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

Bravo!

Last evening,
on my deck
at midnight,
in deep frustration,
I howled
my name out loud.
No one heard;
no one cared;
but I like to think
the moon applauded.
  - mce

Homage

She was
the Queen of Spring;
even her softest sighs
could sing.

Daffodils sprouted
from her lips;
Lilacs grew
around her hips.

Tulips blossomed
in her eyes;
Forsythia
bedecked her thighs.

Oh, she really was
the Queen of Spring;
even her softest sighs
did sing.
  - mce

The Why Of The Thing

Poetry is our
futile attempt
to imagine
what we
cannot know.
  - mce

Irony

Even looking
at sixty,
how odd
life can be.
No wife,
no children,
no home,
no country,
no hope,
no fame,
no fortune,
no books
and, yet,
this undeniably
perfect day.
  - mce

Kodak Moment

One day,
I will forget
how your
green eyes
hovered
above me
and your
bright smile
and your hair
upon my face,
but (thankfully)
that day
is not today.
  - mce

Come On, It Can't Be That Difficult

I am seeking
a Mechanic
to mend my heart.
She must be
adept, versatile
and competent.
Hopefully,
she will listen
to Scarlatti
while she works.
She will need
to carefully
disassemble the
damaged vessel
and be able
to reassemble it
whole and intact.
Can't pay much,
but other benefits
are available.
I have tried
Craig's List, Ebay
and the yellow pages.
So far, no luck.
Oh where have all
the Mechanics of Love
disappeared?
Call me,
if you know one.
  - mce

When Next We Meet

 (Author's Note: The first two lines of this poem were used by Diane Wakoski as a prompt for students in her poetry workshops. I couldn't resist the challenge. The result was this poem. - mce)


Next time we meet,
let's keep our clothes on.
Let us observe
the proprieties,
proper and Puritan.
Let us maintain
the distance of fools.
Let us smile
the waxed smiles
of corpses.
Let us pretend
we have never
danced within
one another,
have never sung
unlikely songs
of flesh and desire.
It will be awkwardly
exact and Victorian,
but it will be safe.
No heartbreak will ensue.
Next time we meet,
let's keep our clothes on.
  - mce

The Limits Of Endurance

Each time
his life
crumbled,
he was
pleasantly
surprised
to find
that he
hadn't.
So far.
  - mce

Keep That Safety On

He spoke less than ever
because he knew
his tongue a weapon,
but no longer aimed
to wound or kill.
  - mce

It's The Little Things

Just the memory
of the crook
of your knee
is worth
an entire life
to me.
  - mce

Keeping Up Appearances

He looked like
a soldier of fortune,
but he was really
a soldier of poverty.
  - mce

Bird/Man

Every spring
he took wing
and migrated,
like a confused
waterfowl,
to nowhere.
Same journey;
same destination.
Which way home?
  - mce

Transubstantiation

Taste me, Love,
and I will taste you.
We will call this
communion;
We will call this
resurrection;
we will call this
world without end.
We will make this
all the religion
either of us
can ever need.
Never separate;
never many;
never alone.
One blood,
one body,
one presence:
One, One, One.
  - mce

Hell Is The Place Where No Birds Sing

Too much silence
makes the soul
deaf to life.
Sweet Lady of green
and gentle music,
even the wildflowers
do not speak to me.
Tell me your secret:
when will the birds
of spring sing
in my heart again?
It's birdsong I need;
silence speaks for itself.
  - mce

Cosmic Personal Ad

Man with no future
seeks woman
with no past
for mutual oblivion.
Please send
your qualifications
on a blank post card
addressed to nowhere.
We shall see
how things progress
from there.
  - mce

Drought

Where did you vanish,
lovely Muse?
I miss the caress
of your whispers
in my mind's ears
suggesting order.

Now, although
I listen intently,
the only sounds
are rain on a tin roof,
mice rustling in a corner,
breath and heartbeat
and nothing at all.

When you disappear,
the world becomes
cruel and random
as when a lover
dumps you for
no particular reason,
leaving an incomplete
jumble of pieces
from which you must
puzzle out creation.

Only return, Sweet Muse,
and whisper once more;
you know my heart will listen.

Without you I am only
a deformed lump of clay;
an aging man holding
a losing hand while
Death looks at his cards
and smiles with certainty;
without you the Void
becomes the Abyss;
without you, there is no me.
  - mce

Drumbeats And Bugles

I am at war with time.
At war with. At war.
With time. War. I. Am.
I am at war with time.
Second by second,
I am losing the war.
  - mce

Laotian Rain

The bullets
that missed
were not
his friends.
  - mce

Misapprehension

 (To those concerned: The poet tries to isolate and amplify the dramatic moment. Not every impersonal, third person pronoun {or for that matter, first person pronoun} that you read on this blog refers, exactly, to me. - mce)

Friends told him,
he was drinking
himself to death.
Actually,
he was thinking
himself to death.
  - mce

Re-Reading Nietzsche On A Spring Morning

Eternal
kosmogonos.

Eros breaks
the bonds
of death.

Reason dies
with us.

Love
continues
the dance.
  - mce

Wildflowers

Beer bottles blossom
on my deck railing;
Spring at last!
  - mce

Caritas

What we offer up
freely to death
returns, after great
tribulation, as life.
  - mce

Bad News, Walt Whitman

It is ever more difficult
to sing of One's-Self.
The En-Masse
has swallowed up
the simple separate person;
the Democratic
is dying, if not dead.
The Leaves of Grass
now all look the same,
chant the same slogans,
believe and buy
what they are told
to believe and buy.
The power, pulse
and passion of Life
are subsumed
in blind conformity.
You said a man should,
"Resist much; obey little."
How many, in all this land,
now have the courage
to live those words?
That vast American energy
you rightly celebrated
is channeled now
to serve war and greed
and evil usury.
You would find little
in the current version
of The Modern Man
worth singing about;
little worth the immensity
of your vision and voice.
If you could return now
and chance to see
the empty, constricted husk
your country has become,
I wonder how Cheerful
your song would be.
  - mce

Political Aside

When you have to
pass a drug test
and a background check
to shovel mulch
on some rich dude's
sorry-assed shrubs
for seven dollars
and fifty cents an hour,
the very notion
of freedom
becomes a farce.
  - mce

A Foot Race

Drink kills;
tobacco kills;
but loneliness kills
much faster.
  - mce

A Sign Of Spring?

Splitting already
split wood to make
smaller splits
for smaller fires.
  - mce

Catch And Release

Reading over
two years
of poems,
more than
eight hundred
altogether,
I find
perhaps forty
that may be
worth saving.

Five percent.

So many casts
for so few fish.
  - mce

And Yet, They Are Pretty

The colorful prayer flags
on my deck railing
flutter out their
pointless supplications.
You live out the Dharma
as best you can,
always and forever alone.
No help is on the way.
   - mce

On Teaching

The same old shit endlessly:

grade grubbing students;
career obsessed colleagues;
pettifogging administrators.

And what is the net result?

More androids to fill the desks
of demon corporations
and faceless systems.

I have become
just another Eichmann
following orders;
just another Himmler
stuffing the ovens
of the Death Machine.

Noblest profession, my ass.

The greatest regret
of my life:
that I never learned
an honest trade.
  - mce

Anxiety Attack

Can't seem
to catch my breath.
Afraid I will die;
afraid I won't die.
I've forgotten;
what's the difference?
  - mce

On Sobriety

Drunk, the world is
warm Technicolor curves;
sober, cold monochrome angles.
A week without whiskey,
bumping into sharp edges,
life becomes a bloody mess
of open, dripping wounds.
Bacchus, Dionysus,
quick... bring the first aid kit!
  - mce

Stockholm Syndrome

Kidnapped by the muse,
I am held hostage
by poverty and beauty:
most ambivalent captivity.
  - mce

One Year In A Cabin

I have come to dread
what others think romantic:
rain on a tin roof.
  - mce

Vernal Equinox

Damn!
I made it
again.
  - mce

Vanity

The man
who has been
a coward once
disdains the man
who has been
a coward twice.
  - mce

Elegant Solution

Become the knot,
then untie yourself.
  - mce

Loneliness At Evening

Sing to me, Night,
and I will try
to sing back to you.
Together, we will
raise a duet
of desire and delight.
What more, really,
can we do?
  - mce

Down The Road

Souls that have kissed
cannot be separated.
This life or the next;
time after time;
everything turns
and returns.
When we meet again,
I will know you.
  - mce

Soft Water, White Magick

No man whose heart has
awakened to the murmur
of creek water flowing
near his cabin window
can ever utterly despair again.
  - mce

Why I Rarely Write Prose

Poets dance,
but the times
call the tune.
The short line
must suffice
when the mass
of readers
mostly cannot
remember
anything more
valuable
than how much
money
they made
last year.
 - mce

Old Friends

While the metaphorical mailman is on leave, please feel free to visit any of my previous blogs. These were written over the last two years and, of course, present different pictures of what was happening over that period. Some of it is embarrassing, but that's just in the game. Being a writer is much like one of those dreams in which you find yourself naked in front of a whole bunch of people.

The original was called Struggle Mountain.

The ensuing efforts were Instances, Step/Rock Journal and Creek Watcher.

My personal favorite is Instances, but then, what do I know?

There might be some things worth revisiting on these. Or not.

When I have at least twenty new items, I'll begin to post to this blog again. Could take days; could take longer. You'll know when I know.

Mike

Occupational Hazard

Sometimes words
cease to be a joy
and become a burden.
Sometimes you
must set them down
and take a rest.
The poet is a mailman
lugging a load of life,
carrying bundles
that most people
don't even want
to think about:
heavy thoughts
on weighty subjects.
Occasionally, even a
metaphorical mailman
needs a holiday.
  - mce

Erato

Where have you fled,
green-eyed goddess
of the singing lyre?
When I listen now,
all I hear are echoes.
  - mce

Poetry Vs. Reality

I love
the way
zounds
rhymes with
hounds.
Sadly,
it is not
the sixteenth
century,
and I don't
own dogs.
  - mce

A Needy Poem

I need
money;
I need
a car;
I need
a dentist;
I need
a square
meal;
I need
my kids;
I need
a muse;
I need
true love;
I need
beauty;
I need
truth;
I need
wild
flowers;
I need
spring;
I need
a break.
Mostly,
I need
to stop
being so
needy.
  - mce

Lost Warmth

When you left
you took the sun
with you;
now the moon
rules me.
I wax and wane
and sometimes
vanish altogether.
Where do I go
when I disappear?
To seek the sun,
of course.
  - mce

Limitation

At the heart,
we can speak
through art;
but at the bone,
we remain
alone.
  - mce