loss

(Just so there is no confusion, this poem is a rank out and complete mockery of anyone who thinks that they can get through life without ever facing themselves; you know who you are.)


it sounds like a thing you could lose...
you would look for it under the couch
and say "where's the loss?
I can't find it...

I know it's around here somewhere.
I just saw it a few weeks ago."

then, you might find it

it might look like - beauty
or love
or friendship
or an old sock full of lint and dust

and you would say "ah, here it is",
checking it over for any damage,
feeling a little indifferent to it
or maybe you would be 
happy,
joyful even

that you found the loss;
and you can put it away now, in its proper place.

just another love poem

"what kind of a person does that?"
pain, my friend, causes much that we do not understand.
despair brings only despair, therefore
question not.
for to walk over the hot coals
of critical acumen into the fire of regret
-where there is no water
no wine

no vice

that could ever quench you-
can bring you to a truth 
that burns a scar so thick
nothing, not even death
can penetrate it.  
In that isolation
one can not know faith.
yet
wisdom may come
at some far removed moment
and the many long hours of our lives 
that were wasted in an instant
are regained beyond all previous measure
with a mere change of mind.

Hamsa (the swan)

this morning
how different? 
how much 
the same.

I have known you.

is it enough?

to walk through this life with
only this small pearl
in my heart.

ah,
but it has grown
already,
to be
an 
egg.

tomorrow 
perhaps,
a swan.

will I be able 
to carry you,
forever,
within me?

No.
all birds
must 
fly.

I have known you.

is it enough?

don't forget

Nothing changes, New Years Day.