I’m in a reflective state, satisfied and mystified by a month of poem-making. After establishing the daily discipline of writing for the sake of creative process and product, now I know I can do it, consistently, in the midst of life happening. And I found all the late-night writing grounding and enjoyable, a ballast in a busy season.
So, now what? Well, maybe I’ll take a little time to think, to allow a next specific daily writing pursuit to emerge. We’ll see.
Because I’m in the enjoyable habit now…
Photograph by John Livzey
HOME
I want to jam
on a respite I have
with you, like a good day
driving just to drive,
just itself, home
that hasn’t always been moonlight,
waterfalls and flowers,
a zone where nothing matters
but what’s between us,
made of our eyes
and lust for funky function,
the personal, the original,
reflecting everything,
nothing. I remember a day
way back, nun’s lodgings,
a house coming up,
a someday movie
in my mind, hopes falling like stars
since someday never comes,
and yet we know this story:
we changed our lives
and banked on time
then, and so far, for nothing
but everything,
and we’re living there.
Photograph by John Livzey
Poems link minds to hearts,
sharing existential truths
so we can feel them.
Photograph by John Livzey
WHEN TOMORROW COMES
A villanelle for Earth Month
When tomorrow’s young take on this topaz earth,
with its beauty dimmed like once crystalline dunes,
will they curse the cosmic timing of their births?
To whom will they then turn to save the worth
of azure mountains, diamond seas, a golden moon,
when tomorrow’s young take on this topaz earth?
Truth is it’s up to us now, daily, dear ones, north,
south, east, and west, to sing, cry, shout, intone,
will they curse the cosmic timing of their births?
And up to us to have beaten the bloated girth
of excess back to healthy human boons,
when tomorrow’s young take on this topaz earth.
Or with our lands as victims, habitats as hearths
gone cold, and oceans with our plastics strewn,
will they curse the cosmic timing of their births?
So please, dear ones, with fervent focus, let’s go forth
to solve this koan, all stones upturned, no one immune:
when tomorrow’s young take on this topaz earth
will they curse the cosmic timing of their births?
Photograph by John Livzey
Sunset’s bloody show
means new day, new life, fresh flow
again tomorrow.
Photograph by John Livzey
NO NEED FOR ANSWERS
What is that essence
in you and me
that makes us us,
cards aligned
in so many–enough–ways,
and attraction still and always
trumping all other plays?
That mystery,
mutuality in duality,
complementary capacities
for quiet, for chocolate,
guts and feeling all entwined
with know thyself
and deep life and death rants,
but just once in a while.
And do signs of lush secrets
stoke other hungry players,
or start quiet bets
on future losses?
I just know I found
the key to so much
and the best in so many
when I found you,
and that’s enough winning
today, with you
with me.
Photograph by John Livzey
Ordinary thing
(or is it?), light, and stopped time:
extraordinary.
Photograph by John Livzey
CONFECTION
Go! For all we know
life’s a cosmic trifle,
profiteroles of beingness
in which we-ingness
have the privilege of,
well, who knows?
So. To have and to hold,
to be or not to be,
to sir with love, it’s you
I’ve been dreaming of.
Oh, and for all we know
the joke’s on us, though
time is on our side
and ride, Sally, ride.
Sweet. And incomplete.
Photograph by John Livzey
Youthful dreams meet life’s
estuaries: gifts, drive, luck,
fate. Steer your boat through.
Photograph by John Livzey
MOTHER, FATHER
Four working arms,
four ready legs,
young freckled face,
young balding head;
each with little,
wanting much:
each other,
purpose, work,
us,
and a home you saved
to build, your own
to fill
and love and leave. You’ve
come so far,
we’ve left,
returned
to let you tame our own
with laughter,
crazy love
and ritual fighting,
training
for life,
Mother,
Father…
Photograph by John Livzey
Wild ones molt. Battle.
Bear young. Earth Day comes again.
Are we wiser yet?
Photograph by John Livzey
Photograph by John Livzey
POLITICS TODAY
Dunderheaded machinations
squander hopes
for genuine change.
Really?
All those egos
up to so little good?
Get me upwind of it all,
beyond this gutter,
this ghost of the worst,
this bilious
trifling
truffling
rodomontade,
salt in our wounds
and cheesiness nonpareil!
Photograph by John Livzey
If crazy is as
crazy does, is anything
crazier than love?
Photograph by John Livzey
ON TELLING THE TRUTH
A quatern
The day comes when you really can’t
pretend that everything’s alright
and you speak out despite impacts
you can’t predict. You meet your fate.
Yes, it complicates so much, but
the day comes when you really can’t
go with the status quo. You put
truth first and damn what you would want
to do like exercise restraint
and avoid rocking the damn boat.
The day comes when you really can’t.
You act. You set the record straight.
You know the price will be too stiff.
Next time you hope you can prevent
it. Though you know what you’ll do if
the day comes when you really can’t.
Photograph by John Livzey
Do butterflies sleep
when darkness falls, dreaming of
tomorrow’s sweet work?
