WALKING DISTANCE

Monday, June 17, 2013

THE WRITER AS THIEF

In blindness there is sound.

In sound there is reverberation.

In reverberation I find direction.

The sound of cars stopping,

Passing me by--

In the cacophony of voices,

Words and phrases disconnected

From all the traffic of tongues,

Stories surrounding me.

Some are lies.

Some are true.

It's not up to me to discern

Which is which?

I just capture them,

Preserving them for

A future page,

A line fragment.

Wherever a string of words

Tangles in my mind,

Snagging my elusive attention,

There will, someday soon,

Be a place for these transient

Residents to leap into

Someone else's life.

Beware the silent passerby:

She's observing you,

Taking notes--

She's stealing from you

And you don't even know it.

CREDITORS

the phone keeps ringing

at odd times of day,

creditors seeking redress

of their grievances, prompt

payment of the debts they

claim to hold. they offer

terms--if one would answer

the demanding, ringing phone.

no one is home, though.

or at least, we pretend not to be

present. the telephone may make

its presence known, demand attention.

we just unplug it,

we just turn down the volume

so we won't hear its persistent rings.

Callers cannot reach through to us,

insist that we pay attention--

pay homage--

pay the damned debt.

too many distractions,

too many shows still to see

from the nearest DVR,

too many websites to browse,

too many Youtube videos.

demand never intersects

with consent.

VODKA TALKING

Vodka talking,

First sip turns

The first key to

Loose the demons

Of past and present

Grievances.

Alcohol, in its molecular

Complexity,

Fits the locks installed

By years of repression,

Pushing down--

Compression of memories.

But now, with each glass

Of tasty toxin,

The door opens wider,

And memory never misses

An opportunity to escape

Into the light,

Serrated edges, images

Draw blood

From unsuspecting hearts

With the misfortune

Of proximity.

As doors and windows

Are shoved open,

Walls emerge to block

Out any evidence

When tomorrow's harsh light arrives

To reveal the damage

Inflicted by pain's stampede--

Words carelessly flung

In the language of fermentation

Started and stopped

So precisely.

Chemistry--once initiated--

Resists recapture by one

Repentant septuagenarian.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

ANSWERS

where answers are found

in swiftly rushing rivers,

slick stones line the banks,

thirsty trees line up

to drink the water.

the animals,

surefooted,

fearlessly

share the bounty.

the wind twists

and returns,

rallying green troops,

bringing the winged ones

to drink,

to feast.

frogs and

fish and

flies

converging

in endless dance

until man

arrives,

appropriates the view,

in all its forms,

clears some trees,

loosens soil's grasp

upon the land;

it slips away with the wind,

washes away withthe rain

until only

the deep-rooted plants

can draw the life-sustaining water.

the herbivores that come

will find less food. they move on.

The four-legged hunters will

find less prey.

winged visitors will

find no bugs, no

frogs,

no seeds taking root

in the asphalt. with its

scent stil acrid to the nose,

on the tongue.

DIGITAL

DIGITAL

who has digitized me

has reduced me to

a bar code,

a string of numbers

telling of my physical location--the street

number, the apartment number,

the suite number

zip plus four:

come find me.

come touch me if you dare.

come speak to me

Area code (XXX) has changed, again,

changed again.

the physical location, too, has changed

without the burden of ownership.

wherever i travel, I am trailed by nine digits

that prove my eligibility for so many things:

citizenship, of course,

right to work,

right to be taxed,

right to be traced--endlessly

pursued by marketers

intent on convincing me

that I need what they have to sell.

with sixteen digits embossed in plastic,

rewritten in magnetic patterns,

i purchase my daily bread,

my freedom to travel,

my daily clutter that

consumes so much energy,

time and talents.

ONCE

Once the raindrop loses

Its grip on the hovering cloud,

Once the river begins to flow,

Not the tree stumps,

Not the stones,

Not the build up of silt,

Will keep it contained.

As inevitable as

The rise and set of

The son,

The tectonic movement

Of plates,

The birth and

Demise of fires,

The coming and going

Of waves

On a beach,

The victories and

The losses of nations

At war: words

And deeds are no barrier

Between us.

ANGELS LEAVING

(For Newtown Connecticut)

angels leaving,

assignment complete,

drain the skies of blue,

the trees of green

just a little

as their wings fill--

they lift off.

what assignment,

over whom did they

keep their vigil?

Lightweighted silence,

the only evidence

of their presence.

by the power of their love,

they lift the leaden sorrow,

the molten anger,

words said and

those omitted.

New names

with dates of departure

and arrival

freshly scrawled

in ledgers

for divine bookkeeping

purposes.--the book of life

must be maintained