Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘portraits’ Category

Jack of Angels

JACK OF ANGELS

Jack of Angels is searching
For a ladder to Heaven
‘Cause he’s sprained his wing
And it hurts to fly

Little Mirriam dances around him
Asking child’s questions
Eyes flash like dark diamonds
And their baggage – a puppy and a bird
Wiggle wih curiosity and unguarded hope

Jack’s footprints shine on asphelt
Air shimmers around him
Afraid to bump a feather
Or kiss a freckle

His arms are filled with little girl
And warm puppy
The bird preens on his shoulder

Jack looks on to where he’s going
Losing track of where he’s been
Behind him skips an entourage of motley strays
Thrilled to follow wherever he leads

Read Full Post »

City Faces

I’ve added a new poem to my Portraits page.  It’s about commuting.

When I was younger, I lived around Sydney and I worked in the central business district.  Sydney is a great commercial city – busy, dirty and changeable as today’s newspaper. Its unique, yet interchangeable buzz links it to hundreds of sister cities around the world that have achieved a certain density.

I remember Sydney’s peak hour and I know it must have grown more intense in the years since I endured it. You’d think this mass of being would fill a writer’s larder, and sometimes it did, but more often it was enervating.

The crowd surged in and out, an inexorable daily tide.

I remember the faces of the crowd. Not the rare uninhibited strangeling or the couples talking.  I mean the mass of people, each alone, who clothe their faces in ennui when they commute.  It’s not done to reveal too much of yourself to strangers en mass, especially when you’re alone. There are too many bodies to constitute a tribe. You could get blown away in the mass. Someone might actually talk to you!

But all those thousands of individual people are alive, thinking and acting beneath their commuting cloaks.

_

Read Full Post »

Tai Chi

I’ve placed this one on the page of portrait poems, but it’s about more than a portrait. It encapsulates an experience that mattered to me.

This poem takes place when I was grieving hard for the death of my marriage.

At that time I cultivated the more combative aspects of tai chi and natural style wu su. The practice helped me to heal and gain respite from the sickening rage I carried.

I had the great fortune to find a kind and patient sparring partner.  I lost touch, but I remember him with affection and respect.

Read Full Post »