Late night blues

I wrote one cheerful poem for Susan last week, delivering it with a very apropos first bouquet of flowers, and also two really gloomy poems tonight. I might give a nice summary of my last couple weeks tomorrow, but I just had to add these now.



First Flowers


I think I know you best,
Still, the florist was a test.
Your hues blend and match-
Colorful, the perfect catch.

The clerk said, “May I propose
A bright, red, rose?”
Why not, I thought.
They’re lush, layered, and deep.
They drape the tombs of kings.
They line the halls of lovers.
Wherever the heart swells, plummets, or dies,
There, soon, a rose will rise.
But for all its passion and austerity,
Even your thorns would not
Suggest parity.

What about an Iris?
Sad, in my hands it seems to tire,
This purple, fleshy, fire.
But, though draped,
Its petals are so strong-
A stalwart, marching song-
Like you’ve been all along.

The tulip looked delightful.
It’s crisp, parabolic petals-
Walls of wonder.
It carves its place above the ground
Stem, protruding; flower, intruding.
But Holland’s prize cultivar
Wilts in the shadow of what
you are.

A daisy might do nicely,
A simple, honest flower-
White knives rim the golden sun.
They shake when I breathe;
Their needle-stems bending to and fro
As obeisance to nature and
to the girl I know.
Yet, for all its humility and charm,
I can find so much more with you in arm.

Carnations!
Now there’s a great find.
I see their lacey folds crowd, converge, caress
Between their red-rimmed reaches
A secret.
What makes the petals so beautiful and keeps
Them riding the same wave,
Rippling in the same current, like
Shivers of the ocean
Obfuscating sunken treasure?
But whatever answer I’d find
Could never surpass my joy
In seeing the layers of
your mind.

How could I forget the forget-me-nots
And their soft, Vermeer blue!
Beautiful, yes,
But where grows the flower that captures your
Thick, flowing sepia hair
Or your rich, loess eyes-
So healthy, so lovely-
Artifacts from a life we no longer lead:
When corn grew without the farmer’s hand,
When men could run without getting tired
Or losing the vault of the sky;
When music trickled from the trees,
Like rich sap, drawn from the calls of birds
The sigh of the wind, the moaning of boughs,
And time sat in the shade
To watch the grass grow tall.

Flowers can say a lot of things.
Send them to a funeral
Lay them on a wall.
Pin them to a girl.
Throw them down the aisle.
But what petals can I pick,
What bulbs can I buy
Worthy of the girl
For whom I would die?

I’ve grown from a seed,
Nurtured and watered by
your gentle hand,
Into a dazzling new flower-
A happy, young man.
Stunted, I’d sat-
Alone, cold, so dark-
‘till you cracked the window
And offered your spark.


The heart is born on a breaking wheel.
Lash yourself to the spoke and be torn.
But you and I can say one thing to
Spite the darkness that everywhere falls:
“Good things do happen to good people.
Love brings them together and
Gives them a joy above all.”



You can't follow me

I’m meant for something else.
I march to fate’s flute.
You have to let me go.
You have to let me go.

You weren’t meant,
To walk these roads,
Fall on these rocks,
Bleed on these bones

I’m drifting up
And you can’t hold on.
Gravity pulls you down
Slipping, you’re gone.

I’m alone-
Alone again-
Because I’ve been branded
Culled, chosen
To know no fear
And to have no friends-
To follow the light
And leave everyone in the dark.



Weltschmerz


What ideas have you been feeding on
That your mind has ballooned to
Fill the universe?
Where can you put your ego?
Are you glad that you can’t fit anymore,
That there’s nothing here for you now?
What will you do and where will you go?
Can you ever find a country, a home, a woman?
Will you ever attach yourself to the ephemeral?
You must, for how will your name be remembered
And sung, and quoted, and anthologized.
You want to be remembered
But the world doesn’t want to remember you.

Does it frighten you how you can’t project
A future, a life onto yourself?
That you’re a shade, watching it all through the glass?
You’ve been disengaged and set into orbit.
You tried to rise above, only to disappear.
You can’t even taste anymore.

Was it all worth it?
This divorce, this schism, excommunication?
Who can you tell your tale of heartbreak to?
Can you even speak?
Do we envy or pity you?
Are you a hero or a waste?

They happen around you, the things,
I know.
They swirl, condense, dissolve,
And you grin and observe
Cool and collected,
Free to opine and analyze to your heart’s content.

But you can’t get it back.
You lost it at the quickening.
You’ve been released and you’re bobbing on a new horizon.

Keep crying
Keep lying
Keep sighing
Keep dying.