Read this novel

“This is the silking, that’s a story in itself, but this is what she’s going to do first….This is called a pique machine, it sews the finest stitch, called pique, requires far more skill than the other stitches….This is called a polishing machine and that is called a stretcher and you are called honey and I am called Daddy and this is called living and the other is called dying and this is called madness and this is called mourning and this is called hell, pure hell, and you have to have strong ties to be able to stick it out, this is called trying-to-go-on-as-though-nothing-has-happened and this is called paying-the-full-price-but-in-God’s-name-for-what, this is called wanting-to-be-dead-and-wanting-to-find-her-and-to-kill-her-and-to-save-her-from-whatever-she-is-going-through-wherever-on-earth-she-may-be-at-this-moment, this unbridled outpouring is called blotting-out-everything and it does not work, I am half insane, the shattering force of that bomb is too great….” (130). 

“‘What are you? Do you know? What you are is you’re always trying to smooth everything over. What you are is always trying to be moderate. What you are is never telling the truth if you think it’s going to hurt somebody’s feelings. What you are is you’re always compromising. What you are is always complacent. What you are is always trying to find the bright side of things. The one with the manners. The one who abides everything patiently. The one with the ultimate decorum. The boy who never breaks the code. Whatever society dictates, you do. Decorum. Decorum is what you spit in the face of. Well, your daughter spit in it for you, didn’t she? Four people? Quite a critique she has made of decorum’” (274).

Roth, Philip. American Pastoral. New York: Vintage International, 1997.

grasp it

Life is series of chances
to perceive and grasp boundless opportunities.
Key: to grasp.
We can't sit by
staring opportunity in the eye
justifying 'next time.'
Grasp it. Grip it. Hold it.
Love it.
There may not be a next time.
Or a next time that is as right.
Otherwise, you enable
the possibility
of settling
and hoping for the chance at another
more convenient
opportunity.
Hoping for the chance at one too many chances.
That isn't life.
That is cowardice.

again. in time

I want to respond

I want to know how

I want to tell

how much it meant

to read those words

of careful beauty

 gentle pain

and concise honesty

I want to call

I want to find

I want to hug

embrace

I want to make everything better

but I can’t

not yet

I want to be okay

I want to be

and You to be

again. in time.

We are intertwined

for life.

all I know

Carefully constructed cover

reveals and conceals

the open-book

with hidden outliers and addendums attached

deep within the recesses

of the glossy cover.

To discover these truths

is to deface the cover:

inflicting deep gashes and poisonous wounds

on self from vicious resistance.

Goal: expose the truth within.

Blood intermingled drips and oozes

amidst the ravaged truth.

You sit back.

You sigh victorious exhaustion.

You found it.

We both are revealed.

Weary,

 relieved,

      broken.

You are not finished.

You grab the subtle knife

of conquered knowledge

and plunge it

DEEP

into the already gaping wound.

You finished the job.

Walk away.

I lay exposed and bloodied;

my shame displayed in carnage.

The entrails and addendums lay strewn about

for all to see.

All I know is to recover.

I will smooth over my wound,

find my lost gloss

and hope  no one notices the ruby smear

reminding

on every page.

What has replaced God in modern society?

Transcendental  

invisible fingers,

stretching and caressing

and infiltrating our individual mind

and controlling our societal soul.

Defining culture, shaping friendship

generating communities, simplifying relationships,

prophesying, moralizing, globalizing.

Identifying.

We are new creations

born again in technology and cyberspace.

The old has gone, the new has come.

Our culture, made in Its image:

Internet.

Hunger

My heart

is not my own.

It is big, expansive, consuming;

consuming others in its love.

Devouring them

with a voracious

appetite of love.

It spreads itself

on all my human hopes

and dreams and lusts.

And all seems well.

Until they walk away

and nothing is left

but starvation.

I think I confuse life and distraction.

Scribbled Schedule.

Rigidly Organized.

Controlled. Safe.

Thick black borders

containing daily commitments.

Spontaneity and Free Thought

roam about

the open space

banging on the boxes

demanding to be acknowledged.

Ignored.

Spill off the page

into the nothingness of ‘not now.’

“But who are you?”

‘I don’t know how.’

Poem from 2010. Already breakin' my own rules!! HECK YES!

I edit

concentrating on the subtle

nuances and particular word choices

that will improve

validate

and perfect

my ideas.

Correction. 

Highlight 'My,'

Delete.

Ideas. Solitary. 

There is no room for 'my.'

I am simply a student.

Simply.

Uncomplicated belief

that 'my' is an 

improper designation 

for the ideas

pulsating in my 

hijacked brain.

My ideas have subcomed to 

intellectual terrorism

that is higher

education.

I am a product.

My identity,

I edit.

Notable Quotes

"Like all secret hopes, when it doesn't work out, you realize how little you did to make it happen." 

(Stone Reader).

2011: A poem a week. That's the plan.

The New Year

acquires old baggage.

Well-worn tricks

from unresolved fears

suck, slather, ooze

my falsely pristine figure.

I am decrepit.

My hopes and beliefs

sag, tare, decompose

and flutter away.

And I pretend to be distraught.

Pretending eases the pain

of violent deformation

of personal identity

into apathetic ash.