Particular Moments

More Stars than There are

Tag: poems

Translations

Fowls in the wood,

Fishes in the flood;

And I must be Mad,

Much sorrow I walk with

For the best

Of bone and blood.

Love & Bigfoot

Some of us

Perceive

Love

 

As we do

Bigfoot,

 

Scratching

Our hairs

Out

 

Pondering

The certainty

Of its state

Of Being.

 

There are

Enthusiasts who

Set out on

Lengthy ventures,

Hiking through

Dense forestry,

Over Hills

In endless ranges,

And past

Low,

Shadowy Valleys—

 

Only to return

With anecdotes;

No hard evidence

Sealed

In sterile tubes.

 

And

There are people

Who will try to

Convince you

 

That it exists

In the wrong

Places

By forging

False Footprints—

Just to mess with you.

 

But

If you care about

The Bigfoot

Regardless of the

Stories—

Books and Articles and TV shows

Painting it

In Blinding colors—

 

And

You aren’t afraid

To urge

Your own feet

Out and About,

 

Surprised might

You be,

Upon coming across

Bigfoot

In your trails,

 

Looking as Real

As the Ache

In your heels,

 

And finally

Knowing

So it is

Your

Love.

 

 

 

 

Soon Not to Be

The palpable

Premonitions—

Hardened, Stubborn

Lumps

Underneath the skin—

 

Foretell of imminent,

Painful,

Yet gradual

Decease;

 

The Worst

Of its kind—

Like a daytime Nightmare,

Hunting me

So I shall never

Sleep.

 

Who knew

Death

Was so Unapologetically

Mischievous?

 

King of the

Darkest humor,

You leave me

Speechless;

 

Foreshadowing my

Cease-to-be

With such Irony;

Inflicting

Fear and Sadness

So Immense,

 

All the while

Having convinced me

That you are

Funny.

 

What does a creature

So small

Do,

Facing a Force

Grand

Beyond comprehension?

 

I joke back

And Live this

Day

Like

Any

Other

Day,

 

But without

A minute of

Complaint.

 

 

Serious Pang

“Sometimes

It’s like someone 

Took a knife, baby,

 

Edgy and Dull,

 

And cut

A Six-Inch Valley

Through the middle 

Of my Soul.”

 

 

—I’m On Fire, Bruce Springsteen.

In Flight

I had been

So Afraid,

 

But as the ground

Began to shrink

 

Bit

by

Bit,

 

Until Everything

Below become

Infinitesimally

 

flat and small,

 

Even Fear

Paused

To look

In Awe.

Wretched Saints

The deep sorrows of

The truly good

Rarely show—

 

Except when they are

Helplessly unveiled

 

In the mute

Solemn,

And elusive grimace

Of the Angel.

This Year’s Last Fall

Away from home,

This Year

Ahead of time,

I caught a glimpse

Of the Red and Yellow

Fall—

 

So that upon

My return,

She had not yet

Arrived.

 

Knowing that She

Eventually would come,

I ceased to anticipate,

For I had seen it all.

 

But

She never appeared

Back in town,

As when She took me

By surprise,

I didn’t recognize Her

At all.

 

She would make Her stay,

Just like the year before,

But She was not

What I saw

Anymore.

Only Human

There are moments

When goodness turns into malice

And fair intent sours.

During these brief moments,

I am

On occasions,

Crazed, eyes blood shot

On Thirst,

Bent on achieving not some,

But grudgingly

All the satisfactions.

 

So I turn to the Dark,

To the face of damnation.

And I see in the sinister

A terrible,

Irresistible

Force,

From which arises

The careless power

To quench my crooked needs—

 

To be the Golden Apple

Atop the highest pinnacle—

Divine, poisonous,

Rotten, and ageless;

Desired by all

And fatal—

 

Thus, I take a sip

From the deadly well.

And Soon,

I am overcome

By a restless adrenaline

Immense to the point of

Diabolical.

 

Suddenly, it is revealed to me

Just what a thrill it can be

To put on the Devil’s facade

And play the laughing wicked.

 

I decide to take to the slaughter,

And Oh!

How are they so belittled!

As if a gentle “tap,”

And they are torn apart!

 

Pleased—

Maniacally,

I move closer—

 

Seeing this lot,

These lambs to be butchered,

Standing and grazing there—

Mostly unwary;

Some a nuisance;

Some even vicious.

 

Yet

 

Regardless of the little good

And much foolishness I see,

They are all familiar,

All

More or less

Like me—

Undeniably human, limited,

And only so vile.

 

Then how could I strike down

The the ruthless sword

Knowing that I

Too am

Helplessly mortal

And bound to the ground?

 

 

 

 

Post Climax Relief

The Rain came down

And washed all the Noises

Away—

 

For the first time,

I was taken astray,

Far away,

To distant Lands 

Where I would find myself 

Steady,

 

Free to breathe the same

Air 

Of consistency—

 

So that no matter where 

My feet settle—

The Sierras or

The Himalayans,

 

I would still keep

That which

No Man

Can ever take away. 

Days

The Wheel of Fortune spins

On and on—

 

There will be days 

Of Prize collecting

And days when Luck

Is seemingly gone.

 

But It Goes Like It Goes—

Not much Beef 

In what’s been done. 

 

So go on and on,

Counting winnings while

Accepting losses—

The Days are very bound.