Poems

Creativity is about exposing one's soul... but hey, life is about the risks you are willing to take.

2009-2014: Alas, nothing the least bit poetic came out of my keyboard.

2008: Some Haiku I did for an IT Leadership Program can be found HERE.

1975-2007: Work, among other things, conspired against creative writing.

1963-1974: A few early efforts follow...

(Untitled)

Paint a picture of morning--
Grey sky spotted by a few birds;
Drunken branches weaving,
--or perhaps just caught in the
firm grip of a gentle breeze.
Sounds. Sounds of man piercing
the backdrop of nature noises.
Birds mostly.
Sometimes wind;
Sometimes rain or thunder.
But not this morning.
This morning:
Trucks on the Ventura freeway
punctuated by the living room clock.
Cars starting up
people talking
hammers hammering
The new day has begun
It's too late for peaceful silence
It's been too late for years.
The new age has begun.
Get back, people. Get back
to where you once belonged.
To where you can hear the grass
laughing, caressed by the wind's
restless fingers.
To where your eyes aren't stopped by
man's assault on nature.
To where people care about others
as much as they care about themselves.
Look inside yourself.

(29 May 1974)

Sandcastle

Sandcastle on some secret shoreline
waiting:
distant footprints, pray, come near.
Wind chiseled walls, sun faded,
still gazing:
upon the waves of lonely tears
Mind-mansion, behind drifts of solitude
hiding:
hopes of love so slow to appear
Flickering shadows in rooms still
glowing:
mirror of self from some other year.
Seabird, unbounded, castle spirit
soaring:
above, beyond --to some future, freer
Sandcastle on some secret shoreline
waiting:
distant footprints, pray, come near.

(23 March 1974)

Learning --

world reflections through child's eye
truer than textbook
child reflections through world's eye
undisciplined.
righteousness conquers diversity,
curiosity grows cautious;
child becomes old.

(March 22, 1974)

Tension --

time pushes on the lever of difference
compresses the spring
inch by inch
until it recoils
tearing oneness.

(Mar 21, 1974 in San Gabriel)

Transition --

Somone freed the pendulum from alone
Watched it fly toward together
Caught it at the other side
and kept it there awhile
Then let it go again.
I saw the pendulum at the place
that said "You are the one".
The footing was precarious,
I couldn't reach it from where I was.
I couldn't hold the pendulum there.
It started to fall back
and I waited for it to
come to rest next to me
But it kept falling; back to alone
Lugar Bonita --it was a pretty place I saw

(Mar 1974 at Mt. Baldy)

Transition II

the urge to express --
long hidden
behind staid practicality
responds to the beckoning
reaches
for joyous uncertainty
becomes imperative

Rapport --

Somewhere deep inside
ideas whisper
feelings murmur
remembering those rare and
exhilerating moments
when superficiality was breached
and the complexities of
two complex beings stood naked
before one another.
Ideas and feelings
not wanting to grow alone
yearning to be heard
listening for the companionship
of kindred ideas and feelings
watching for a smile
a glance
a touch
that says "I understand".

Everything Beautiful and Good

Everyone striving to find life---
but there are many ways,
there are many paths which
lead to the One Path.
300 million Earths in this galaxy,
and 3 million billion galaxies---
but only one of you
only one of me.
A universe of cultures
of opinions
of feelings
and a life of interactions between them---
everyone striving to find life.
Why must we take offence
at another's best efforts?
why must we strike our sensibilities
against invisible stones?
or jeopardize our own best efforts
by accepting the bitterness around us?
We are our own captives---
prisoners only
because we have eyes
but cannot see.
Because another's criticism
strikes our pride
or because self will takes
offence
at another's best efforts
How do we see?
through a glass, darkly
perhaps
but the glass glitters
from the beautiful
and good things beyond it.
Let us, then, strive to find life
by meeting the world with
the smallest of worldly expectations
but with the greatest patience
and with the greatest appreciation
of everything beautiful and good.

(August 1967 --My gift to P&M)

Satyr

Indeed, life. That seems to be our realm,
though the brightness is often mistaken
in the shadows.
But shadows don't last
except in the visions of thought
and in the apparitions of the conjurer.
Both are sorcerers now.
Both contend for their serfdom
both join hands with
Satyr and Babel
to slay young minds.
Deceived by circles, and triangles,
squares and rectangles --of how many colors?
Was it always so?
Once we let fly balloons --toys that grew
smaller and smaller,
as we grew larger and larger.
But now; the spheres we build
in those thoughtless visions
out of the fabric of society
resist belittlement;
grow with the ego to magnificent proportions,
till shadows, gay circles, colorful squares,
merge into Satyr's facade.
Nevermind. The quest has shattered question;
reality or illusion --I never know which--
have successfully hidden essence.
But what I want to know is:
How do you like your green-eyed boys
Mister Life?

(probably 1963)