have a vision
the river swept him toward the sea
but left him in a backwash
with oil and shit and broken boats
he climbed out on his own
went home
showered and dressed
and went to work on time
he told us the story when we were in our teens
told it as an interesting sequence of events
no reasons and no consequences
no thoughts
no insights
no ill effects
he jumped off the bridge then fished himself out
and went to work on time
so he could meet his wife five years later
have a son and buy a house in the suburb
play cards with some neighbors
and drive an Oldsmobile to work
leaving two boys confounded in the dark
wishing their beers held answers

effectiveness

want to devise

a way to measure one's effectiveness as a human being
a way to train for that effectiveness
a way to enroll others in the utility of this

a way to measure effectiveness as a poet
a way to train for it
well, that's an announcement
now to do it

declaration of intent

resuming blog as of today
will blog poems, comments, quotations
mostly pertaining to poetry