Thought Required; Pants Optional.

Category: Poetry

  • “In dreams I ply a boat”

    In my waking life I am not that much,
    Just one man, no more or less than
    The rest, wearing pants and driving
    A car and working a job. I pay
    My bills and love my son and
    Sometimes I have a little fun.
    But not overmuch. At night I lay
    My tired head on my pillow,
    Sometimes satisfied, sometimes not.
    But always tired. I close
    My eyes, and sometimes,

    I dream.

    In dreams I ply a boat of cedar,
    Not a large boat, but sound and fit for
    Exploring. I find myself floating
    On a river that extends and overflows
    Its banks, arching beyond the peaks
    Of mountains, into the night sky;
    And my little craft floats, stately and
    Serene, drawn upwards towards the moon.
    Its water rises, falls, splashes
    Over all the heavens,
    The water filling them with blue,
    Until my craft reaches the other side
    Of the sky and mounts the glittering
    Dark, and the river’s churning spray
    Fills the Milky Way with stars,

    And on its far bank, shrouded in mist,
    Lies what is Beyond. I know not
    What is there, exactly, only that I am drawn
    There, subtly and despite the current,
    Drawn by something important.
    And the iridescent mists then part
    Like a curtain as I approach
    And I am trembling with anticipation
    Of looking at last upon what I have longed
    To see, the Life of all
    That is good and beautiful,

    But then I wake up and I am once again

    Just me, lying in the dark.

    I do not know what lies Beyond,
    Who I shall meet there, or what,
    But I know more certainly anything
    That it is well worth the trip,
    And that ere I die I shall once more
    Sail my ship of dreams
    To the other side of the sky.

  • “A Fly in Amber”

    I wrote this poem today and I publish it here without comment. I hope you find something in it that resonates with you.

    I had sought to fix my life,
    A fly in amber
    Kept safe from time and from death,

    Hard resin encased all round
    Me, an inch of air,
    A drop of hard dried blood

    Is all I took in with me,
    All the oxygen
    And life I sought to protect.

    Of course I was a fool, for
    What is but an inch
    Of air and a clot of blood

    Against even the slightest
    Pressure of boundless
    Gravid eternity? So

    The air and life’s blood of course
    Gone, vaporized in
    Eternity’s batted eyelash.

    Alone, then. In an instant.
    As life dwindled to
    A dim phosphorescent point,

    I hated my sheer
    Folly, but what is much worse,
    I hated the air, I

    Hated the blood, those very things
    That were most precious
    And fine, those very things to which

    I owed any life and good
    At all. This last was,
    Poor me, my one true folly.

    For there, in the dark and the
    Pain, the air and blood
    Showed their actual nature:

    The air I trapped was, down to
    Its last molecule,
    The breath of Edenic life,

    And in the drop of blood lay
    Hidden all good, complete,
    Entire, whole in itself,

    And with it the hearts of all,
    Loved and feared, I sought
    To wall out with my amber.

    As in the darkness I sat
    Self-condemnation
    Flooded me. I realized:

    My folly, my sin, was not to
    Seek protection, but
    Was instead the base contempt

    I harbored, deep within, for
    These very things I most
    Sought to love and to protect.

    But it was not done. In grief
    And tears I found a
    Grace not expected or earned:

    I was, I saw, not apart
    From the air and blood,
    Those things I sought to capture,

    But I was entirely in
    And of them, and through
    Them, in and of all in all,

    Down to the last inch of me.
    No wall or power
    Could separate me from them.

    And in that moment at last
    I was free.