Jarring Thoughts

I woke up today and wished for winter

2011-07-16T15:44:00.002-04:00

I woke up today and wished for winter.
I heard nothing but childlike snowflakes do-sa-do from leaf to terrace,
The gritty plumber from 218 pouring rock salt,
One stubborn streetlight flicker amidst the reflected brightness,
And two pairs of inadequate sneakers crunching through the virgin snow.

7.11
s.d.

I'll bring you to your love

2011-07-10T20:56:00.001-04:00

I'll bring you to your love
So get to know me.

Let me show you how a man cares.
I'll give you a Hallmark card, a feather, a violet day.
Enjoy my Riesling, taste my quiche, hear my songs.
Let's smile at each other, hold hands, and kiss
By the fireplace, at the pier, in front of Radio Shack.

I'll meet your needs and satisfy your desires.
My shoulder is bonier than a pillow and I'm warm.
We can laugh or concentrate on the blurred silence,
I can speak brusquely or in wrinkled tones.

Choose your moment and manner of departure.
Slip into the electrified neon of night, or instead
Be one of my new best friends.

In one or two years, I'll come to your wedding.
I'll purchase champagne flutes from your registry.
I'll take lots of pictures and enjoy almost every minute.

7.11
s.d.

This has been quite a year. (13 reflections...)

2011-06-26T09:58:00.000-04:00

The year felt long but it flew by, and I'm quite certain it's the same length as any other.

Handshakes turned to hugs. But waves became smiles, nods became glances.

It seems we were often too busy to be tired yet seldom too tired to be busy.

Beside my childhood home, there was a bristling stream beyond the chain-link fence. I didn't explore it much back then but I've missed the sound.

In theory, we could all publicize our personal stories, yet most of us won't.

Others shared my struggles, thus I felt less peripheral.

We found good jobs, lovers, and friends, and so we worried about something else.

Corner apartments and sunshine suit me.

Although you said yes instead of maybe, and maybe instead of no, it wasn't to mislead me.

It's because of all the choices that I was fearful of missing out.

From time to time, I forgot that the median bar was higher than average.

To everyone whom I've laughed and shared with: we're a part of each other. Surrounding myself with people I can count on is what matters most to me; thanks for your support.

We should have played cards. Next year, I'll make time.

s.d.

Night on the Mission

2011-02-07T21:15:00.001-05:00

A tilted eyebrow, glimpsed that sultry night
Meandering through bleak, insipid haze
Amongst the skinheads, ashes, Miller Lite
By dim-lit corkboards circling hipster greys
Some splattered words amidst the muted noise
As unlit candles, sharing cigarettes
A fancied trip to Vegas with the boys
For silken dizzy crystal minuets
Within a scarlet smile turned to blue
The softened spikes left hints of molten rust
From hill to hill, omnisciently we flew
Until black morning chewed us into dust
If I'd been weaker you would still endure
Some welts upon your consciousness, for sure

10.10
s.d.

Lucid for Islands

2011-02-06T22:22:00.001-05:00

I am lucid for islands
in a row, the pungent
refraction of sunny
nodules in the sheathes
brings a glowing
nostalgic parmesan.

Opaque holes clamor
for depth-defying
pestilence. Forward,
bliss, crisis, and the
pinwheel's ineptitude.

Fallen upon a kitschy
spark, the present,
and my shredded
pancreas sits in tubes.

1.11
s.d.

Molera Park

2011-01-22T13:29:00.004-05:00

She pondered the pebbled sand
The tide crept in slowly as a three-legged iguana
I witnessed this in stillness, thinking
of...and remained silent.

1.11
s.d.

Inbox

2010-11-08T22:48:00.001-05:00

Again, my Inbox grows from zero to one...
And so it seems the day is never done.

11.10
s.d.

Ode to Pinot Noir

2010-10-23T04:26:00.002-04:00

Sleeping with open eyes and typing fingers
I digest a random Pearl Jam song
And smile fondly before the new echelon.

I consider the what else
How I tripped up, but wouldn't change a thing
And landed in cloudless California.

10.10
s.d.

Friday

2010-09-24T19:59:00.003-04:00

My calf is aching
And my brain can't quite process...
Can you repeat that?

9.10
For a friend.
s.d.

Peruvian Incas

2010-09-14T16:38:00.002-04:00

Peruvian Incas
seldom suffered heart disease
and loved building stairs

8.10
s.d.

Old Logging Road

2010-07-30T13:28:00.002-04:00

The old logging road
An orange salamander
And I realized this couldn't possibly be a haiku
There was too much to say about
The pitiful lizard squatting in the gravel

Bright as a neon sign
Hardly cloaked
Seemingly afraid of our footfall, or curious
Or searching for Stratton Pond
As a dozen more appeared

The old logging road
Looking like the Vegas Strip
Blazing with construction orange
Of thousands of salamanders, the only diversion
From a piercing rainstorm

7.10
s.d.

Ten Ways of Remembering April

2010-07-15T17:42:00.001-04:00

Reprieve from February. Tramping through
the Garden State. Played games to pass the time.

Talking of amber in afternoon heat. Walked with a noticeable
limp. Coquettish smile without laughter. Eye noticed
the red velvet cupcake. Pale as a salted cat.

Impermanence is such a beautiful
word. Most days it rained.

2.10
s.d.

Wanderer's Barter

2010-06-05T17:58:00.002-04:00

Trundling onto another capsule,
Lugging my shirts and chargers,
I wonder if I'll still smile
Or merely nod in acknowledgment
Upon arrival.

     The wanderer's barter: a few
     Flat snapshots - nothing else
     Captures the confusion,
     The high-water mark etched in
     Adrenaline...

Exhausting pats and attaboys
From glazed-eye acquaintances,
I wonder if this marks an end
Of acknowledging nods among
Checkered-flag friends.

6.10 (revised)
s.d.

longing for home

2010-05-19T22:30:00.003-04:00

rising rising in the air

above a world hes left behind

he stares out the window

and sees merely clouds

interspersed with the waves

five miles below

for a few fickle moments

the insipid hum

of the jets siren song

teases/tempts/traps

his fragile spirit

yet he cannot decide

if his ultimate ride

leads him forward or back

puts him on the right track

if it renders him stable

or wholly unable

to face life alone

with a heart full of stone

hes a wizened wayfarer

a will-o-the-wisp

an ancient memory

a human being

a few hours pass and

the jet glides down harshly to the

specked surface of a black tarmac

but the journey is over

for him and he breathes

a sigh of relief

its been an endless

hour/minute/second/lifetime

and hes tired

all the world is aloof

hes almost home now but

he stops short

and wonders where exactly that is

but there is a voice in his conscience

guiding him softly

so he closes his eyes

and forgets everything

before this moment

and smiles because hes home

11.07

I wrote this six years after "desire to travel."

s.d.

desire to travel

2010-04-05T11:33:00.003-04:00

early early in the morning

before the trees are even awake

i lean out the window

and focus my eyes

upon some distant spot

at the horizons edge

for a few wafting minutes

a spectacular sight

my eyes behold there no

birds/breeze/butterflies

scatter my attention

yet somehow i know

that if i were to go

to the place im yearning

eyes barely discerning

i still wouldnt find

the calm peace of mind

that slowly unravels

for someone who travels

im a nomad in chains

a vagabond cooped up

a wanderer in a glasshouse

an anchored migrant

soon it is noon and

the sun climbs the stairs to its

regal throne in a sky blue sky

but its sovereign kingdom

seems as inaccessible to me as

the sun itself

its been a lengthy

day/week/month/year

and its late

even the trees are asleep

its almost black now but

for a few stars

and the shades are drawn shut

but there is a lamp on beside me

so i let my eyes adjust

they meet your eyes

and i see my future

and i forget everything

before this moment

11.01

s.d.

Scintillation

2010-03-02T21:25:00.002-05:00

The richest diamonds:
Less scintillating than
Naked fingers.

3.10
s.d.

Three Wishes

2010-02-07T19:11:00.000-05:00

Wish for something mundane:
A raw fish with little bones, rusty
Drainpipe or sprig of maple.

Wish for something trivial:
A faded washcloth, three-leaf
Clover or miscut postcard.

Wish for something transient:
A whiff of mown grass, rainbow
In drizzle or taillight glimmer.

s.d.

Magnanimous Prometheus

2010-02-06T17:31:00.000-05:00

The weakest god and strongest man:
Prometheus, his arm in chains,
Is splayed across a rocky hill
Reliving his recurring fears.
The cog in Zeus’s nasty plan:
A monstrous eagle hungrily tears
His sallow shell and fragile will
Until a writhing fool remains.

An awful fate befalls our prey;
His daily anguish makes me weep...
A single tear. Pajamas on:
I contemplate another day,
Ignite the wood stove; then upon
A cozy bed, I drift to sleep.

s.d.

(Peter Paul Rubens' "Prometheus Bound")

What I Recall of a Message Delivered at 9:52

2010-02-05T18:04:00.000-05:00

Tacitus asserts: “Kindness is welcome to the extent it seems the debt can be paid back. When it goes too far gratitude turns into hatred.”

I.

I’m much stronger than my small frame betrays.
Don’t estimate me by the size of my footprints.
My corrugated lips are not yours to kiss.

Forty-eight hours hence, I’m gliding on silently.
Don’t stuff the dumpster I leave behind with moments we never had.
I may be stubborn, but not as thoughts of air when you are drowning.

IV.

I must leave now; I must find home.
I will lose myself in a wilderness of solitude
To find home in the faces of those who care about me.

An unexpected wind pushes me off a soaring skyscraper; I free-fall.
I brace for impact; I land in a net woven of human beings.
There are a few lost teeth, a few broken bones, and I am home.

s.d.

An Antique Sand King

2010-02-04T17:54:00.000-05:00

I mocked the words of a wrinkled traveller
Who met Ozymandias, the sand sculptor,
Beside a lone pedestal in the desert:

     “A wreck of a lifeless heart
     Lies sunk in the vast sands.
     Two things fed its shatter’d remains:
     A bare hand and a colossal despair.
     Those stamp’d passions tell that
     Nothing is boundless in its decay!”

A decay whose command is cold and level?
I stretch my lip in a mighty sneer.
Ozymandias, read well the frown on my visage...
My heart is stone and yet I survive.

s.d.
(Note: All of the words in "An Antique Sand King" are recycled from Shelley's famous sonnet "Ozymandias")

Ozymandias (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Ekphrasis: The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory (Second Iteration)

2010-02-03T22:11:00.002-05:00

A (curvilinear) waterline
Disguises the remnants of
A disbanded civilization--
A world that teemed with
Life, progress. Submerged
Below the surface, reversed
Inertia coolly rips apart old
Civil War ammo, the tallest
Building on Wall Street, six
Russian rocket ships and
The Golden Ratio (≈1.618).
In essence, these forms
Acquiesce...Steadfast above
The surface, tranquility
Flatters a barren crag with
Exquisite detail. They fail to
Note the fractured limb, a
Mocking finger, interjects.

s.d.

(Salvador Dalí's "The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory")

Insolitude

2010-02-02T19:01:00.004-05:00

I can sit anywhere,    on a chair.
The squawk of your incessance.
Ears unclogged:
     rivulets
        of cotton.

Today was a two out of ten.    At most--
Among the shards intact: jagged
Capsules of pillowy hope
In bile, swimming    clockwise.

Rapidized pulse, clenchedbreath.
Smothered under a Lincoln Log cabin of
You, until some kid    kicks it in.

If I stand somewhere to think:
Staticky oblivion, just    a headache.
So I intend to retrace, embrace
A quiescent moment,
    I retrace.

This is me.    And until tomorrow,
    anew.

s.d.

From Birute Hill

2010-02-01T18:07:00.001-05:00

A lifetime since the widely nights in Vilnius,
Alone today I lean upon your chest cold wave
Your power granted, as aspirations to the heart
Expressed so powerfully, you are My Baltic!

How you have grown longer, infinite and wide!
And as you listen impatiently to mysterious voices
I dream of you alone to receive my earnestness,
Upon each stillness your wave ferociously strikes!

Sadly for me! Have you turned? Why - I do not know;
Alone, would that the storm collapse me more acutely:
Forgetting between your calm and not seeing me,
Yet desiring yourself to the side closer to the Gulf.

I long to be your close friend: I believe in you;
It’s like a tidal storm pain in my soul;
Secretly you betray this dark face
And ever leave, like me, restless.

s.d.

Nuo Birutės Kalno (Maironis)

Išsisupus plačiai vakarų vilnimis,
Man krūtinę užliek savo šalta banga
Ar tą galią suteik, ko ta trokšta širdis,
Taip galingai išreikšt, kaip ir tu, Baltija!

Kaip ilgėjaus tavęs, begaline, plati!
Ir kaip tavo išgirst paslaptingų balsų
Aš geidžiau, tu pati vien suprasti gali,
Nes per amžius plačių nenutildai bangų!

Liūdna man! Gal ir tau? O kodėl - nežinau;
Vien tik vėtrų prašau, kad užkauktų smarkiau:
Užmiršimo ramaus ir tarp jų nematau,
Betgi trokštu sau marių prie šono arčiau.

Trokštu draugo arčiau: juo tikėti galiu;
Jis kaip audrą nujaus mano sielos skausmus;
Paslapties neišduos savo veidu tamsiu
Ir per amžius paliks, kaip ir aš, neramus.

Off Center.

2010-01-31T19:02:00.003-05:00

Crushing you cruelly,
the slippery orange sky
blazed ominous friction.

I forsook the superficial
chivalry, the soft hand
kissing that fed you.

Your feelings strewn
as scrap metal pieces,
rusted and misplaced.

I rediscovered an old
friend, found work and
read Joyce’s Ulysses.

Vivid yellow and soft
lavender, both sunset,
still you wrote to me.

Discarding the earnest
letter, envelope intact,
I made a sandwich.

Off Center. s.d.
(Note: The artwork is Mark Rothko's "White Center.")

Grey Evening (twenty minutes of twilight)

2010-01-30T17:23:00.000-05:00

We don’t deserve a decaying summer wind
Stroking our respective backsides as we crunch
Across the pockmarked pavement.

We embrace enormous grey sweaters, hoodies
To encase our delicate shells. We require
Woolen hats and nourishing thoughts or we’ll wither.

And even as we’re sure to find satisfaction of soul,
We remember to look up; we see
the pale cobwebs of the upper reaches of Sever Hall.
The class is closed but our questions remain.

s.d.

My Patience for Otis Expires Tonight

2010-01-29T17:22:00.003-05:00

My Patience for Otis Expires Tonight:

Tomorrow I surrender. Take my sword
and my badge and my cross. Pelt my
withered skin with oblong pebbles
you find scattered all along the
cracked blacktop. Forget all of
the hard times I lent you cash
(but never kept track), heard
you complain about the women
who trampled on your dreams
and showed compassion when
your family dumped you on
the street corner. Since
your rebirth and coming
of age, I see that you
have no need for this
decrepit imposter of
a friend. No longer
will I inhibit you
nor drag you down
in any way. This
is the last day
I will attempt
to care. Upon
the new dawn
breaking, a
silhouette
will veil
my once-
vibrant
flesh.

s.d.
--/
--

(Note: This piece requires Courier or similar font to display properly; it may look strange in some readers.)

A Cereal Sepulchre

2010-01-28T17:05:00.000-05:00

This title and image grace the cover of my first poetry collection. All pieces were written and revised during 2009 September - December. I will post the complete work over the next ten days.
s.d.

Dover Thrift Editions

2010-01-20T23:21:00.002-05:00

Sometimes my mind is a Rube Goldberg machine. This past weekend I set foot in the bookstore of a reputable university with the honorable intent of purchasing souvenirs. Before I obtained an obligatory rolled t-shirt, my eye caught sight of a table lined with hundreds of plain, thin Dover Thrifts. I gobbled up poetry collections from Eliot, Carroll, Dickinson, Yeats, and Browning, as well as a sliver of African-American poetry and a “Top 101” of American works. This nifty little seven-pack cost me fourteen dollars--before taxes. This taught me two lessons: getting sidetracked can have positive results, but giving up a career to write poetry probably will not.

s.d.

seven fish

2009-12-29T16:00:00.003-05:00

A Christmas Eve spread:
Seven fish augmented by
Alsatian Riesling

12.09
s.d.

A Thanksgiving Consideration

2009-11-29T13:25:00.002-05:00

Most years, our family embraces an unoriginal tradition of going around the table over Thanksgiving dinner and allowing each person to publicly announce what he or she is grateful for. I don’t like this tradition very much. Fortunately, we had an atypically small crew this year and focused on various conversations (can Paris be done for two people under $300/day?) and sundry episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm instead.

While looking forward to December and ultimately 2010, I had a moment of crisis over this long weekend. I found myself stuck on what my goals ought to be. I remain unconvinced that the lone pursuit of any particular career path, romantic path, or personal trajectory will lead to satisfaction.

Then I felt better as I considered that the path to fulfillment is all about setting and achieving mini-goals. In the past few months, I’ve amplified these mini-goals and set myself on a course that’s sure to take me upstream towards new and exciting moments. That’s what I’m grateful for.

s.d.

Mid-October

2009-10-18T21:31:00.002-04:00

Leverett Circle:
Red light. Snowflakes lit pink, and
Ben Folds' Lullabye.

10.09
s.d.

Bathtime

2009-09-17T00:30:00.001-04:00

Diggity's bathtime
He's finally in the tub
Now the fun begins

9.09
s.d.

Reorientation

2009-08-25T21:19:00.003-04:00

Airplanes flying into Boston’s Logan Airport typically glide over the ocean and strike the runway so suddenly that I’m somewhat surprised when I’m sitting in one and it successfully averts a water landing. Today was atypical: my 747 re-oriented towards the northeast and deftly swooped in over land. I was sitting towards the front, by the window in 15A, where I saw Boston with a fresh, new perspective. This was the culmination of several experiences revealing longstanding yet subtle aspects of Boston life to me over the past month. In particular, I’ve realized how important it is to ignore hypothetical situations and focus on my existence in the present. I plan to dwell on those aspects I can influence at the expense of everything else. I’ll never presuppose a water landing.

s.d.

At some God-awful late hour

2009-07-30T23:27:00.004-04:00

At some God-awful late hour of evening (or maybe an early
     hour of morning)
I’m glancing down
an ooey gooey mess containing: cheese, milk (why the skim
     crap? it tastes like water) also I Can’t Believe It’s Not
     Butter spread
not solid liquid in-between it seeps rapidly approaching
     boundaries of the linoleum floor
the brand new brown carpet in the parlor finally replaced that
     God-awful shag rug
besides brown is a much more natural color for a tiny 1
     bedroom house than hippie green
shag rug and the parlor was a damn jungle does skim milk
     stain a brown carpet? well
Money is hard to come by so
I ain’t paying the carpet-man to replace a stained brown carpet

What does it matter...

Ascending the stair ascending
I am a mortal I can’t withstand overpowering fatigue languor
     sleep sleep
the bedroom on the left no that’s the bathroom keep going
Moments become millenia but the end is in sight
and a warm bed marks end of the trek
ah
it is so warm and soft
a nice bed is the best medicine
Does medicine actually make your body all better? or is it all
     in the mind
maybe the doctors are lying all conspiring against us ignorant
     folk perhaps
that God-awful Benadryl cherry-flavored cough syrup just
     makes us forget that our minds tell our bodies to get better
or
maybe the doctors are right and medicine makes us healthy is
     it healthy to go on a diet? what’s with
herbal stuff ya know Ginseng Belloa or Balboa or whatever it
     is/St John’s Wort/and all those teas they have (why don’t
     they make coffees?)
and fat or carbohydrates protein Adkins’ Diet—all protein
     how can that be good for you? nothing wrong with fat fat
and skim milk yuk skim milk is yukky tastes like water I’m
     gonna buy whole milk next time with the cream and the
     chunks the worst for your “health” hell it’s the best there is
     anyhow
I need to buy milk after all I hear
skim milk on the linoleum floor creeping
creeping slithering groping its way toward my new 1 bedroom
     house short brown carpet that
I just paid for

That feeling when you are lying in the sun next to the pool
and you are so content to just lie there until that huge
     annoying twerp
jumps in and gets you all wet well
that terrible feeling is toppled sixfold as I roll out of the bed
literally

ouch

I stand get my bearings
why do I stand? I dunno I walk walk out the door and trudge
across the floor to the room on my right no
that’s the bathroom the kitchen is in sight
Descending the stair descending
my feet wallow in the vast ooey gooey mess of fats and butter
     it
probably tastes yummy (so very hungry I am—how can
     anyone stay on a diet?)
but now my feet are cold so I look
no socks in the refrigerator

I am really tired
on the brink of collapse
into this yummy pile of products from the udder of a Holstein
why are speckled cows called Holsteins? I’ll add it to the list
     after all my mom is a librarian
ah
It must be some God-awful late hour of evening (or maybe an
     early hour of morning)
I’m glancing down

9.01
This work was inspired by June Jordan’s “Free Flight.”
s.d.

Ahead in time and elsewhere

2009-07-17T22:24:00.001-04:00

Who unearthed primal gratitude for my indifference
But entombed my warmth in dreadful silence?
Each occurrence infected a larger part of me
Until I became a gangrenous husk. Only
The remnants of youth and middle years, and emptiness
Remained. I dispelled the notion of “present”
And embraced worldly redemption--
Ahead in time and elsewhere.

7.09
s.d.

don't cry

2009-06-28T13:28:00.000-04:00

don’t cry harshly,
but a soft tear or two. discover,
wiping salt on the back of your hand
and swallowing, how
your mind undulates
as moments coalesce. listen:
another cries with you
(in silence).

6.09
s.d.

solstice

2009-06-23T21:23:00.002-04:00

Summer solstice marks
the brightest week of the year,
but here it just rains.

6.09
s.d.

invaluable friends

2009-06-08T23:32:00.001-04:00

invaluable friends:
each day becomes
bearable

6.09
Each day begins and I have no clue how it will play out. Today was horrendous and I was dreading every minute of it. But then I heard from TW, KE, JD, BZ, KP, LM, SY, and VY, across several media, all unsolicited, and in the span of a few hours. You turned my day around; thanks for being there for me.
s.d.

Kayli (A Poem)

2009-06-01T19:44:00.006-04:00

Melding into waves of contentment and unsurpassable pleasure,
          love creeps upon one when least expected
As if the Gods personally crafted her with their own hands,
          and took extra care to insure radiant beauty and infinite grace
The kit comes complete with the enviable qualities that one usually finds
          in the other man’s wife!
But for now the burden is his,
          indefinite gratitude until the time when love ceases to exist
That’s too far in the future to think about now,
          instead he shall enjoy the fresh smell of spring omnipresent about him
Never forget the staleness of loneliness on hot summer nights,
          and never again forget to appreciate the many affable splendors of life!

10.99
I wrote this poem ten years ago. I had a short-lived crush; not only has she never read this poem, I didn’t even spell her name correctly. Frankly, someone challenged me to write a happy poem after a string of darker poems. I’m happy most of the time, but in times of sadness or frustration, I find words more easily. This poem is loose in form (note the one oddly-placed rhyme) and the sentiment is exaggerated, yet I’m still a sucker for the last two lines.
s.d.

Wet Spaniel

2009-05-31T21:07:00.001-04:00

Copley Square fountain
a spaniel shakes his wet fur
the soaked woman smirks

5.09
s.d.

MD Unwinding

2009-05-26T21:13:00.000-04:00

It’s party time; down Route 100 East
We roll until we find the haven’s door,
Prepare ourselves an alcoholic feast
And argue over who’ll sleep on the floor.
Friends of friends amass upon the scene.
I slip the tumult, close the screen behind
And contemplate the Chesapeake. Serene
In starlight, it implores me to unwind...
Atop a nearby pier, a silhouette
Suggests a woman in like-minded state;
I join her for a conversation. (Let
Impending dawn and rumination wait!)
We share a while, alone, among the boats
And laugh in learning neither of us floats.

5.09
s.d.

Comfort Food

2009-05-12T22:16:00.000-04:00

She’s comfort food: mashed potatoes and gravy.
The menu changes infrequently, I consider
All that starch, becoming fat.

5.09
s.d.

An Unremarkable Evening

2009-05-03T22:22:00.003-04:00

The last time I made love, the chilly night
Enshrouded me in garbled secrets that
I never shall discern. And so, the trite
Old ritual morphed into idle chat.
“I had a splendid time tonight,” she said,
Then grimaced at the shadows on the wall.
“Yes, it was nice,” I blandly claimed. Instead
Of cuddling me, she curled into a ball.
My saviour was the queasy yellow moon--
That phosphorescent beacon of the skies.
I sensed that other wand’ring souls had hewn
Its crags, with longing gazes from their eyes.
Inferring kindred spirits in my boat,
I drifted, calmly, on a peaceful note.

5.09
s.d.

Sliding Phones

2009-04-24T11:57:00.002-04:00

I’m two different people at the same time. I spent almost a year living in Eastern Europe. When I moved back to the US, I made seven round trips in a 3-month period between the two locations. When the airplane touched down, I would put my clunky smartphone away and take out my dinky flipphone (or vice-versa).

Each phone features a roster of local phone numbers and saved text messages from that locale. I customarily call M-- and S-- (or J-- and G--) and find out what’s happening on the ground that night. It’s been four months since I last touched down but I find I still belong in both places. I live in two different universes: two different sets of friends, histories, conversation topics, shared experiences, and goals. But I'm the same guy.

s.d.

a quiet death

2009-04-20T18:31:00.001-04:00

a quiet death, a momentary lapse
of reason, slurred cognition, vision blurred,
the fearful soundless waves, the mental traps
relinquished, love now vacant, life absurd.
     a broken shovel pounding, blazing stove
     for charring hopes and melting timeless dreams,
     forgotten, acquiescence now inferred.
     a creature of the dirt, a plundered trove,
     a catastrophic ripping at the seams
     of microscopic dignity, deterred.

or on a freezing star, intrepid soul,
with fervour, condescending all the while,
still glowering at mem’ries, filthy pile
of hate unfurling, rage beyond control.

4.09
s.d.

Let Love Go Free

2009-04-17T20:07:00.000-04:00

“If you love something, let it go free. If it doesn't come back, you never had it. If it comes back, love it forever.” - Douglas Horton (an ecumenical preacher)

This is probably one of the most overquoted (and misquoted) aphorisms of all time and I’ve always hated it. I always dismissed it as comfort fodder for those who loved and lost (and wished they never loved at all).

On the other hand, maybe there is a greater truth here. Perhaps the purest way to measure love’s strength is by suffering its absence. The outcome is uncertain. But then there’s no resentment--no regrets.

s.d.

Shadow the Hedgehog

2009-04-15T22:52:00.004-04:00

my friend on the couch
playing Shadow the Hedgehog
an evening wasted?

4.09
s.d.

Life with No Vision

2009-04-12T20:04:00.002-04:00

I looked up from the television to my phone and back again, and then I looked over my shoulder. I closed my eyes and I could still see it: a blurred patch, 1-inch square, in my vision. It was disconcerting that I couldn’t focus on an object directly in front of me. I panicked. I used eyedrops and walked in circles. Next, I went onto the computer to look up the symptoms but found that it was difficult to read because of the fuzziness and I had to skim via my peripheral vision. The spot grew until it was double, triple, quadruple the size.

Slowly, the undulating colors flowed outward and my primary field of vision was restored. I could read the text but the monitor frame was fuzzy. I closed both eyes and my brain perceived a crescent shape of color on the left side. It kept flowing outward until I saw the distorted colors and shapes in my peripheral vision (which gave me a throbbing headache). I couldn't escape by closing my eyes nor concentrate on anything else until this passed from my system.

This happened yesterday afternoon and the entire incident lasted about twenty minutes. It was one of the most frightening moments in my life for two reasons: vision’s relative importance and the feeling of utter helplessness. I was alone and my phone is not tactile so I imagined the steps as I lose my vision completely and bang on a random neighbor’s door to call for an ambulance; then the void of living the next sixty years without enjoyment of all the visual pleasures I currently take for granted. I would rank eyesight among the most satisfying of those marvelous miracles I enjoy on a daily basis.

Today is Easter Sunday and I just witnessed a particularly scenic orange sunset from my balcony. I spent the day considering all that I have to be thankful for and will continue to be mindful of in the future; in addition, I’ll probably schedule an appointment with an eye doctor.

s.d.

N. on a rainy eve

2009-04-10T20:49:00.002-04:00

ah to be staring out at the moonswept pavement as
time slowly unfolds around me into soft cushy layers
and each passing moment leaves behind millions more
which for all i can tell seem to never run out

i cant stop my mind from creeping eerily towards
some unknown destinations places people like
what im gonna wear tomorrow and who im gonna see
and whos life could i change with a wave of the hand

the rain pitter patters too and i think about numbers
i contemplate god and friends and beef stew and love
yes love it is riveting and confusing and wonderful
all at once and seems to come from nowhere

certainly love is a coveted thing i know so i hold fast
and never relinquish it but i also have learned that
it floods you slowly and swamps you and you cant
wriggle free no matter how hard you force it

now ive been forewarned that love takes awhile so my
mind falls back towards what im gonna wear tomorrow
what classes i have and finally i resort back to the time
which im sure i will never run out of

9.01
It’s drizzling outside. After a spontaneous and satisfying evening, I’m content to sit in my comfy (if empty) apartment and savour the moment. There’s a flickering tinge of nostalgia and I feel older. I reread and relish the second stanza.
s.d.

Sometimes, There's No Right Solution

2009-04-07T23:41:00.001-04:00

A riddle I am never meant to solve
Perplexes me tonight. This paradox
Involves a foolish man with strong resolve,
And woman locked within a cosy box.
Dozens of keys are in the man’s possession.
He tries with passion; not a key will fit
The tricky lock. The woman staves depression
Off and fiddles with the catch a bit.
The time goes by. He finds a key that seems
To work, yet swallows this and then his pride.
But equally as strange, she always dreams
To leave, undoes the catch, yet stays inside.
I’m stumped by this, but other puzzles yearn
For solvers such as me to take a turn.

4.09
s.d.

Friendship Love

2009-04-05T00:30:00.003-04:00

She is my lover, and yet, I’m her friend.
Or, could it be the other way around?
This modicum of happiness I’ve found
Is laced with regret. No, I don’t pretend
To understand nor offer hand to lend.
Pensive, prostrate, I strain to hear the sound
Of sweet relief. It’s muffled underground,
Perhaps? To dig a hole, I’ll not intend.

But still a question lingers in my mind:
Could clarity make all of this as clear
As night from day or ice from roaring fire?
I quiver; sometimes friendships are the kind
That fade, yet others lead to strong desire...
So maybe it’s the title alone I fear.

4.09
s.d.

Good Days and Bad Days

2009-04-01T19:51:00.000-04:00

I have good days and bad days. Like most people, I have some moments where I feel on top of the world and other moments where I feel the world is ending. There doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern. Oftentimes, I wake up feeling great and leave work feeling upset for no reason. Other times, I have a difficult time getting out of bed yet wind up feeling like the luckiest guy on earth. The only constant when it comes to my feelings is that they are transitory. Neither end of the emotional spectrum reigns supreme. Today started out just fine, but by mid-day I felt downright rotten, and later I felt splendid. I’ve trained myself that the bad times are temporary and I shouldn’t dwell on them. I’ve learned to savour the good times. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to laugh, cry, and smile about tomorrow.

s.d.

End of the World Sonnet

2009-03-31T20:09:00.004-04:00

The still blue Earth falls through a universe of black
All of the life which traversed it now fails to breathe
The apparent loneliness in the world makes me grieve
And I remain alone in oblivion as the Earth glides off track
Soaring into an elongated path which approaches the Sun
The barren surface heats up to the millionth degree
So I hopelessly plunge through the depths of the sea
But its sanctity is shattered--the heat has won
Approaching tranquility between death and life
I see an ardent Goddess before me
She beckons to me--drawing me near
Despite Earthly death I’ll take Her as wife
We’ll remain together for eternity
And forevermore I’ll have nothing to fear

8.99
When I was in high school, a close friend drowned under hazy circumstances off the shore of Sand Hill Cove. It was a long time before I returned to the beach. Eventually, I ventured to the perennially empty Ninigret Beach with my family; it was a brisk, windy day. I watched the seagulls and sandpipers and penned this poem.
s.d.

a colourful beginning

2009-03-29T09:57:00.002-04:00

nighttime black surrenders to the dawn
orange curtains creep across the sky
silver dreamy steamy mist announces
yellow rays cascading from above

losing the ashen veneer of their slumber
lemon-eyed children run out to the yard
all around olivine grass trodden harshly
leaves rusty brown patches that never regrow

under crimson covers
flutter of lavender lovers
intense hot pink kiss
to feel steely blue bliss

umber earth is everywhere alive
all the violet wildflowers smile
every emerald tree now standing guard
brings solemn peace upon this vivid rainbow

3.09
s.d.

Newport

2009-03-27T16:03:00.005-04:00

In that moment
of togetherness

I realized
how truly alone
I was.

11.08
s.d.

Whisked Away

2009-03-25T23:00:00.001-04:00

Today’s the day you’re whisk’d away to Rome
A caravan to Marrakesh for you
A chateau in Geneva for your home
And rented rooms in Monte Carlo too
This afternoon in Paris fine red wine
Then walk along the Auckland ocean pier
In Budapest by evening time you dine
Then taste another city far from here
A world expanding fast cannot stay cold
This science puts a smile upon your face
Go on and in your heart forever hold
Some warmth for this dilapidated place
If constant pain and anger make you numb
Escape and see the best is yet to come

3.09
s.d.

Turkey Leg

2009-03-22T19:39:00.003-04:00

A couple of years ago I attended the Topsfield Fair with two of my best friends. It was very crowded and we waited in a long line to park and get through the front gate. The fair seemed enormous; farm animals, vegetable exhibits, rides, ripoff games, kiosks, an ice sculpture, and even a miniature museum dotted the landscape. As is typical with rural fairs, there were a large number of food stations serving the same overpriced food.

We saw a man walk past who was chomping on an enormous slow-roasted turkey leg. I didn’t think much of it, but one of my friends started salivating. We looked around for the source of this delicious turkey leg but all we saw were hordes of teenagers who seemingly had nothing better to do. My other friend was excited to go on the Ferris wheel so I shrugged my shoulders and lined up with her.

We didn’t see our first friend for the next two hours. He was on a hunt for his delicious turkey leg and we weren’t going to stop him. We thought he was nuts. Every second kiosk was selling chicken tenders, doughboys or processed french fries. While scouring the fairground for his culinary delight, we figured he was missing out on everything else. He didn’t play many of the games and I’m not sure if he made it on any of the rides.

When we finally found him just before closing time, he was chowing down on a turkey leg of his own. I still have no idea where he found it. We berated him for ditching us and told him about what he missed, but I don’t think it really mattered. I saw the look on his face when he cradled his prize and took the next juicy bite. He fulfilled his quest and had the best time of us all that night.

s.d.

man in the park

2009-03-17T20:33:00.003-04:00

the man in the park
a discarded cigarette
his latest asset

3.09
s.d.

Tossed Opportunity

2009-03-15T10:51:00.003-04:00

A golden opportunity he tossed
When forward-looking hindsight mark’d the day
Then realized affection had its cost
And “no love lost” he found a subtle way.
Since countless iterations in his mind
Betrayed excuses beyond his control
His patience waned and willpower declined--
Humdrum glum-filled gloom became his goal.
‘Twas then the hour of reckoning ensued:
He hid behind a wall of self-deceit
Deprived himself of bev’rages and food
And floundered in a puddle of defeat.
Yet one small comfort he allowed himself
Was stretching for a memory on the shelf.

3.09
s.d.

Equilibrium

2009-03-10T20:31:00.001-04:00

He thinks about the sands, the skies, and space.
She wonders what is playing on TV.
He dreams of someday living by the sea.
She loves the city for its rapid pace.
He calmly stares into that pretty face.
She looks askance and steps away from He.
He sighs...and feels empty being free.
She cries...and picks dead flowers from the vase.

A day goes by...a week...a month...a year...
A stronger Man now waits beside the train.
A wiser Lady charges through the crowd.
The Man ascends the platform that is near.
The Lady screams out madly to explain.
But I can’t hear what happens. It’s too loud.

3.09
s.d.

Hands and Gloves

2009-03-08T11:38:00.001-04:00

I.

Her hands are soft and swollen like a peach--
The juicy kind you won’t find every day.
For everything she needs within her reach
They serve her well; and yet to my dismay
They wield an enchantment over me--
The scary kind that makes my heart beat fast.
But I’m beyond her reach. They cannot be
Responsible for every spell they’ve cast
And so she gently postpones their demands
And hesitates until a later date.
There’s tenderness and mercy in these hands--
The loving kind that might be worth the wait.
     For now they hide in gloves of winter style--
     The woolen kind that spring will render futile.

II.

her rosy scarred hands
clutch the steering wheel
tap keys at the piano
write clap type and
accomplish mundane tasks

they wield an enchantment over me--
     the kind she never asked for
     the kind she doesn’t want
     the kind she won’t throw away
so she puts on gloves for now

3.09
s.d.

empty room

2009-03-05T23:56:00.003-05:00

corner sits candlelightthoughts
friends lost friends waiting;
shallow moments final fickle
quietfrantic soulfragment murmurs

circularpath treads reverberation
burdensome twilight conscience trickle
dusty nostalgia paramount reality.
tranquil quarkyear overwhelms

heartrhythm sobs oblivion
scattered boxes glooming crush
nightdream veils misty utopia...
tonedeaf superpatience teeters

3.09
s.d.

Blizzard of '78

2009-03-02T18:08:00.002-05:00

I shoveled snow all day long
for a five-dollar bill
and a wrinkled one, at that

I suppose I was to learn something
about work ethic, or
how charity is supposed to feel good

Instead, I walked home with a handful of blisters
a red windburned face, and
a mild case of frostbite

3.09
Some of us can relate.
s.d.

Feeling Fortunate

2009-02-28T22:00:00.008-05:00

Life is a strange conglomeration of planned and unplanned events. Today began unfolding itself in quite an ordinary fashion: I checked both the fun and boring parts off the list. I was driving back to my apartment feeling relaxed and found my street blocked off, and then another street, and then another... I glanced nervously around and gunned it the wrong way down a one-way street so I could return my car to its proper parking space. I paused. I took an extra moment because it felt good to be someplace that felt like home. Then I raced up to my unit and out onto its freezing cold balcony. There, I watched the fire department extinguish a smoky blaze across the street.

Most of the time I feel fortunate. Sometimes, I feel overwhelmed by life’s complications and it troubles me for a short time; I may seek reassurance in these fleeting moments. There is less uncertainty about my good fortune now that I can look out my window to see the charred remains of another home. If you’re reading this, I hope you realize that you are fortunate too.

s.d.

Every Morning I Awaken

2009-02-27T23:59:00.002-05:00

It’s every morning I awaken cold
A curtain crack first sunray tiptoes in
Deceptive light no warmth just my chagrin
As winter bitter numbness seizes hold
A sacrificial slaughter masked by gold
Of chilling daylight now to freeze my skin
Arrested breath a spectre trapped within
Assaults my spirit stirring fears untold

My courage dwindles knowing this defeat
Of soul is dangling o’er me as a string
That I must sever soon to feel well
My heart will surely welcome home the heat
That coming spring and newfound love may bring
To this lethargic logy prostrate shell

2.09
s.d.

Most Fragile Thing

2009-02-24T21:56:00.001-05:00

“Between us and heaven or hell there is only life half-way, the most fragile thing in the world.”

This is a breathtaking reflection on how delicate life truly is. Whether there is a heaven, a hell, or just the empty vacuum of space, it stands to reason that my life is a brittle, insignificant speck somewhere in its midst. At any moment, this life could splinter into a million undetectable, unrecognizable pieces. That’s how I feel when I consider religion, cosmology, and even human history. Each exerts its influence, pushes, squeezes, and squashes me; so far, I remain intact.

I borrowed this quote from Blaise Pascal’s Pensées. Pascal was a brilliant mathematician and physicist who became deeply religious late in life and abandoned most of his scientific research. I think he was most famous for “Pascal’s Wager” in which he argues that it’s irrational to bet against his faith since it promises an infinite reward (salvation) in exchange for risking something finite (life). In probably theory, the expected return of such a wager is also infinite which is a fancy way of saying that the risk is nil. (An aside: I took a seminar called “Thinking about Infinity” in which I refuted this argument in an essay. In essence, I claimed that life was not finite but infinitesimal and therefore the expected return of this wager is ambiguous and can be anything between zero and infinity.)

s.d.

Hollywood endings

2009-02-23T22:49:00.002-05:00

Hollywood endings
always take place
in one zip code

2.09
s.d.

Ashumet Pond

2009-02-22T11:35:00.002-05:00

The water glistens, summer sun imbued
In zigzags on the surface of our pond:
Ashumet. Two wood ducks commence a feud
For one small crumb; I’ve learnt that they are fond
Of toes and if you look away they’ll peck
At them. Below us, sand that’s coarse and thick
Is lad’n with rounded rocks. Half-dazed, I check
Around; I lazily reach and grab a stick
And toss it. J--, with tail wagging, could
Retrieve it... Down the dock and off the end,
J-- swims out to a soggy piece of wood.
Wrong piece! An earnest try from man’s best friend.
Dusk comes. The sun, quite humble in defeat,
Implores us both to go inside and eat.

2.09
s.d.

Time's Deception

2009-02-20T18:28:00.002-05:00

time suddenly stops
everything freezes over
a gigantic snow globe
          encapsulates the whole world
tiny flakes begin to fall slowly,
          and then rapidly
                    and then cease
harmony and symmetry
stillness prevails
where are we..
          glazed over by a fine layer of snow ?
          buried in an avalanche..
                    perhaps.

4.04
s.d.

Queue

2009-02-18T23:56:00.000-05:00

as i sit motionlessly
my mind teeters nervously while
Patience silently wraps her soft arm around me and
obstructs my perception so
i blindly wonder what lies just beyond her perhaps
Happiness with her enticing gaze and
toothy smile or
Despair with her forlorn droopy eyes or maybe
Frustration with her furrowed brow or even
Contentment with her narrow grin and
absent stare and
then i realize it must be Time
gently yet firmly queuing all of the others

2.09
s.d.

Birthday wishes

2009-02-16T13:04:00.001-05:00

I don't want much, but
for my birthday:
a time machine, an ice cream cake and a kiss.
But a time machine is of fiction,
an ice cream cake melts and
a kiss is fleeting.
Tomorrow comes, I've already forgotten.

2.09
s.d.

Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T18:40:00.002-05:00

Valentine's Day
flowers and chocolates
mark the fortunate

2.09
s.d.

Life is a Journey

2009-02-14T01:04:00.004-05:00

There’s an interesting poem by Rabbi Alvin Fine that describes life: “Birth is a beginning / And death a destination / But life is a journey ... We see that victory lies not / At some high point along the way / But in having made the journey / Stage by stage / A sacred pilgrimage ...”

Even though I’m not a particularly religious person, this is a powerful and overwhelming concept. I saw this in a prayer book when I was a small child and it stuck with me. I’ve tried to live by it. Sometimes, I feel as if I’m in a rut and the next high place is so remote that I can’t possibly bear waiting. So I try to emphasize the importance of appreciating the present for all that it offers. I feel I’m succeeding in becoming more patient--at least most of the time.

As I meet others on their respective journeys who find themselves in similar ruts, I hope that I help them to emerge. I pray that, rather than just being a step along the way, I succeed in accompanying them to their high points.

s.d.

Cyclic

2009-02-12T22:12:00.005-05:00

Perpetual loop
          without an end
Echoes resound
          one finds no friend
Falling rapidly
          the sounds deafen, and then
Senses dulled, it starts again

7.98
I'll post old poems as I come across them. I wrote this one over ten years ago when I was barely a teenager; it's among the oldest poems I've saved and it's one of my favourites.
s.d.

quick! say something random

2009-02-12T21:40:00.002-05:00

a friend says:
“quick! say something random”
i respond, “gummi worms”
he pauses and
bursts into laughter
“you had me there”

2.09
s.d.

soft hug

2009-02-11T18:34:00.002-05:00

a soft hug--
worldly troubles melt
while time stands still

2.09
s.d.

cupcake

2009-02-11T18:32:00.002-05:00

buttercream cupcake
sweet and sugary taste
of spring approaching

2.09
s.d.

sushi

2009-02-11T18:31:00.001-05:00

sushi:
less expensive
once cooked

2.09
s.d.

Girl at the party

2009-02-09T10:34:00.004-05:00

I meet a girl at the party.
She looks into my eyes and
I gaze at my watch. Then
she glances nervously at the clock.
We go our separate ways.
A time passes.
I see the girl and
she smiles. So I ask her:
“Is it good for you?”
And she nods and looks into my eyes.
A time passes.
I wake up, I rub my eyes.

2.09
s.d.

Relative versus Absolute

2009-02-09T10:32:00.002-05:00

Recently, a friend of mine tells me I’m a good piano player. Has she heard a concert pianist? What about Elton John? Or Liberace? Someone else tells me her life is complicated and I see that she worries. What about children in developing countries who don’t have enough to eat? Is ‘complicated’ bad? Another person vents because he cannot decide which woman he likes. Is this some terrible curse? Does he expect sympathy?

We perceive our world within its relative context. I don’t know the greatest piano player, the poorest child, or the most-loved individual in the world. I haven’t met the happiest person and I don’t know whose heart was broken in the most malicious way. Frankly, I don’t care.

s.d.

the fork

2009-02-08T10:19:00.003-05:00

ambling along a winding dirt trail
i come to a fork, with two distinct branches
my hands clasp together, the humid air’s stale
i check both directions to ponder my chances

the left branch is rocky and treacherous too
i fear i might slip and fall almost a mile
the trail has briars, the handgrips are few
and it spirals around on itself for a while
the sun seems to beat with a hundred degrees
and show off its brawn with a blinding white stare
the snickering footpath is deaf to my pleas
while hedges and ledges scream: “traveler beware!”
the journey’s exciting and leaves me some hope
that success-–though uncertain-–will help me to cope

the right branch is lazy with nothing to hide
it flows and meanders through meadows and farms
the trail-–while ragged-–is level and wide
and relentlessly coaxes me into its arms
the cloudy grey skies emit boredom and sighs
a tired old wind holds perpetual reign
far in the distance a lone drifter cries
as the biting cold steadily drives him insane
this other path’s dull but much safer for sure
i know i’ll survive and my strength will endure

having assessed both the paths that i’m facing
(which brings me happiness? which brings me sorrow?)
my arms fall akimbo and mind ceases racing
i sit at the fork and i wait for tomorrow

2.09
s.d.

First Poem

2009-02-07T17:56:00.004-05:00

I never received a poem, at least
not something special for me.
So I sit and I tap and I pretend
to do work. I wonder,
and I think. And I tap, and I pretend
and all the while my pulse thumps:
thump, thump, thump,
and I think some more.

2.09
I jotted this down for a friend who had never received a poem. Curious, I asked other friends and they had no recollection of receiving poetry either. You give me substance to write about and therefore these poems are yours to share.
s.d.

Nervous to Blog

2009-02-06T18:21:00.003-05:00

Taking the first step is usually the toughest part of finishing something.

I think of all the deadlines I’ve had in my life: lab reports in high school, term papers in college, and PowerPoint presentations at work. I procrastinate like everyone else. I will never wait until the night before and pop caffeine pills. I do, however, wait until the ninth or tenth hour. Given six weeks to finish an assignment, I will proceed as follows:
* Days 1-37: wait
* Day 38: compose outline
* Day 39: compose rough draft (typically the longest night)
* Day 40: compose near-final draft
* Day 41: sleep on it (surprisingly important!)
* Day 42: change a few words around and submit

I feel miserable until I start the process but I still wait. Perhaps I’m lazy. More likely, it’s difficult for me to start something because I feel like it will set the tone for everything that follows. And I don’t want to make a mistake in the early stages. So I wait until an idea strikes me in some random flash of brilliance--and when that doesn’t happen--I wait until the deadline approaches.

The irony is that my finished product is usually quite far from where I started. I could have saved myself days of misery if I had only known better.

s.d.