Reading Borges At The Laundromat

Every life,
a history crafted
from memory
and oblivion.

The forgotten,
misplaced,
and excluded
have a voice.

White spaces
on a printed page;
emptiness
between
notes of music;
missing children;
cold loves;
dead comrades...

Silence
speaks aloud
when we
quiet our souls
and listen.

Stories
we don't tell,
but know,
saved within
the labyrinthine,
lost libraries
of the heart.
  - mce

Warlock Song

My life is spoken
in these fragile,
dangerous words.

I am a mad poet
nearing the end game,
calling out syllables
to tame creation.

My home is
an enchanted,
hovering shack,
a magician's lair,
from which
I lure the world to me
with spells
and incantations;
its portal carved
with runes and symbols,
white magic and dark.

To enter requires
you speak aloud
the appropriate charm:
do not fear.

Say it and you are inside,
warm and welcome.

Outside, running water
sings an anthem
that might save us all
if we but listen, heed,
and dissolve into it,
unafraid.

Choose or conjoin,
but do not be still:
the world will never
welcome cowards.

Arm yourself;
accept this quest.

Inside, outside;
poems and music;
magic and love:
seek the words
that embrace them all.

An old poet
at the year's turning,
mad and waiting,
calling out,
taking in,
trying to conjure
the words
that make life whole.
  - mce

The Turning Of The Year

First real autumn morning
crisp air and fallen leaves;
sound of a harpsichord
haunting the chilly breeze;
rough flannel scratches
my shivering skin.

Build a small fire
from twigs and branches,
breathe it to life;
blow on the embers
of what remains.

How many roads
led to this moment?

Where do they lead
from here?

No answers,
just fall nuzzling
my wanderlust,
making me consider
all my possibilities,
the coming of the cold,
the passing of my days.

Be like
a Long Hunter:
break camp,
accept the journey,
move on to see
what lies beyond
the mountains
just over there,
calling.
  - mce

Surfing The Inevitable

All around me
the sound of water
falling, dripping,
running, flowing;
the surging creek
roars past my deck.

Life rises to meet us
like a stream at flood
engulfing our dreams,
drowning our hopes,
sweeping us on
to unknown sea.

Ride the current;
dance on the rivulets;
accept the cascade.

Be the waters.

No use at all
fighting the deluge.
  - mce

Spice It Up

If creation
were simple,
it would be boring.

Contradictions,
internal and  external,
the garlic
of existence:

Pass me that clove!
 - mce

Trying To Clean My Cabin

I'm no good at this
and my cabin doesn't help.

Decades of dirt and grime,
a decaying outhouse,
cobwebs and insects,
windows nearly opaque:
Serenity, you are lovely,
but you are filthy.

I am in urgent need
of a French maid
(uniform optional).

Or, maybe, I'll just continue
not to look too closely.

Ah, the bachelor's life!
  - mce

All Caught Up

Too wrapped up
in life's draining details,
days slip away
like poems
imagined in bed,
gone before
they can even be
written down.

I will not
ever again allow
the rent situation
to steal the colors
of my days.

Thirty years
in a world
drained
of tints and hues
left me
greedy
for every shade
the earth offers.

Hummingbird
purple;
screaming sunset
pink;
deep, verdant tree
green;
floating, misty sky
gray;
the alabaster
white
of yielding
human skin:

these things
must never
be overlooked
merely
for money,
just to pay
the bills.

I want the earth
to paint me
like a canvas
with all the
tones and textures
creation exudes.

The rent
will be paid,
but I insist
on being
a poet
first.
  - mce

Nine Adaptations of Fragments By Sappho

Blogmeister's Note: I decided to combine these in one post for easier reading and less clutter. Again, these are adaptations in Ezra Pound's tradition, not translations. - mce

I

The moon is gone,
the Pleiades vanished,
my youth deserts me.
In night's darkest heart,
time streams on
and yet I sleep alone.

II

On feather beds,
we spent our desire,
dancing within
each other
until no holy place
remained untouched.

III

The Muses instructed me;
My honor is their craft.

IV

We shall enjoy
each other, Love;
let stillness and sorrow
stalk those
who disapprove.

V

No warning!
A torrent strikes
the stout oak
as love strikes
my heart.

VI

Stars hide their faces
when the moon's splendor
smiles and shines
upon the earth.

VII

Taking the lyre
into my hands,
my fingers
invited it
to speak
a lover's voice.

VII

You
have set
my heart
alight.

IX

I thirst
and
I burn.

Not Rocket Science

Poetry
is the sound
of your heart
speaking aloud.
Listen.
Ignore the voices
that say no,
and you
are already
a poet.
- mce

War/Words

Kraut, Nip,
Slope, Gook,
Towel Head:
you call them
whatever
allows you
to murder them
comfortably;
the terrible
dark side
of the power
of words.
  - mce

The Other Side Of Suffering

After three long years
of real, living Hell
replete with actual devils,
demons and pitchforks,
I find myself content
and at peace
in a lush, green haven.

On the other side of suffering
(if you survive, my friend)
there is life.

What a miraculous surprise;
what an unexpected blessing:

just to be me and to be here,
alive and breathing,
on this lovely evening.
  - mce

Blush With Me

I am thinking
of you, Lady,
and my thoughts,
while tantalizing,
energizing,
and enjoyable,
are not, exactly,
of the purest sort.

Well now,
how I wonder
what runs through
through that
pretty mind
of yours.

Would I blush
to know?

Oh, I hope so.
  - mce

Columbus Notebook

Beginning a new notebook
always makes me feel
like confused, but excited,
Christopher Columbus
stepping ashore that first time
into a fresh, new world
with no idea what lies ahead.
  - mce

Found Poem

Slipping on
one of the work shoes
I leave on my deck,
I discovered
two hickory nuts.

No doubt,
the shamelessly
bold squirrel
who struts about
out there
as if he
owns the place
left them.

He will be
disappointed
when he returns,
but I am charmed
by his tiny offering.

Who knew
that in Tennessee
even squirrels
provide take out?
  - mce

Better Than A Wife

How I love

my humble cabin
that floats
like a dream
in this lush, green
magical valley.

And she
loves me back!

When I return
and open the door
after any absence,
she whispers to me:

Honey, you're home,

(and means it).

Simple warmth.
Simple welcome.
Simple delight.
  - mce

Those Lost Noble Ladies

I love to imagine
noble ladies
of olden times,
burning on pyres
for God
or waiting
patiently
for death
in chilly castles,
like Joan of Arc
at Rouen,
like Mary,
Queen of Scots
at Fotheringay.

Their loveliness,
frozen in time,
caught like
doomed roses
kissed by frost.

Their pale,
cold arms
reach
across
centuries
and touch,
but cannot
satisfy me.

You, Lady,
are here
and warm
and now,
your arms
more fetching,
your heart
more noble,
the living blood
of you more
desirable
than any
ghostly lover.

Let us create
a new legend,
together.

The bards
may sing it
or not.

Only
to live it out
matters.
- mce

"I Have No Fear Of Time"

Autumn chill
seeps from this
damp morning.

Goldenrod,
Bull Thistle,
Calico Aster,
Bellflower:
the weeds
whisper
the year
is turning.

I hear them
and heed them,
build a small fire,
put on an old
flannel shirt,
sip hot coffee
and consider
that I
am turning
as well.

Along the way,

the journey
has become
the destination.

Nothing

to fear.

Gems

Like gold,
you find them
where you find them;
faster, the harder
you dig.
People, books,
ideas, poems
and songs,
there at the opening
of a mouth,
a door, a book,
a heart,
that change you
forever.
Keep mining,
brothers and sisters:
these pickings
be rich.
- mce

Just Another Prayer

Sometimes, Lord,
I am a creekbed
dry as death.
Water my life
with Grace
that flows.
Let your current
drive my heart.
Sweep my doubts
away.
Make me surge.
  - mce

Debris

Down pours the rain,
three days falling;
up surges the creek,
testing its banks.

Flood time.

The water carries
hay bales, tree limbs,
silt and beer cans.

Debris.

Life is a creek
strained
to overflowing,
testing our limits.

The debris
it sweeps along
the very stuff
of our being.
  - mce

Beginning With Only A Sound

Ah, the swoosh
of your dress
gliding off you,
finding the floor!

It pools black
and elegant
at my feet,
an entrancing
erotic puddle.

But I
cannot look.

Nothing between
us now but
silk and flesh,
my hands
and fingers
have become
the only eyes
I have,
the only eyes
I need.

Your soft
yielding skin
offers
all the seeing
and knowing
they crave.

Love,
let them
look closely
and discover
the delicious
details
of the world
you are.

This seeing
transforms lust
into magic,
makes
a ceremony
of desire.

It can lift us
off the earth.

Soar with me.

Touch me
like the sound
of that black dress,
falling.

What more
is necessary?
  - mce

Two Questions For The Rain

Too lazy
to take a shower
and face the day,
I sit on the deck
under the tin roof
listening to Vivaldi
and raindrops.

Staring out into the mist,
I imagine your lips,
your eyes, your arms,
your deep, sweet warmth.

Where are you love?

Don't you know
you should be here?
  - mce

Where I Live: Spring Creek Valley

The ridge line across the valley from Serenity floats in rain and mist. This from my deck along with Bach and coffee. Eat your heart out, Han Shan...

Settling In

My adopted,
native state!
Once I have
acquired
Tennessee tags,
a dog, a gun
and a pickup,
no one
will ever
again
suspect me
of being
but
a fleeing
refugee
Yankee.
Ah, home...
  - mce

Where To Find Them

A strong rain
pummels this
silent valley;
my bank account
contains $29.87;
I could really use
a new pair
of shoes;
far from here,
in Afghanistan,
brave men
fight and die
for nothing at all.
These are facts
and every fact
contains a poem,
if only we
look hard enough
and have the guts
to write it down.
 - mce

Laundry Day In An Old Man's Soul

Love, my old life,
looking at sixty,
is a laundry basket
filled to overflowing
with memories and fears
that need to be
washed, folded
and put away
that my remaining time
can be enjoyed
fresh, clean and free
of past stains (and sins).
I know, Love,
it is much to ask,
but will you go
to the laundromat
with me?
  - mce

Screams and Sighs: A Poem For Anne Sexton

I dream of writing words
that conjure screams and sighs,
that force my readers
to turn away and look back,
fascinated and repelled,
locked and paralyzed
by my serpentine stare,
by my hypnotic intensity.
Screams and sighs like those
that exploded from your pages
like verbal napalm
illuminating the naked horror
of the life that led you
to take your own.
You were a wise, wild woman
whose fierce, fearless words
sprang from a fountain
of uncertainty and chaos;
but your pen never faltered,
not until the weight of living
became too much to bear
and drove you, disconsolate,
to the locked garage,
the running engine,
suffocation and death alone,
without screams or sighs.
The critics and the madness
that plagued your soul
are vanished now.
Only your white hot
woman's words survive,
searing my brain,
the living brains of many.
I hope you have found respite,
far from screams and sighs.
Be at peace, Sister.
- mce

A List of Joys

Blogmeister's note: I was once asked to make a list of things that bring me joy. This is what I came up with. I found it again yesterday. It still holds up. I publish it here especially as a gift for those who knew and sustained me in my bleaker days. These are some of what I found on the other side of all that suffering.

*****

Real work, whether of mind or body. Real work isn't a job or an occupation. It is any effort that occurs when what you know and what you do converge with who you really are.

Mammalian warmth: the touch of human bodies in all it's wonder and pleasure that reminds me of Nietzsche's saying, "First, be a healthy animal."

A cat's purr. It's existence requires no justification; it is complete in itself.

Blueberries, the plants and the fruit. A feast for every sense.

Books, movies, and works of art that are so compelling they take you on a vacation from reality by creating their own more vivid reality.

My white, 1997 Saturn with 192,000 miles on it. A gift from an angel, I call her Moby and together we sail the asphalt seas. She's a real lady.

Birds. They fill the world with color and music and desire no profit in return.

A lovely woman with bare legs in a sun dress. As Wallace Stevens said, "Beauty is momentary in the mind, the fitful tracing of a portal, but in the flesh it is immortal."

The electric charge of lips touching lips, of flesh brushing flesh.

Anything, on a woman, that is made of silk. Silk is exquisite, elegant and erotic.

Tennessee, my unexpected, verdant refuge and hope.

Weeds that flower, because their beauty is unexpected.

Evan Williams bourbon. Exquisite, distilled napalm that burns and satisfies.

Cool evenings after hot days.

Conversation that sparkles with intelligence, wit and conviviality.

Warren Zevon, Thelonious Monk and Mozart, not necessarily in that order.

True friends. When the chips are down, they are a treasure more valuable than even family.

The magical, healing sound of flowing water.

Trees, especially the deciduous. Their greenness speaks to and cools my spirit.

Writing and reading poetry, my craft and my solace.

Love. It is elusive and difficult and perhaps impossible, but the belief that it may be out there sustains even the jaded, aging life.

The fecundity of the unexpected.

Fireflies. Almost too much beauty for one world.

Sunrises, because they bring the undeserved possibility of another shot at redemption.

Garlic, the spice of the gods.

And on and on...
- mce

At The End Of Energy

Sometimes,
an evening alone
with bourbon
and Mozart
is all that
I can manage.
- mce

OK, That's Enough Now

All day,
since seven,
I have written.
My mind
is singed
and jumpy,
nervous
and edgy.
I need a nap,
but still words
pile upon words.
Bourbon
does not help;
the assault
continues.
It is good
to be a poet,
but sometimes
rest would be
better.
- mce

The Fingerprints of Words Upon My Neck

Poetry is powerful
because it is real;
it grabs our throats
and makes us feel.

Real as the dead cat
upon the road,
at noon, smashed flat.

Real as the wounded men
I have known,
who will never walk again.

Real as the broken heart
that, having stopped,
will not restart.

Real as the delight
with which your body
fills my night.

Real as your love
nestled in my heart,
soft and gentle as a dove.

Real as death
whose siren call,
forgets, in the end,
no one at all.

Poetry is powerful
and real, indeed,
it grabs our throats,
it makes us read.
- mce

Decision

At some point,
like Jeanne d'Arc
at that crucial moment,
you must trust,
and step into the fire.
- mce

''The greatest poverty is not to live / In a physical world.''

I rejoice as
this soft breeze
caresses my naked,
mammal body.
The wanton
sensuality of it,
like feeling
the touch
of a thousand
angel fingers.
I may not
be beautiful,
but, oh,
I am alive,
a living man
in a lovely world.
Ah, the joy
of being flesh
on this cool,
fall morning.
This magical
conjunction
of skin and air;
how it awakens
my heart!
- mce

Peregrination

Kiss me, Love.

Your body
is a soft,
white temple
discovered
at the end
of arduous
pilgrimage.

I stand
before you,
the pilgrim
who knocks,
waits,
and hopes.

Kiss me;
open your
secret heart
that I might
enter you
and dissolve
in your
mysteries.

Let me worship
at the altar
of your flesh,
of your spirit.

I have traveled
long and hard
seeking
the one
engendered
by two.

I tremble before
the possibility
of who you are,
who you might be.

Kiss me, Love,
please be
the end
of my journey,
the sanctuary
I have sought.
- mce

Ghosts

Rain drop drip,
mist pale
as starving
white ghosts
clings
to tree limbs,
deck railing,
undergrowth.

A world
lightly glazed
or frosted
like a wedding cake
catered by God.

What secrets
this valley
whispers
through the damp
morning chill.

Cherokees,
long hunters,
dirt farmers,
lost hippies.

Listen closely and
the land speaks
their spirit stories.

In this drifting mist
their insubstantial
shades seek
to live again.

Actions of the heart,
lives of the past:

Nothing
the world
has seen
is ever
truly,
completely
lost.
- mce

Waking to Words

Finding my voice
after long, lost silence
was a powerful joy.

Hearing, again,
my own songs,
levitates my soul
and restores
the me to me.

These humble songs
return the red, live blood
to longing veins,
to a hungry heart.

But the songs
themselves are not
what really matters.

It is the homely,
jubilant act
of simply singing
that engenders ecstasy,
that says to me:

You are still alive - live.
- mce

A Humble Gift

Love, let me pick you
a bright bouquet,
all the flowers
of the day,
now, at our start,
freshly plucked
from the garden
of my heart.
Not as much
as you deserve,
but mine to offer,
and I do:
all I have to give,
but true.
- mce

Encountering Mystery

A too damned bold squirrel
saunters across my deck railing
clutching a green hickory nut
tightly in its sharp, greedy mouth.
It stops, nonchalantly,
fluffs its absurd tail,
and peers deep into my eyes.
Silently, I stare right back.
What can we possibly be thinking?
- mce

The Universal Soldier Speaks At Last

I fought before
the painted ships
beneath the walls
of fabled Troy;
caught a bullet
in the blazing
summer heat
of Gettysburg;
drowned gurgling
in the gory mud
of the Somme;
jumped into
Normandy
and died
strung up
in the trees;
killed Charlie
again and again,
to no avail,
in a thousand
fire fights
from Saigon
to Da Nang.
I have always
done your
bloody bidding,
the red-stained
wet work
that keeps you
fat and safe.
I have always
answered
your call.
Always.
But my heart
will always
despise you
for making me
do it.
- mce

Balm

Love,
I must live
through this
too short day
in this
too hard world;
how it soothes
me to know
you are living
in it, as well.
- mce

Thanks A Lot Werner Heisenberg...

So little
can be known
for sure.

Will that
precipitously
leaning tree
fall on my cabin?

Will my money
last as long
as this month?

Will my
aging car
keep the faith?

Will my sons
ever love me
again?

Will she take
a deep breath
and a chance
on me?

Uncertainty:
the condiment
that makes life
nerve-wracking,
but delicious.
- mce

The Value of Insomnia

Better than nightmares,
but not by much.
- mce

Anxiety

You are afraid
the other shoe
will drop;
you are afraid
the other shoe
won't drop.
Better, I think,
to choose
to go barefoot
and enjoy the day.
- mce

Ithaca Redux

Let me, Love,
but kiss away
your final fears
and we,
like Penelope
and Odysseus,
will face the world,
deep-rooted
and strong,
proof against
the waning years.
- mce

Useless Disinctions

The pure trill
of birdsong;
the perfect
harmony
of Mozart.
Sometimes,
no difference
at all.
-mce

Without Even An Alarm Clock

Above the tree line
the sun explodes
in bright wonder,
overflowing light
upon the berries,
birds and trees,
down into
the valley dawn.
This moment
of conception
whispers a memory
of that very first day:
the luminous
mind of God
spilling across
Creation.
- mce

Contradiction

Wise woman,
little girl;
two spirits,
one vessel:
how do you know
who you are?
- mce

"The Awful Daring Of A Moment's Surrender"

- for Debbie

Your humble suitor
arrives with empty pockets
blueberries, Mozart
and many questions.
He has traveled a road
he never imagined
to stand upon your steps.
Miles upon miles
are burned behind him.
Doors sometimes
open to possibilities
beyond prediction,
occasionally
to disaster.
To open is to know.
He shifts from foot to foot,
takes a deep breath,
and considers
in one long instant
the implications of his action.
Door; opening; portal.
He lifts his hand
and hopefully
knocks upon
the unknown future.
The door swings open,
the dance begins.
- mce

One Kiss

One kiss, love,
can offer up
a world unborn,
as a seed
holds the flower
not yet sprouted
but no less real
before its green
becoming.

It can murmur
many words
in languages
as yet unlearned
foretelling stories
still to be written.

In one kiss
resides
the possibility
of hope,
the danger
of hurt.

One kiss, Love,
offers a chance
we can risk
or refuse,
a portal
that opens
or closes.

Our choice.

One kiss, Love,
so little,
and, perhaps,
so much.
- mce

Evening/Interlude

Your face floats before me
in the darkening evening,
like a white, soft, exotic Lilly
gently parting the murky dusk,
growing up, reaching out
to gather the dying day's
last, sweet, mortal kiss.
Gather me to you, Love.
Let there be many evenings,
much softness, endless kisses.
- mce

The God Of War Never Sleeps

Nightmares of combat:

stunned and bleary,
coffee and nicotine
do not suffice
to clear my mind.

Dreams of war
disturb the soul,
damage the heart.

The terror of battle
leaps decades
and finds me
after thousands
of miles
and thousands
of days.

And nothing
has changed;
I am still afraid.

Depart my sleep,
Aries, I cringe
at your evil touch,
your wicked voice
sickens me.

Keep your red
running memories;
let me forget.

I paid your blood tax,
Lord of War;
I broke and bowed
to your power.

Wasn't that enough?

Now leave me in peace.
- mce

Walk With Me

Take my hand, Love.

The path narrows toward the end,
but still allows room for two.

Take my hand and walk with me.

The leaves of the trees
that arch above our heads
will sigh at our passing;
the birds that sing
among their branches
will serenade our progress.

We will make a way together.

Creation will celebrate
that we are one.

And so shall we, Love,
if only you will
take the chance
to take my hand
and walk with me.
- mce

Surrender

Broken and lost,
three years I wandered
my lonely desert
seeking the way out.

At last, I came to know
that desert was my heart.

I wept for the desolation
that I had become.

My tears fell upon
that parched waste
within me.

Like spring rain,
they dropped
upon that wasteland
in my heart.

Letting go my pride,
I was kissed by grace.

Flowers blossomed
where sand and thorns
had ruled.

The fertile magic
of surrender.

To find
the way out,
you must discover
the way in.

Life.
New life.
A life.
- mce

When I Remember You, I will Smile

A difficult task
demanding years
of work:

to gently kiss
your beloved,
but painful,
past goodbye
with honest love
and compassion;

to let go
those loved
and lost
with a smile
and a wave.

But the morning
shines brightly,
the day beckons,
tomorrow whispers,
come to me,
in your ear.

A difficult task,
but necessary:

not to forget,
but to continue,
glad for what was
living in what is.
- mce