Perspective

All of my heroics
do not change the fact
that for some protagonist out there
I’m only in there briefly
and only then
for comic effect

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Glory

Folks will whistle for a dollar,
or cut coupons for a dime,
but for a tablespoon of glory,
they’ll dole out all their time.

We’ll give up Sundays for salvation,
And Fridays for a buzz,
but for a tablespoon of glory,
she’ll trade in all she was.

We’ll do things for a salary,
Or say things for a wife,
but for a tablespoon of glory,
we’ll devote the whole of life.

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Doing Nothing

For Jana, in C (possibly)

Well I’ve been a long time in this world,
And I’ve seen some incredible things,
I discovered a pearl
on the old tilt a whirl,
And then they let me pull the strings.

I played with the tigers in the Bali,
Where they make such an almighty fuss,
I spilled my tamale,
all over the trolley,
and I had to go back on the bus.

But I’ll tell you true,
You leave me feeling like new;
I’ve danced with the drag queens of Kalamazoo,
But I’d rather do nothing with you.

Well I been to the old Leicester Square,
And I been to Santa Monica Pier.
I rolled my wheelchair
over the tech billionaire
And came back to finish my beer.

I brought home the poetry trophy,
From the shaman who helps keeps the score,
She told me I’m holy,
But I must keep it low key,
And I don’t really mind anymore.

But I’ll tell you true,
You leave me feeling like new;
I’ve stood on the shuttle and admired the view,
But I’d rather do nothing with you.

Oh, you know, we could do, something too,
If we think of something –
I could sure think of something
But I’m happy doing nothing with you,
Yes I’m happy doing nothing with you.

For I’ll tell you true,
You leave me feeling like new,
For I’ve gone down the Styx in a chiffon canoe –
I’ve had loaves and fishes, and perpetual stew –
I’ve seen this whole world, and the Ice Capades too –
And I’d rather do nothing with you.

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Making My Bed (for Jana)

I try to make the bed up nice
when you’re not here.
I fluff the pillows once or twice,
put down my beer,
and tuck the corners in just so.

The night is cozy and serene
when you’re not here.
I keep the sheets all looking clean,
the covers near,
it’s really not the same, though.

I like to think of your return
when you’re not here.
The bed will roil, the sheets will churn –
and let’s be clear –
uncovered is the way to go.

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The Lungs

In the space of the lungs, the night sky,
Particles as far away as endings and beginnings,
Forests and rivers without name, and numbered only
By the counting of their use. A single wisp of heaven to induce
the next movement, the inchoate sound, all the homely
stars, and the hallowed dark that is our matter’s underpinnings.
Simply say the word, and fly.

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Nibbles

Inside me, at war,
are a crazed Romantic poet
and a Buddhist monk.

The monk looks on serenely
as the Baron scours the fridge,
frothing at the mouth of disloyalty to the Sybarites
and a white flag to life
disguised as piety and wisdom.

The monk, moved despite himself,
sneers and asks if this
is what I really want to call love.

Meanwhile I’ve got to go about my day,
like a pirate particle, sailing wild
down the esophagus.

It’s all the old joke all over again:
is nothing really better
than being hungry, and rich
enough to have the pantries ready to go?

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The Dishes and Poetry

I still have, tonight,
the dishes and poetry.

Filling up the familiar spaces,
feeling the weight of a word like “casserole”,
putting it next to the others,
noticing how the world of forms
gives my hands
and the times in which they live
a pleasure worth holding on to.

It’s not magic,
just the rearranging
of various objects
until they become
almost
something else.

Still, when I load up the machine,
and push the button,
and attend that inevitable
moment of pure serenity,
you
would forgive me,
I trust,
and not think me too naive
for thinking it was all magic
after all

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One Night Only

This Black Friday only we
are extending an invitation
to all our valued customers
to close their eyes
and take a significant percentage off
of everything
that is not
black
and dark
and warm
and encompassing the stars
and beautifully blanketing all
the light and meaningless babble
keeping you from happiness
in this
particular
blink of an eye

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Give Thanks

give thanks
if you can
you never know if
someone else might need them

the cook, the child
or even just
the forest

waiting to receive
your offering of light

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A Temporary Peace

All the analysis is saying
that the peace here is temporary,
but more immediately, tonight,
there is a silence in the sky in Hamra,
a silence in the sky in Nahariya,
there is a child going to sleep tonight in the Dahieh,
amid an absence of bombs,
there is a bomb siren not sounding in Tel Aviv.

And maybe here, here on earth in the hinterlands,
far from the outskirts of the heavenly peace, 
Maybe here this is what peace is: a time,
a temporary time,
between the soundings of war,
a day, and a night,
ushering in a quiet separate from
what has known to happen,
a flickering candle held between two hands,
and maybe tomorrow,
as has been known,
a day like this again.

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