War Or Love

Not much
difference,
really;
at some
point,
you can
be sure
that blood
will run.
  - mce

Countdown

Writhe for me,
my love,
like an eel
in ecstasy.
Do not
hesitate.
After all,
how many
such moments,
do you suppose,
remain?
  - mce

Birdie Wisdom

The Red-breasted Nuthatch
sits on my deck railing
looking at me as if
he knows I don't belong here.

He's right. Smart bird,
he recognizes a refugee
when he sees one.
  - mce

Between Heartbeats

Light streaming
through a
billion leaves;
wind sighing
through a
million trees:
that rare
and exquisite
moment
when you
don't want
to be anyone
or anywhere
else.
  - mce

Vain Ambition

To craft
just one poem
as lovely
as the horizon
of her breasts.
  - mce

Naked Drama

Each time
he removed
her clothes,
she imagined
herself
a different
woman,
only
more so.
  -  mce

Cardiac Catastrophe

His heart was like a person
crushed in many car wrecks,
broken in many places,
then wired back together,
trying hard to heal,
whole, but still crippled.
  - mce

Ocular Regeneration

He couldn't see
a better day coming
until she lent him
her lovely, green eyes.
  - mce

The Curse Of Aging

You get old;
you get honest.
How I miss
my lost ability
to rationalize
everything.
  - mce

Damn That Monkey!

The chattering mind
explodes into silence
if you just shut up
and stop listening.
  - mce

The Daughters Of Eve

each one,
a mystery

(yielding
inviting
opening)

each one,
a portal

(warm
wet
dark)

each one,
a disaster

(sultry
siren
song)

oh when
will I learn
to just
say no...
  - mce

Why You Never See A Married Pirate In The Movies

Pirates
are fun
to bed,
but woe
to wed.
  - mce

Poems

"I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint. My heart has turned to wax; it has melted away within me." Psalm 22:14

From his life
of sorrow,
they pour out.
From the well
of his heart,
they rise.
From the spring
of his soul,
they flow.
They are tears
that seep
from his eyes.

Like water,
he pours out
with them.
From his
sunken heart,
they go.
Like streams
they disappear.
Where they run,
he does not know.
  - mce

Transience

This slow rain
washes away
the vain colors
of the day.

Spring, which exists
only in the eye,
vanishes beneath
this dripping sky.

Tomorrow spring
may reappear,
but, oh, today
looms deadly drear.
  - mce

Final Conflagration

Be my
funeral pyre,
baby;
together
we shall
inflame
the world,
one last time.
  - mce

The Mad Poet Of The Glade

The mad poet of the glade
sits at leisure in the shade.

He spends the measure of his day
recalling women gone away.

Women dressed in barbed wire
who set his anxious heart on fire.

Women in satin, women in jeans,
women far beyond his means.

Women who sang, women who swore,
each the virgin, each the whore.

Women of flesh, women of soul,
who touched his life, who made him whole.

Women of mind, women of heart,
all a mystery at the start.

Women who loved the words he said
and fell like blossoms on his bed.

Women whose dresses slid to the floor,
he lifted them up, he made them soar.

Women who sighed, trembled and came,
each one different, each the same.

Women lovely as springtime flowers
with silken skin and magick powers.

Women who lusted, women who dreamed,
women who loved him, women who schemed.

Women who broke his willing heart,
caressed his flesh, inhaled his art.

Women who finally came to fear
the cost of keeping him too near.

Women who all loved to play,
but could not bring themselves to stay.

Now he dreams those bygone times
and turns them into lines of rhymes.

Oh, the mad poet of the glade
he sits at leisure in the shade.
  - mce

Abjuring Teleology

In the glory
of this morning,
on my deck,
the sun stirs
my old bones.

The birds quote
a departed lover
who used to say,
"show up
for life, Mike,
just show up
for life."

I take heed.

To live
while we live:
all that is given,
little enough,
but something,
something
indeed.
  - mce

A Tract Against Despair

   - for C. B.

Death lurks in
every shadow;
in the end
the light
must fail;
this battle
cannot be won.

But between
that and now,
remain moments
glowing like pearls,
radiant, numinous
and satisfying.

Hold them
in your hands,
let them touch
your body
and your heart,
embrace them
like the child
who must leave,
like the lover
who will depart.

We cannot
defeat death,
but we can
stand for life,
if only
a little while,
in the shining
human moments
that remain.
  - mce

Writer/Reader

Writing,
I weep
these words
into the world.
Reading,
you kiss
those tears
from my cheeks.
  - mce

Bourbon Sūtra

On the fourth
painful morning
after the fourth
drunken night,
he merged
with Reality
and achieved
Enlightenment:
he no longer
had a hangover;
he was a hangover.
  - mce

Departure

Some die of boredom,
others of money or lust;
the really tragic
get strangled off the earth
still trying to gasp out
their unwelcome truths.
  - mce

The Roads Of Jackson County

Each gravel truck
that blows by my cabin
raises a cloud of dust
that settles on the deck
where I read
making me look like
a smudged knickknack
on a shelf
in dire need
of a housewife's feathers.

Pointless to complain.

The road needs it
and, besides,
it's an election year
and better roads
mean more votes.

Oh, Shine On
Imperishable Republic!

Not just another dusting:
this is the Dust-Storm
of Democracy in Action.
  - mce

Alterity

Awoke this morning,
saw his old body
still upon the bed,
entered into it,
sat, swung his legs
over the edge
and stood up.

An aging man
looked back
from a mirror.

What happened?
Where is the boy
he expected to see?

The naked glass
reflects
the stark truth
of what remains.

Beware...

The deck of time
is cruelly stacked
against who
you like to think
you are.
  - mce

Mission Statement

Many folks
wouldn't read
a poem
unless you put
a gun
to their heads.

I am that gun;
these words
are my bullets;
exactly
those people,
my target
of choice.
  - mce

Heraclitus In Tennessee

"No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man." - Heraclitus

Hidden springs
engender
tiny branches
that trickle into
Spring Creek
that feeds into
the Roaring River
that meets
the Cumberland
that finds
the Mississippi
that meanders
to the Gulf
that opens
into a world
of oceans.

Nothing still, ever;
no return, never.

Life, a string
of moments,
engendering,
that trickle, feed,
meet, find,
meander and open
into the final ocean.

Everything,
a flowing,
always...
yes.
  - mce

Inhalation Therapy

Breathe into me,
love, and I
will inhale you.
Let us be
a single gasp
floating gently
in eternity.
 - mce

Remembering A Simpler Time

In war
life is simple
as death:
live or die,
the only question.
  - mce

Who, What, When, Where, Why

If only I knew
the who of affection,
the what of desire,
the when of devotion,
the where of love,
I might understand,
after all this time,
why I still miss you.
so much.
  - mce

Morning Minuet

The vivid new air
of morning
speaks a language
of possibilities,
seeks the steps
appropriate for
the unknown day.

Birdsong; leaf-light:
creation fresh,
scrubbed and combed.

It whispers
an invitation
in a lover's voice,
low and full:

"dance with me,
dance with me
dance with me;

oh take me
in your human arms
and lead me
into tomorrow."

Each new day,
we partner
with eternity

and onward,
into the unknown,

we dance.
  - mce

Denouement

One evening,
very soon,
the shadows
at dusk
will lengthen,
embrace,
and merge
into total,
final darkness:

no dawn
will break.
  - mce

Late Breaking Chaucerian Update

I am
the childless
father
of two
fine sons.
How is
this possible?
Oh, speak
of the woe
that is
in marriage.
  - mce

Domestic Violence

The hand
of the past
throttles
the throat
of the present:
each day
a new victim.
  - mce

Omen

I found
a bloody
turkey foot
in the dust
along the
creek road
today.

Portent;
portend;
portentous...

The signs
bode ill.
  -mce

Lost Lover

Look in your heart
and you will see
how we both failed
our destiny.
  - mce

Unlikely Girl

When the
fresh green
of spring
sighs;
I recall
the peridot
of your
eyes.
  - mce

A View From The Quarterdeck

Caught in the Circle,
we circumnavigate
the world eternally.

Integration,
disintegration,
reintegration.

Creation,
destruction,
re-creation.

Freedom,
slavery,
liberation.

Cycle upon cycle,
the endless journey
of history.

We can only see
what we can see.

No maps, ever,
only the Periplum
of personality.

No maps, no maps:
only the shore
as known by the sailor
from the sea,

only imagination
to set us free.
  - mce

Hephaestus At His Mac

Fire the oven,
blow the bellows,
hammer the substance,
shape the product.

Oven of experience,
bellows of soul,
hammer of imagination,
life the substance,
poetry the product.

Difficult and dangerous;
exquisite and elegant.

Sweating and smiling,
demented and free,
the word smith works
his Alchemy.
  - mce

For A Friend, Wounded In Battle, 1969

Did you hear
the round
that turned
your world
upside down?
Or was it but
a moment
of pain
and fumbling,
a silent
ecstasy
of tumbling?
Unscathed
myself,
I can
only wonder,
how it feels
to have
your flesh
torn asunder
and then,
how to live
and if
to forgive.
  - mce

A Pirate Ponders...

In the morning,
he consults
the tattered chart
of his broken heart,
considering
which direction
he should start.

At noon he
takes a reading
of the sun
hoping to find
a line to run.

At night,
immersed
in moon glow,
he ponders
which star
to follow.

He knows
he is doomed
to roam;
there is
no course
that leads
to home.

Strangers,
islands,
the open sea,
the only way
for him to be.

Soon,
though when
he cannot say,
he must choose
a bearing
and sail away,
away and away
and away,
into the mystery
of the day:

Alone, outbound,
without a sound,
  - mce

Castaway

Stars of memory
blanket the night,
twinkling madness.
Lethe flows from
whiskey bottles,
seeking the sea.
In the morning,
red sun above
angry swells,
a seared brain
floating in
molten reality,
and waves
that do not cool.
  - mce

Hart Crane Sabbatical

Beneath the deck rail
the dark waves swell.
The temptation to dive in,
nearly overwhelming.
Death sings in the water:
"come to me, come to me,
come to me...
plunge into the silence."
  - mce

Coffee And Whiskey

Light frost on
the morning meadow;
sun kissing
the ridge tops;
another dawn
breaks.
Friends far away;
children gone
for good;
a string of lovers
like broken
promises
stretching into
the past.
Alone with words
and the wind,
the solitary
heart beats.
Steel yourself:
only one life
to live,
and this is it.
  - mce

The Brujo's Tale

Too much
of anything
is bad,
which is
exactly
what makes
it good.
  - mce

Craft

For each poet,
there is but one poem.

It is born with him.

Many versions;
many attempts.

Language is a
soiled deck of cards
passed through
endless hands.

Sleepless nights;
anxious mornings;
eternal days
placing the cards
in new patterns.

Reshuffle the deck
of words and sounds
often as you like.

Patterns emerge;
patterns vanish;
the substance
does not change.

It is only
the terrible doubt
of appearances
makes it seem
otherwise.

For each poet,
there is but one poem.
  - mce

Negative Capability

Do not
describe
the thing,
become
the thing,
and then
tell its story
through
its own
mouth.
That is what
poets do.
 - mce

Cold, Blue Steel Invitation

The Colt .45 automatic
resting on the coffee table
has been broken down,
cleaned, oiled, reassembled.
Beside it lies a fresh clip.

It is a cold, blue, deadly invitation.

And yet, you hesitate to accept.

Outside trees bud, wildflowers bloom,
birds sing and vultures soar.
The breeze whispers: wait awhile,
take a rain check, be patient.

Cowardice or absurd hope?
It doesn't matter, really.
No need to hurry.
The invitation remains open.
  - mce

Another Sprichtwort Bites The Dust

Nope, time does not
heal all wounds,
nor does love, even.
Wounds become flesh,
become scars,
become words,
tell us where
we are,
tell us where
we have been,
tell us where
we will never
be again.
  - mce

Death As Yet Another Self-Help Program

If I died, I would
stop drinking,
quit smoking
and therefore
(according to
the health Nazis)
quite possibly
live forever.
Hmm...
  - mce

Crawling Towards Eternity

Fifty-eight times
I have shed my skin
and may live
to molt another
soon enough.
The Garden
was once mine,
but things changed.
Many times
I have felt
the heel
upon my neck,
but only once
struck back
and was broken
for the sin
of revenge.
Time ignores
individual outbursts
and, anyway,
God forgives idiots
(I hope).
We act and
we act again;
the results
are called life.
This gets weary.
Beware:
I am getting
cranky as I age.
Do not tread
on me again.
  - mce

Easter Song

It is Easter morning.
I want to write
a statement of Joy,
but Joy does not attend.
The only risen thing
is the sun shining down
on another empty day.
Photons that dance,
photons that glisten,
photons that exist
and do not exist,
photons that mean
nothing at all.
  - mce

The Archeology Of Consciousness

Poetry is solely
the archeology
of consciousness,
the pot-shards
of a mind
whose true
experience
can just be
guessed at.
When you read it
you discover
mere pieces,
not the original
arrangement.
You try to wonder
them back
together,
but can't quite.
When you write it,
you leave clues
for scientists
yet to arrive
who will never
fully understand
who you were,
which is OK
because you
never did either.
  - mce

The Poet's Handbook

    - for Rimbaud

The same rules
you lived out
still apply:

Drink too much.
Take drugs.
Sleep with
too many women.
Drink too much.
Be irresponsible.
Squander
your money.
Drink too much.
Hurt those
who love you.
Drive them away.
Drink too much.
Overdose on silence.
Drown in solitude.
Drink too much.
Ignore consequences
Go quite mad.
Drink too much.

And then,
of course,
die.
  - mce

My Totem

A lone vulture
describes a gyre
above my deck.
Vultures are
quite ugly,
close up,
but majestic
as they soar.
This creature
keeps a
tight pattern
not so far
above me.
I drink whiskey,
smoke cigarettes
and observe.
Vultures can
scent carrion
at a vast distance.
Is he inhaling
my mortality?
The wisdom
of wild things,
not to be
disdained.
  - mce