Sunday, July 1, 2012

The Common Gold

Aurum nostrum non est aurum vulgi


Our gold is not the common gold,
vulgar as that may sound
to some ears. What we want is for
things to unfold, to abound
in kaleidoscopic delights and fears,
to reveal their hidden wonder;
not for rigor mortis to take hold.
It's a type of existential plunder
we're after, leading often to tears -
though just as likely back to our gold.

Saturday, June 30, 2012

Tides

Recognize your tides, those subtle rhythms of
push and pull, nudge or tug of wish and will,
that thrill in advancement, or unease at abatement,
pleasure at the sign of each new turn because
the promise of an accumulated verve emerges,
and then how easily you glide and ride out your
trials and tribulations. And what jubilation when
energy is returning - when resistance is overcome!
No sooner is one barrier passed than desire begins
afresh. And oh how this feeling can remain like fluid
in the glass level of your life, as if you were standing
alone, plumb, the only verity amid a field of ruins.

A Kiss

There's just nothing like a kiss.
When four lips coalesce, there's much more than
the parts, or even the sum of the parts. The arts
come close to this dance of open and close,
open and close, because just being fixed isn't
what the arts are all about. And like the arts,
all lovers flout the static state, and disavow
neat oppositions like sweet and tart, opting for
more of a protean equilibrium, trying to prolong it
so long as their muscles hold out.

The Seed

Take of the fruit but
guard the seed. It's hard,
sometimes, to check
one's appetite when
under duress, or to reflect
on the shrewd maneuvers
comprising the intricate art
of existenz.
                  It takes a deft
hand and a keen eye when
one is trying to split
into slivers the ready flesh
that excites an age-old,
overripe desire. A wanton
craving can break teeth
on the indispensable seed -
generating a new, perpetual
unappeasable need.

Songbird Symphony

Now begins the songbird symphony,
that blessed cacophonous revelry.
The sovereign sun summons this thrall
so supplicants can offer their varied hymns,
middle class middle managers all.
                                                  Yet one
invariably ascends to the highest limbs,
one that sings louder, longer, and prouder,
transposing the symphony into a concerto.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Affluence of Soul

A swollen will,
like the over-full
bill of a pelican.

A deluge, surfeit
of glittering fish
back to the nest.

Profligate spender,
the urge to bless, to
share one's largesse.

It's affluence of soul,
not sickly need
confers a right to bleed.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Indivisible


Indivisible I!
is her rallying cry
whenever she feels herself
splintered by life.

Faced with a choice,
with any back-and-forth,
she loses her voice.

Her voice is her self,
the ding-an-sich, she thinks,
of her being's wealth.

She thinks herself Queen
regnant, ever pregnant
with unassailable sovereignty.

But ever is experience
her indefatigable enemy:
her drives are divergent.
Life is full of lies.