2014 Poems
September-
December
Poem List: 2014 September thru December
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The Crack in Everything Print this poem only
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
From "Anthem" by Leonard Cohen
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Teddy Roosevelt was sickly and reviled
Oprah Winfrey abused as a child
Edison's bulb took a thousand failures and more
Einstein didn't speak till he was four
Ben Franklin dropped out at ten
Jim Carrey lived in a van
Jay-z was spurned by labels untold
VanGogh in his life - one painting sold.
When I am tired and full of woe
there's no brighter place to go
all I see is the darkness in me
I strain and strain to free
my wonder - so I won't quit
escape or run or split.
When frustration ties me up,
feeling like an empty cup
I sometimes think of those
who took lickings and blows
ridicule, illness, ineptitude
artistic blocks of magnitude
and when right in the midst of this
they stayed inside the dark abyss
rode the suffering and the pain
for all the lessons it contained
embraced the flaw and kissed the break
found the grain of grit it'd take
bore it through the vessel's walls
took a thousand practice falls
and found the crack and saw the light
with patient courage fought the fight
and turned the fault into a shift
of attitude – and that was the gift.
Author’s Note: With appreciation to the great poet, songwriter and person, Leonard Cohen for “Anthem,” one of my all-time favorite songs. If you wish to see the YouTube video of Leonard singing this song in concert, click here.
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Written 10-18-14
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Arrow Print this poem only
I could not tell the dates or facts
or biographical details,
his jobs or titles or his acts
or how he rigged or furled his sails.
But when he said or sang his rhyme
when he stood and spoke his soul
I lost all track of space and time
I knew what graces made him whole.
He told the stories of the poor
he took our minds and won our hearts
he always left us wanting more
he must have hailed from other parts.
He seemed to be from another land
from some place far yet very close
he knew our joy and pain first hand
the thorns and beauty of the rose.
His poems were prayers for love and peace
that God would surely help us cope
that justice would win and wars would cease.
His smile sang hymns of faith and hope.
Albert Willis was a man
but knew our angels and our dark
he walked with us but held God’s hand
and shot his arrow to our heart.
Dedicated to our friend and fellow poet and beautiful human being, Albert Willis
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Written 11-4-14
Beware the Olive Print this poem only
What havoc when I bit
molar on molar on that olive pit
black olives add a mysterious flavor
to a salad you want to savor
But now after weeks of hoping
this pain with which I’ve been coping
would leave - I swore I wouldn’t chew
on the left side, but so untrue.
Ever try to chew on just one side?
I consciously tried to guide
that food to the right
to avoid that painful left bite.
But then there was that long pass
to Bryant who fell flat on his ass
and missed the last chance to make
a score and then I bit down on that stake
and that left molar cried out in pain
Right Side, right side! again and again.
And so here I sit with that nagging ache
Unpitted olives - oh what a mistake!
Written 12-31-14
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Watering Print this poem only
The plants are dying
one leaf at a time
loosing luster
tumescence
no longer turning expectantly
toward the light.
Their stillness a portent
the dulling green
the browning
the yellowing
their silent acceptance
of their perilous symbiosis
with us.
We all need watering.
We shrivel without love.
But unlike this simple green life
we can say no
speak to ourselves
the language
of dissuasion
despair
hurt
or
we can choose to rise
turn on the faucet
and move toward the light
and life.
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Written 9-8-14
Together on Earth Print this poem only
Along this path the pine needles glitter
the lakes sparkle
the chipmunks laugh
the air is cool and fresh.
Yet it is a path through pain
the clouds heavy with rain
but it is a sorrow shared
made lighter by the care.
These moments are delicate
with the brook they murmur
in the language of sunsets
the song of the loon
the clarity of the moon
our eyes - they glisten
as we listen
listen
listen.
In these moments we dive deeper
hear the moaning of the whales
through waters warm, then cool
into the darkness of this deep
we lose ourselves, we weep
we hold each other tight
then look up and see the light.
The shady fearsome phantoms
of this thick forest
the musty aroma
first feel like oppression
but pausing, in silence
we absorb the immensity
sink in the profundity
and all it will allow
in the togetherness of now.
Author’s Note: My reflections on the darkness and light in the love and commitment to our marriage of more than four decades.
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Written 10-2-14
Surprised Print this poem only
Imagine how surprising
when in my chest
I felt you rising
heart throbbing with persistent zest
my face is flabby
my knees crack
my hair is shabby
oh my aching back.
But I guess it took this long
to get ready for your dwelling
to hear the gentle psalm
quit mental rebelling.
Still I am learning
and evolving inside
after decades of yearning
this gradual passionate tide.
After all my slips and dips
snubs, neglect, and slights
the blasphemies from my lips
you never turned off the lights
your faithfulness upheld
every moment I was asleep
or by my urges compelled
your roots in me were deep.
I know not where you are leading
or if I have what it takes
to move with your silent pleading
If I'll dance or put on the brakes
but in the distance I hear the drums
the violins, the flutes and the chime
and I know whatever will come
you'll be in me keeping time.
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Written 10-7-14
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Hooked Print this poem only
Once upon a time there was a little boy
who camped with his mom, uncle and aunt
he woke up early with little joy
but he did not gripe or rant
for he knew he was going fishing
as soon as they got to the lake.
His fingers were twitching and itching
to feel that line pull and its quake
when the sand bass took the bait
and hooked it in his upper lip.
Catching that fish would feel so great
so on that rod he’d tighten his grip.
Sure enough it happened just so
when not too far from shore
after his fifth or six throw
or was it cast number four
he pulled and he reeled
as fast as that fish retreated.
That little boy would not yield.
“Hold on, hold on! his uncle repeated.
Soon the fish was on land at his feet
and oh what a shriek of delight!
He showed it to mom and his joy was complete.
Even better – the fresh fish for dinner that night.
After dinner was cooked and eaten
in the glow of that sweet success
that boy had been hooked!
by a green slimy fish no less.
Author’s Note: Jeremy is now 30 with a brand new baby girl. Uncle Glenn and his Aunt Helen gave him a gift of a Christmas tree ornament with a large fish with fishing pole and on the end of the line a tiny little man. This poem was tucked inside the box containing the ornament.
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Written December 19, 2014
This Mysterious You Print this poem only
Oh what a delight
this mysterious you
stirring in me but not speaking
yet whispering to me
with the confidence of a lover
you, you, you are intimacy herself
oh how lovely this affair
how simple.
You fill me with tears
brimming over with such sweetness
I know I know
love itself.
You are highly irregular
like the floor of a deep forest
crawling with life in every direction
dark and unknowable
yet fulgurant
and bursting with
narrative
and ambiguity
pointed at my heart.
My heart, my heart cannot beat fast enough
cannot contain this rush
this electrifying passion.
You are mute in my manhood
yet so strong
I burst -
a field of needles prickly in my fiber
you smile my face
spontaneously
like seeing a gorgeous sensuous woman
or a man racing through the finish line in exhausted glee.
Your impulse
is the Brahms, Byron, and Picasso
the don Quixote, Cortez and Hawking
lurking within me.
You, you, you cannot be shackled
without injury.
I yearn, oh how I yearn to see your face
a face with so many dimensions
Definition of fulgurant: flashing like lightning
it is dimensionless.
When will I see your face
you, my mysterious
you?
Written 12-6-14
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Hymn to Delta Blue Print this poem only
The other day in twilight hue
with a setting sun of pinkish gold
I felt the ghost of Delta Blue
and from afar he touched my soul.
He sang a heartfelt battle hymn
he sang his grief in sad refrain
his soulful shouts shall never dim
his words of brothers and their pain.
Have you a thorn deep in your heart
that no amount of talk can take
nor find a balm to make it part
nor take away its dogged ache?
Is there something in you broken
the docs can’t seem to fix
and nothing they have spoken
no words nor drugs can nix?
He could not find a bridge away
or anyone who really knew his scars.
And he saw the folly every day
of desperate hopeless wars.
He stood among the red and dead
he drove a boat in waters brown
and mixed with blood and tears and dread.
No river could his sorrows drown.
His poems addressed our deafened ears
his prayer that we would be alright
all who fought those tortured years
he prayed they’d hold on through the night.
I wish I’d met this gentle man
who felt the wounds of war so deep
I wish I’d gone to shake his hand
to hear him laugh to hear him weep.
Let’s stand and sing a requiem
salute him and all the ones who gave.
Let’s honor them with heartfelt hymn
and walk into their sunset grave.
Author's Note: This poem is dedicated to Delta Blue which is the pen name of my friend Russell Glen Robison. He was an extraordinary and sensitive poet who published five books, most of which reflected his experience in and as a result of the Vietnam war in which he valiantly served. I regret that I never went to nearby Red Oak, TX to meet him in person before his death 2-24-14. But I am glad I got to meet and get to know him through his poetry. I also dedicate this poem to all of Russell's brothers and sisters in arms who served in Vietnam and to their loved ones who traveled their tortured journey with them.
This is Russell's Facebook page which is still active and contains some of his poems: https://www.facebook.com/russell.robison.37
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[Russell explained his pseudonym: "DELTA BLUE....a slang term we used to describe navy personnel fighting IN country....Mekong DELTA navy BLUE...... "] His book, Delta Blue is about the Mobile Riverine Force in Vietnam. They fought on the rivers and canals of Vietnam in armored assault craft that resembled the ironclads of the United States Civil War. On the back of his book, Delta Blue, he says: "It almost seems as if these water borne craft were destined to return one hundred years later and carry the fight to the enemy in the Mekong Delta. Their story is little known, but long remembered by those who saw them in action."
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On Russell's still active Facebook page where you can read some of his poems. His Facebook page is: https://www.facebook.com/russell.robison.37
Please see a special page I have prepared as a tribute to Delta Blue (Russell Robison)
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Written 11-7-14
Please see a special page I have prepared as a tribute to Delta Blue (Russell Robison)
My Thanksgiving Print this poem only
Thank you for the sun at dawn
and for the evening when it’s gone
for every moment of my days
I give to you my heartfelt praise.
For seeds in me my parents planted
for friends I’ve taken for granted
for finding a smile when I was mad
at that sassy man who looked so sad.
For all the blessings undeserved
for judgments others have reserved
for a spouse able to forget
to begrudge me for commitments unmet.
For all the loving and forgiving
that made me want to go on living
for the decades of this life unearned
and all the lessons that I’ve learned.
For the sweat of generations past
so many blessings they amassed
for America and the freedoms we’ve got
for workers and all they’ve wrought.
For determination and fortitude
for patience, compassion, and gratitude
for humor and the laughter it brings
for flight and sight, and eagles’ wings.
For cats, and cardinals, and loyal dogs
for fish and turkeys and jumping frogs
for children and for growing old
for all the stories grandpa told.
I want to say a thankful prayer
for my sister and her loving care
for the miles we‘ve traveled together
for sticking with me in stormy weather.
But most of all before I part
I want to say how great thou art
for the love of all that’s living
I humbly offer my thanksgiving.
Written November 26, 2014
You Crackle Print this poem only
You crackle and bubble up
can't be held in a cup
even when I worry
you can't be in a hurry
takin your good time
findin just the right rhyme
to make us click
to make me tick.
When the world is bustin at the seams
and squirmin out my dreams
I want to lock the doors
but you tell me I'm yours
can't run too fast
know I can't last
I want to gamble my heart
thinkin I'm so smart
not enough piercing not enough tats
to make my old dogs into cats
can't never find enough what I like
when I want a hit, instead, a strike.
You crackle and bubble up
can't be held in a cup
even when I worry
you can't be in a hurry
takin your good time
findin just the right rhyme
to make us click
to make me tick.
Couldn’t speak your name
could not be emptied of my shame
you reached across the waters of my mind
I felt your calloused hand in mine
smelled the sawdust of your shop
raising and building without stop
I ignore you oh how I try
typing and piddling till I'm dry
but still you stand inside
and quietly abide.
You crackle and bubble up
can't be held in a cup
even when I worry
you can't be in a hurry
takin your good time
findin just the right rhyme
to make us click
to make me tick.
It is still early in the day
there's work to be done without delay
but my old body says
go back to bed
my joints groaning
my muscles moaning
by bones barely able to hold my weight
my feet are in a terrible state
but then I feel a verging
of your energy and your urging
and I pick myself up and head outside
and you, you are there in my slow sure stride.
You crackle and bubble up
can't be held in a cup
even when I worry
you can't be in a hurry
takin your good time
findin just the right rhyme
to make us click
to make me tick.
Written 10-3-14