2013 Poems
September-December
2013 Poems September thru December
Absorbed Print this poem only
Have you ever been so absorbed
you could not float into a conversation
and partake of the lightness
the airy wittiness men love
as if teenagers playing football in a vacant lot
on a crisp fall afternoon?
You - a log so full
of silence and blessings
you are suspended in depth
unable to float to the surface
to bob in the wake of banter.
You are an alien
in this all-man’s-land
too hallowed for the shallows of play
and the respite where men recharge
and shed the weight
of a long day’s labor.
You struggle to shed
the heaviness within
where you are anchored
you try to fit in once more
with smiles and chuckles
but they do not come.
You want to depart this company
for a no man’s land
some desert retreat
somewhere away
but these men whom you love
hold you there
with the gendered cherishing
you cannot resist.
Sometimes I lack buoyancy,
too absorbed in the middle depths
to find my place
around this table
in this circle of friends
to float into maletalk
and come back to the pack
where some part of me is at home.
Written 10-30-13
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Acorns Print this poem only
How do I see your face?
Is it trapped in the images
floating in the eye of my mind?
Or in the sidewalk's stress grove
like the acorns lined there in a row
or the fallen oak leaf astride?
How does it feel to be so trapped?
Are you as frustrated
as I with the rule of language
inadequate to speak
the mystery of your heart
and the bright vacancy where you reside?
Or is it my blindness
where I am trapped
unable to find you free:
in the luxury of trees, quiet of clouds,
joy of daisies, drift of dreams,
and ripples of mountain streams?
The tilt of my head is down
and all I need is looking up
to see the mother oak
of those acorns
or look within to find
the wealth of life
the limitless source
and the sigh of peace
at the core of me.
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Written 11-18-13
A Man Named Jim Print this poem only
About to meet a man named Jim
I don’t know if he’s fat or slim
but I’ll look for a guy
with a glint in his eye
who stands tall and is full of vim.
Written 11-22-13
Arise Print this poem only
From arms of Elm that dip and sway
like gold dust in the morning's glow
the leaves drift and fall away
dancing like amber snow.
They depart their mother tree
with momentary flying
to form a rippled showy sea
and take their place of dying.
How fathomless the wisdom of fall
in its gentle brave goodbye
as summer answers the call
to fly as frost draws nigh.
Would that I could grieve so well
with such an admirable grace
when I am called not to dwell
in my snug and comfortable place.
When change comes for no reason
I feel confusion and surprise
let me embrace the new season
and let poetry in progress arise.
Written 11-7-13
Faces Print this poem only
How do you feel about your face?
Do you like the texture of your skin
how the contours fill that space,
the size of your nose the shape of your chin?
You’re in a room with your mate
you count just two people there
two amounts of volume and weight
but how many faces to that pair?
You say “Well of course there are two.”
But notice how your mate changes
from the ball park to the pew
how different are the exchanges
between lovers or buds at a bar.
And what does your face look like
when unseen and alone in your car
or after that terrible third strike?
Two people but twenty faces
or thirty or a hundred and three.
I wonder if you can see the traces
of my crazy beloved family tree.
Do you see on my surface the wear and tear,
life’s lingering and tattered debris
and wonder wonder where
the other me’s might be?
I remember once being stooped over
with my face in my hands
wishing for a meadow of clover
but trapped in my shadow lands,
and a man clattered by
asked me if I was alright
I jerked up and smiled at the guy
and abandoned my face --- to be polite.
I left my face in my palms
the face I left when interrupted
from my dark and desperate psalms -
that face forever corrupted.
How many faces under my sun
is not as important you see
as whether I honor each one
as a stunning and sterling part of me.
Author's Note: I bow in the direction of Rainer Maria Rilke who was the inspiration for this poem.
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Written 10-7-13
Grow in the dark Print this poem only
Sometimes I am a daisy
bobbing in the sun comfortable and lazy
Sometimes I am a mushroom
in a cave in the gloom
but even in the darkness I know
I can take root and grow.
Written 11-4-13
New Can of Coffee Print this poem only
It is a profusion of earth
direct to my brain
in one breath
its brown luxury
sensual and sultry
a lover’s naked warmth
under heavy quilts on a cold winter’s morn.
It ignores inner constraints
penetrates points of pleasure
hidden deep and unnoticed
until it engulfs me
the aroma of
this new can of coffee.
Written 11-22-13
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A Night Without Pity Print this poem only
Sometimes it lays like a gray cloud
or a thin unseen shroud
while I explore the badlands of sleep
and dive into its murky deep.
Under the covers with me
my parents and their family tree
infiltrate the land of my dreams
with hoarse moans and muffled screams
float and wrap their reins
round my neck and in my veins.
The guilt, anxiety and fear
from the womb and year after year
were well (if unwittingly) taught
and appear when I wake unsought
like ghosts from ancient pasts
in dramas with shadowy casts.
But slowly my conscious mind
stirs to tinker, twist, and untwine
me from the sweaty slimy grip
of my dark and unwanted trip.
Just as surely as mama’s fears reside
hidden and dormant inside
I stand on shoulders of light
and bravely I take flight
from that night without pity
to a glistening awakened city
where progress and grace stand high
and love and choice and spirit fly.
Dedicated to my cousin Rodger as he navigates his night.
Written 9-23-13
Planted Print this poem only
Sometimes I am a daisy
bobbing in the sun comfortable and lazy
Sometimes I am a mushroom
in a cave in the gloom
but even in the darkness I know
I can take root and grow.
Written 10-22-13
Profusion of Earth Print this poem only
It is a profusion of earth
direct to my brain
in one breath
its brown luxury
sensual and sultry
a lover’s naked warmth
under heavy quilts on a cold winter’s morn.
It ignores inner constraints
penetrates points of pleasure
hidden deep and unnoticed
until I open
this new can of coffee.
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Written 11-22-13
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Thanksgiving Grace Print this poem only
Today we thank God for the Mills
and for our travels o’er the hills
for all these holidays and years
for food and laughs and even tears.
New babies and their parents too
experiences we’ve been through
sometimes we thought we were alone
that hope and tenderness had flown.
And then we get a call or think
about when we were on the brink
and someone in this family
reached out in friendly charity.
Through darkness and through times of fear
when things were troubled or unclear
we found each other in the mire
and knew that there was something higher
that held together this fine clan:
It’s love and God who help us stand
and hand in hand they hold us nigh
our bond that no one can deny.
With thankful hearts we stand and bow
for blessings past and abundance now
for us and those not in this place
we pray for love and strength and grace.
Author’s Note: This is one of several prayers I have written to read at our Thanksgiving dinner generously hosted by my Sister and Brother-in-law Anita and Roger Mills.
Written 11-28-13
That moment before the thrill is gone Print this poem only
Ah! how I cherish
that moment before the thrill is gone
when I am swept up
into the alert and captivating rush,
that moment before the mundane grasps my ankles
and pulls me down
slowing to a trickle
the fizzy wizard
of my attention
the razor sharp focus
that relieves the madness
and slows the scattered electrons
racing through the wiring
between my ears,
that moment before the slowing of my breath
and the flattening of the waves.
That luscious moment is indelible
and sneaks back
to rescue me
from the painful plodding pace of reality,
a rescue I do not need
but I do so want.
This glassy-eyed wanting is so alive
it seems cellular, bone and muscle.
But it is a fraud
masquerading
as a knight waving the glittering banner of truth.
Sometimes I reach and grasp it
and plant it in well-tilled fields,
convince myself
and practice its blissful proposition
in idle increments.
And with practice
barely thinking
I chase that glittery ideal
until I fall into its thrilling abyss.
And then
in the moment after the thrill is gone
and my fall is complete
I stumble around the enveloping void
no razor sharp focus or fizzy wizard
to rescue me.
And there in that darkness
exposed in my naked weakness
I can see clearly
my insufficiency
brokenness
and need.
I can see clearly
only in the darkness
my no self.
In that moment of acceptance
in that space between the void and my choice
is grace and Creation
and a moment of salvation.
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Written 10-1-13