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Monday, December 17, 2012

Three poems



This month I joined a poetry group and so here, below,  are some poems I'm working on. My most recent epiphany is that I need the challenge of poetry. I started reading The Art and Craft of Poetry by Micheal Bugeja. I say I am working on these because I am working on them for now, who knows in the end I may throw them out. I'm studying.



Well Dressed Orphan

Feeling free as an orphan, I count where my clothes come from.
All I could ask for,
Slippers, long johns, boots
She gave me this, he gave me that.
Shirts, sweaters, socks
I would be more than half naked without these gifts.
Absent mindedly I fail to notice I have friends
Worth more than the warmth and safety of clothes.
From two different angles I feel gratitude,
For having people who love and take care of me
but also for being able to forget them,
So as not to feel beholden to anyone.
Wanting to be free but not orphaned,
most times all I could ask for is a cup of tea,
Perhaps a little snack, sometimes my funds are short
And I’m well dressed, enjoying my solitude,
I like knowing I’m loved and taken care of but at the same time I enjoy my solitude and knowing I can sustain myself.

I feel grateful that my needs are small, and I feel joy in claiming my cup of tea weather with money from my own pocket or with a little love from my friends.



 Listen,


We give away the details of our lives in publications.
What do people who write poetry have to fear?
If the Internet is a violent surveillance of our private lives
We tell the world exactly what we feel and think.
A poet might only fear an unfinished poem
Taken before it is given with foolish love
Or wise refinement.

What fact, or spied information
Could hurt a poet? …If that were the point of the CIA,
Or some other evil entity?
In the art of self-healing all damage is fodder,
A hard surface, for those who aspire, is leverage to heavenly peace.

Totalitarianism and fascism?
Good reason for paranoia
Equanimity is best.
Lets be made for rain and cold, and all sorts of weather
Let’s write dangerous poetry, and shrug humbly
The revolution is as small as an inner smile.



A Toast for 2013

I may make another round of my ambitions
if no missteps  between December tenth, Christmas, and New Years

I’ll send out cards and presents
I’m halfway through the list all ready
spiffing up my resolutions and
Getting my ducks in a row so they all sail off.
All and all I think this was quite a year to live through.

2012, was a lot of hype
A real cliffhanger after the ever-worsening conditions that came before
And a huge guilty conscience telling us we deserve a super bad ending in 2012,

Some longed to die, and a close friend of mine did.
But I am still here and I have that
Weird “didn’t die” energy to go on with.

I’m ready to fight, and I’m ready to give up fighting.
Things are not so good, and I don’t have much money left.
But I heard loud and clear heart fluttering in the night:
I still have a chance to meet the great ambition

I was going to say my ambition, but I have a feeling
That what I call mine is a mirage
That leads me on to a more universal good
Where we probably all end up eventually anyway

For me 2013 is gearing up to be a year of faith and dedication
-to this Great Good that is behind my specific ambitions, great and small,
I toast.