To Live Would Be an Awfully Great Adventure

I wish I could make friends
As easily as I did when I was five,
And life seemed so much shorter,
When I was fearless
And so were you.

Life’s different, now.
We don’t grab, we wait.

But a few years ago
We would have instantly become
Inseparable (YouandI).

Now, I make up games
And break the rules.

People grow out of themselves
And into something else,
Or try to (You, and I).

Part of life ends
Without our consent
And even our knowledge
(Until afterward),
And another part begins
Before we’ve had time
To say goodbye
To the old days,
To our old ways.

I’m not sure what to think of all this.
I imagine what I could say to you,
I imagine how I’d say it,
And exactly what I’d mean,
And what you’d say back,
When I was finished with my
Ever so poetic soliloquy.

I imagine you standing there,
Like Jordan Baker,
Holding a drink and saying calmly
With a distant expression
“Life starts all over again,
When it gets crisp in the fall.”

Perhaps I was never fearless.
Perhaps I never will be.
But I’ll give myself
A second chance,
If you will.

Semi-Quartet

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
She asked, looking down at
Me, as I reclined on the sand,
Eyes hidden by dark glasses.

“Not at all,” I replied,
Turning a page.

“Kate’s a loner at heart,”
Kristy said, kicking sand at me
As she took off her sweater.

I am a loner, I know,
But someone had to stay with
The motley mound of purses.
I didn’t mind because
I was enjoying reading
Poems about lanyards,
So much that I didn’t know
If you had gone right or left
With your long lounging strides
(Except for Elsbeth,
Who is rather shorter).

I read quite a few poems,
Reread them too—
Billy Collins and two of my own,
Then took a break to watch
A small girl chasing a seagull
And smile at my pen.

Later you told me
You had written a line on the shore
(T. S. Eliot, mermaids)
And that made me very happy.

I looked up then,
And saw you run by,
You had gone to the left,
And crossed to the right,
Led by Kelly,
Not looking to me,
But holding the camera aloft
And squinting into the hot gray sky.

I watched you, loping
Gently
Across the sand, talking
Intently
And brushing your hair
Out of your eyes
Not loners,

My friends.

Holiday

Let us go, you and I,
Through the Looking Glass.
I think things would be
Far better on the other side.

Let us play a game of chess-
Don’t run so fast,
I can’t keep up-
It’s a test of Imagination.

Let us see the battle
Fought for the rattle,
Eat a ham sandwich
Without the hay,
Though there’s no jam today.

Let us visit Humpty Dumpty
At brilling
And if he’s willing
He will explain why
Nothing is sensible.

After all

I wouldn’t want to cross the Queen myself,
Would you?

If we’re lucky,
We’ll cut the cake
After
It’s been handed round.
We’ll each get a piece.

Let us go there.
I’m sure you want to,
For where else
Could we dare to imagine
Six impossible things
Before breakfast?

Chained to the Sky

I agonize,
I lie awake,
Worrying,
Wondering–
What will happen?
Can I go on
As I have gone on
For so long?
I can’t even trust
That the earth’s still spinning
(Silence)
Through the night.

Breath bated,
I wait.

I keep holding on
For that moment when
The way things are
And the way they’re meant to be
Converge.

Glimpses are no longer enough for me.

I don’t understand
How that man could leave his wife and kids,
Or how the sun can scorch us so mercilessly
When all I really want is some rain.

But life keeps on.
I keep on.
There’s more than this, I know,

Sometimes I think this world will never stop.
(I want to get off)

Then I consider, ought I–
Seize the day?
Seize the moment!
Seize that second deciding
What shoes to wear.
Seize it before it slips away.
I’m not sure
You can’t miss
What you don’t know.

How much time have I wasted
Asking myself,
Will I—
Can I—
Justify this to the stars?
I should have just acted
And stopped asking.

Only one thing matters:
To know before Whom I stand.

To be (as I am)-
To act (as I do)-
To love-

This life was meant to be loved.

To live is to love.
To love is to die.
To live is to die,
Chained to the sky,
Inextricably bound and
Impossibly free.

Mythology Repeats Itself

You live in silhouette.
He only sees the outlines of your mind
Projected on the blank sheet of his imagination.
A firm line, unbroken by unsurety,
Forms your perfect profile.

He is in love with this image,
Obsessed by this picture,
A two-dimensional figure.
He envisions at once
Too much
And too little–

He would create you,
A living breathing thing,
Of cold and warmness mixed,

His Galatea.

Self-Conscious

I thought of a poem today,
While I was doing laundry
It was about the hole
In the bottom of my sock,
The way the threads were stretched taut
From being worn too often
But I forgot it by the time the washing was done,
And all I remember is that
I need to buy new socks

Upon Reading John Donne

This old world won’t slow down
We must keep moving (so we’re told),
Whirling round the sun

Sometimes I feel
We’re all rushing around,
With no real place to go

We worry about everything
And nothing
I wish you would stop worrying
About things like
The end of the world,
Or what that girl thinks of you

If I wanted to inspire you
To great things,
I would tell you
There are more important things to know
Than yourself

But, otherwise
I would just say
Life is bizarre
And beautiful
Whatever anyone else says,
Whatever books you’ve read,
Whatever pain you’ve felt

I haven’t figured it all out,
And I know I never will,
But I won’t stop trying

Just breathe deeply,
(Trust your instincts?)
And never forget,
Ignoring this business of orbiting,
And putting aside bells that toll,

That no man is an island–
We all are the ones,
The issue being broadly considered,
For whom the sun rises,
As well

A Poem is a Glass of Wine

The bell above the doorway rings
And the dim makes me hesitate
As I survey the walls of books

I run my fingers along the spines I can’t resist
I open one, cradle it gently, smooth away the dust,
Wonder who else has touched the same pages

I see the titles glimmer in the darkest corner of the shelves—
Austen, Balzac, Camus, side by side,
Though they could never be friends

I pick one up,
A book of poetry
I feel the weight,
Crack the cover slightly,
Inhale the scent,
Like the taster of a fine wine

I take the first sip
Sitting in a corner,
In an old leather chair
Where the light falls
On a single page
And nowhere else

The opening poem—
I roll the first line on my tongue,
Shiver with delight at the bold initial taste
Now, I distinguish the subtler flavours,
The oakey taste, that bitter berry in the third line,
That hint of earthyness in the last stanza
I linger, then, when I am ready

I move onto the next poem,
Which has a lighter taste,
A charming affect,
Which I appreciate,
But which prepares me

For the potent strength
Of the last poem
Which is so very bold
That I reel a little
At the final line
And close my eyes

When I open them to stumble forth,
The sun seems so much brighter
And the air seems so much sweeter
And the bricks seem so much redder
That I begin to wonder
How long I was inside

But the shopkeeper doesn’t mind
That I’ve stopped by once more
To get a little drunk

Sometime Between June 1st and June 2nd, 2008

The night sky is velvety black
Above the airplane’s wing
A faint horizon glow,
An underdeveloped rainbow
Of subtle mixed hues
(Orange, blue and green)
Like a scarf,
Brightens the gorgeous and dusky darkness–
The universe from my window,
All I can see

The scarf unfolds a little,
A sure strip of dark appears,
And what I can see is so
Wild and wondrously beautiful
That I cannot look away even to sleep
(I couldn’t sleep, in any case)

I am astounded
Overwhelmed
Awestruck
By the immensity
Of this present moment—
Soon, the present will be past,
When the future’s present,
And only vague memories,
Intangible images,
Flashes of being,
Will remain inscribed
On that part of me
That won’t
Or can’t
Let go

The ink glistens on the page,
And is dry
The clock ticks on
An hour is gone

I shall never see, hear, touch
The same thing twice

It can never be re-lived,
And never be undone,
Once the present is past
And the future is present

We saw the moon,
A mere sliver
Against the sky

The sun rises,
And the sea below
Looks so blue
And everything is still,

Until

We descend,
And the white caps of the waves,
The ripples in their wake,
The miniature motorboats,
All spring into motion

My Metaphysic

What has been,
Has been and is done
And we have learned from our past,
Good things and bad,
Inspirations, and mistakes all our own,
Strength and weakness

We’ve learned more from our weakness
Than the strength we thought we had

We have crossed the madly rushing river
And not been drowned
We have tread upon the serpent’s lair
And not been stung
We have grasped the blade of the sword
And not been cut

We have survived
More than survived

We love and remember

Now–
What is
Is
It is, and

It is good