Friday, January 9, 2015

An Ode at the Steps of the Library


As I prepare myself for my next poetic project, I decided to compose a portion of my journal entry last night in a modified form of Saphhic Strophes. I wish I knew the lady's name who made the passing comment, but I am immensely grateful. Really, people have been extremely kind to me as I have been pouring my heart out in poetry every day. As I have said before, just for people to stop and listen is an immeasurable gift and to see them smile with delight with every recital, is truly a joy.

Yes Keats

At my stand in the freezing degrees
to read the public poetry while they
shuffled by in their bulging winter bundles,
I sat smiling.

One lady quickly passed but made the point
that she is an author and had bought my book
and read it, then pausing and turning
on the marble steps

she said, “You are an excellent writer.”
before running inside and out of the cold.
Her kind phrase kept me warm
the entire day.

Behind me, I could hear the ice cracking
in the frozen fountain hardening into 
a solid, cloudy pool with a few flakes
of flurried snow

drifting in swirls upon the surface
at the bottom of an ornate basin
of stone overseen by a statue of a sage
making meditative

statements distilled from a lifetime
of careful contemplation, tirelessly
preparing for a perfectly illuminating
declaration

— a fitting figure in a frozen world.
Yes Keats, the wisdom is kept and left unsaid,
never disclosed or exposed to a world’s
denigrations,

retained in the perfection of detached
consideration. Let us chisel your name,
again and again, in the frozen flow
of ageless stone.

1/8/14

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

What the Simplest Actions Say

Every single moment of every day
we make a statement of our natural state
and the varied ways we socially relate
that through our actions we communicate
and despite whatever we may claim
our interest are with what we are engaged.


Even while we casually walk
every step we take as we make our way
is a definitive declaration
of the immediacy of our place,
the tempo and cadence of our pace
and the direction of our determination.

(a fun little piece I scratched out last night while waiting for the subway)