Preoccupied Secrecy

Our bodies were one, and the

darkroom of our existence

grew more narrow;

its cellophane walls

negating only truth;

unanswered affection’s music

possessed us like magnets

till dawn’s illusions

overcame reality;

pernicious palms dripped

with life’s unkindness

while pain’s blunt hand

caressed us with its sinews;

kaleidoscope vision permeated

emotions allowing superficial

disappointments to skirt the

horizons of our absurdities.

January 1976

An Enchanted Stillness

Night’s enchantress come with

me stay; tomorrow finds

all resolutions unfulfilled;

eyes possess a strange

demonic sadness and

sensuous lips bear a

child-like innocence;

matchless beauty enhanced

in satin curls siphoning

my longings for the morning light;

mistress, mine alone,

you, I do adore;

your grasp conveys past

memories of times spent

weeping with lost

reticence for this new

found way of life;

pass the tiny capsule

of your passion that

was long since put

to rest; maybe someday                              

you will wonder of the

stillness given me this night.

November 1975

Dead Ends

Let me hold you love

And dream thoughts

That may never be

Of lines that pass

Too freely into

Nothingness.

February 1976

Forbidden Interlude

Like a mountain tarn

held silently

I embrace you

with my eyes,

never knowing you

from within and daring

you to overflow

your boundaries;

always hoping

how it will be;

inescapable moments of

fleeting passion are

lost in a wilderness

of responsibilities;

overwhelmed by the

mores of your past;

vicariously abandoning

the rocky arms that

envelope and sustain

your private existence;

your murky and ashen current

is the external opiate

that deadens my wings and

unconsciously dissolves me

in your obscurity.

October 1976

Two Together

They stood facing each other

their bodies transfixed,

rigid,

silent,

like the Sphinx staring

at its reflection on the

surface of the Great Pyramid.

Slowly, their arms rose

simultaneously passing

erect

shoulders

and with the force of a

butterfly’s wing, rested in

front between them.

Their hands connected with

chalk fingers interlacing                                                

one,

together,

while their bodies playfully

move in Minuet fashion;

poised heads swayed in the air;

their feet sailed around the

perimeters of the ice.

December 1975

A Tribute on Leaving

He was short of stature

but never short of

ability or

compassion or

sincerity or

faith;  He

had many dreams

and it was fitting that

one finally came true.

February 1977

Little Miss No-name

And as her self-centered parents

Ignored her precious needs,

The child withdrew to the corner

Of her room and cowered there

With her favorite doll who she

Addressed as Little Miss No-name.



March 1977

The Hurricane Years

He was neither too old nor too young

but was troubled over the worth of his youth,

a worth not yet recognized;

a tormenting, agonizing regret that left him incomplete.

He was a bold and brave man

never fearing what he did not understand and

always quick to compete for honor;

He was educated through painful experiences,

profiting from his mistakes,

while never admitting the strength of his importance;

yet, always reaching and

easily receiving that for which he sought until

one day he wondered and finally questioned

the values he had established for the first time.



March 1977

Disjointed Metaphors

Wine soaked clothes in summer’s darkness,

Wind’s jogging smell of fresh cut grass,

Competing when lonely against sleeping authority,

Long-haired eyesight and stranger’s loud music,

An inability to subordinate time’s expression of disbelief,

Openness doing nothing in emotion’s desert,

Artfully walking down love’s empty streets, and

Driving nowhere into drunken sunsets of weeping willows

Are the out-of-place remnants of my life.



April 1976

I Can Remember

I can remember a time when

innocence was a casual rebellion

against authority and switch blades,

lemon cokes, and flat tops with fenders

were as cool as madras shirts,

paper routes and Sunday school;



I can remember my first

experience at love and how

my anticipation alone would

have been enough to want more;



I can remember a quiet time

when a walk in the woods

brought on visions of surviving

among the wilds of nature, of

tree houses, and swinging vines,

and morning escapades replenished

with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

or roasted hotdogs on an open fire;



I can remember a secret place

for cigarettes and dirty books

where items wrapped in plastic

were protected against the moisture,

and I, like Sherlock Holmes, would

go there only after my trail had not been followed;



I can remember snow above my head

and human chains to stop the plows

and May 1 tennis shoes on

fresh cut grass to announce the

close of school and morning chores;



I can remember my first day at gym

athletic supporters and medicine balls in the rain,

changing classes, and home room teachers,

drags in the bathroom, jocks, and upper classmen

and false alarms after the senior prom;



I can remember the walk down the aisle

the costumes of sailors and foreign ports,

hospital waiting rooms and cigars for everyone,

piggy back rides and bedtime stories,

outgrown clothes, pets, and talks on

the phone in closets out-of-sight;



I can remember that looking in

the mirror and wanting to grow up

brought wishes that my hair were white

and I was experienced and knew

all the answers to my questions;



I can remember how smart it was to question

and how foolish with my answers, now I look;



I can remember the good times

have faint recollections of the bad,

but most of all, I’ll remember you

and the relaxed feeling inside;

the harmony and peacefulness and the seldom times

when we could be alone and dream of

those fantasies that somehow always brought

us back to our own memories.

June 4, 1984

Three from 1977

THOUGHTS

Thoughts of time and space

and distances not kept

where space confined

and time was too short;

where a single touch

engulfed our purpose

leaving us complete,

yet without direction

satisfied and longing

for energy we left behind;

where purpose, undefined,

held us in its own

direction and muted

cries fell to the

ground undisturbed,

and the carpets held

more of us than

we did each other,

and the winters

were as harsh and cruel

as the news we heard,

and the music was

the same and the

tired actors agreed

to do one more show

for the public who

knew nothing of the

distances that were

not marked or the times

that were not recorded,

and the unmarked streets

held cars without people

driving aimlessly into nowhere.

1977

No Escape                                                    

An external curse worn

like some protective

cloak, prevents the

albatrose of feelings

from taking us into

a world from which

we see no escape.

1977

Untitled

And, as the casual conversations

drifted like cigarette smoke

from one booth to the next,

isolated and unprotected,

my thoughts mixed and mingled

in an air of uncertainty

with talks of revivals and golf

while I remained outside the

boundaries of memories and

inside the confines of sleep.

1977

The late Czech dramatist was a hero, but his work is neglected

The death of Václav Havel is a loss to the world of a man of great moral integrity. His activities as a dissident, his essays, his bravery and ultimately his political career, have overshadowed his enormous talents as a playwright.



White Scorpion:  This blog was intended to allow me the opportunity to share my writings with those of you who wanted to read them.  There was also an intent for me to talk about artists from all over the world and have pages on this blog devoted to artists of different continents; and perhaps, feature a global artist every month or every week.  However, the death of Václav Havel and his contribution to the "arts" has inspired me to interrupt my daily postings with this news.  It is time to become united as the world of mankind through the "ARTS."

From Out of my Respect

From out of her bowels

you have emerged victorious

proud and strong;






From out of the depths of despair

you have brought us your songs of family

your rhythms of life;



From out of your hearts

you have brought your culture

seasoned with the spices of vivid memories;



From our of your minds

you have brought us advances in medicine

advances in education

advances in the spirit of competition;



From out of your music

you have united a youthful exuberance

and given us cause to celebrate;



From off of your backs

you have given us the strength

to hold this nation together against our enemies;



From out of your sacrifices

You have reached out the hand of forgiveness

Offering us a prayer of hope

That we could all simply be called

Americans…



In celebration and observance of

Martin Luther King Jr. Day

Monday - 17Jan11

On the Death of our Father

Read more...

Shortly after my birth,

my father held me in his arms

to quiet my restlessness,

and recently

I held him in my arms

to quiet his restlessness;

and, as I sat there in silence with him,

he coughed up one final gift;

the thought that we have grown beyond

just a father son relationship,

that we had a mutual respect and

had become the best of friends.



December 1, 2002

 
Author's note:  I wrote this poem on the morning of the funeral.  I was not trying to write a poem about my father's death at all; in fact, I had just planned to sit there at the grave site with my mother while my brother gave the Eulogy.  However, once I awoke that morning, I did so with a strong desire to put some thoughts down on paper, not to read but just for myself and those words above flowed out of me.  I showed what I had written to my wife who made a point of letting everyone know that I wanted to read this poem at the grave site.  It was not a time to argue but a time to say goodbye, so I read my poem.  I misplaced the poem after that and just recently discovered it again and decided to share it here.

Rumbling Tumbling Deep Dark and Thundering

We hide in the corner

at the end of the hallway

centered in the soul of the house

wondering how long it will last;

crouched down

with knees drawn in

tight and secure arms

wrap around holding;

we anticipate the flash of light

shuddering

then trembling when it arrives

too scared to think the worst…

too frightened to be pre-occupied;

helpless and vulnerable

pitiful creatures we are,

wearing our fears

like a cloak of dark velvet

easily shed

once self-imposed wills

release our fears.



June 28, 1984

For the Earth Gives Not it’s Dead Up

Silver grey clouds in slow motion

float across the horizon as

stairways of light force their way in between;

a once spring blue day is

transformed into an overcast omnipotence;

dark-barked sentinels with multi-shaded

green garments form wind gates

as they sway back and forth,

yielding not their ground

nor their dignity;

the sun’s warmth melts our determination,

the rain steadily beats against our wills,

as we, at last, honor a nameless hero

and

all the forgotten battles

and

all the forgotten wars

can now be glorified

in history books

written by the victors;

The silver grey clouds in

Fleeting columns

Float aimlessly…

The spring day returns…

Dark-barked sentinels remained transfixed;

Who will we replace when

it is our time to go?

May 28, 1984

Memorial Day

Gentle Winds

Gentle winds flow freely

through grey and green grass

like some ancient mariner

whose way home is a constant

crisscross of endless patterns;



Gentle winds flow freely

as they move currents of time

from one shore to another and

tiny sea creatures ride gracefully

on the shell homes of others –

petrified remnants unravel life’s

mysteries and scholars record the

history of a world they did not know;



and somehow we rejoice

however briefly

that we are a part of it all…



Gentle winds flow freely

around new travelers with bent backs

keen eyes

heirs apparent to the tiny encased treasures

for which they have spent hours looking;

scavengers,

modern pirates

plundering wrapped gifts

with ritualistic celebrations

of our peaceful survival;



Gentle winds flow freely

through untendered hands

and wistful countenance,

longing for the serene harmonies

gracefully touched

shorelines of our minds,

acknowledging limitation

unmistakably aware that

we are trespassing

on mankind’s mother

yet hoping our dust will sparkle

like crystal and attract

the keen eye of some

future foreign traveler.

May 12, 1984

An Unavoidable Truth

The tired spirit of yesterday’s politicians

lays on the ground like a blanket of leaves

smothering the seedlings of tomorrow’s leaders;



The courage and strength of today’s youth is

kept dormant by the metal encased monuments

we have built for their pleasure;



Future cities of mindless being terrorize

the now captive, possessed beauties

we nurtured to remain unspoiled and pure;



Selfishly, we padded our back pockets

while we carelessly watched our neighbors

struggling to reach their level of incompetence;



Cautiously, we prohibited our system to adjust

to the general consciousness as we mass produced

and mass marketed our livelihoods;



United, we divided ourselves into special

interest groups who clamored like church

bells announcing the end of another week;



Sightless monsters feeding on discontent regurgitated

the rhetoric of the past as we marched on foreign

soils inflicting our less than equal determined wills;



The beauty of life crept into the privacy of

our homes like slithering serpents who’s

shedding skins became a family ritual;



Hopelessly, we anointed and purged

Oourselves of the ambiguous constraints

that defined and imprisoned our salvation;



Finally, a voice heard echoing through the

abandoned ruins of time as sympathetic vibrations

played on the hopes and aspirations of dreams;



The voice of mankind’s destruction was not heard

and fell silently to the ground, forming a new

foundation from which we might possibly build again.



February 1983

Weekend Paradise

Traveling the back roads of northern Carolina

scrub pines give way to open fields;

log cabins, tobacco barns, and

split rail fences guard the

weathered landscape while

bent over crops stand like

tenant farmers who’s bleached

and burnt skins resembles

the worn out soil

that possesses their souls;

past the arid desolation, these

country roads end their journeys

amid a legion of tall pines,

maples and dogwoods that’s faithful

countenance surrounds a

body of water resting quietly in

man-made cavity of forgetfulness;

Tthe lake extends her tributaries

like tiny fingers reaching out,

probing nature’s secret domain;

homes peer out from behind trees

like cat’s eyes curious of new arrivals;

bathers sun alongside turtles, beavers,

and wild ducks who, like other species,

must share their home and solitude;

from dawn to dusk, modern mariners

navigate their dreams through currents of hope

spewing out filth and splendor associated

with a new breed of wealth that

reigns recklessly over their subjects

and a once proud and humble valley.

January 1983

Another Morning

At my feet this morning

lays her darkness and into

is captivating, endless hollowness,

I once again see the signs of dawn

and know the familiar light

will once again appear to us.



Like so many of our ancestors,

we questioned it familiarity,

taking for granted its linear applications

and the ensuing rains that

clouded our perceptive judgments

hampered pursuits of self-evident truths.



Flags of all nations waggle in our faces,

affording us the luxury of time to wipe

away our tears with our own stars and stripes,

protecting the greed that lay before us

like the darkness this morning that

lays at my feet before the dawn.

December 2, 2011

Sentinels

Standing guard,
dunes of sand innocently
permit the currents of the Atlantic to
make their inescapable journey inland;
antennae-like sea oats atop the mounds
gently sway to and fro in a minuet
choreographed mysteriously
by the breeze;

early Easter north winds swirl along the
shoreline like flat rocks skipping across a
country pond’s stilled surface.
Pounding against the shore, emerald waves
darkened by the season wear white crowns

their continual onslaught mesmerizes
their would be captors nearby;
winged soldiers whose respite
at the water’s edge is short lived,
search for nourishment
while tiny creatures helplessly burrow beneath the bubbling sand.
Bleached conchs, shark’s eyes, lion’s paw, and elephant tusks
are strewn recklessly like abandoned villages
forests of driftwood, tar and barnacled encrusted treasures
are fragile remnants seemingly of another world,
untouched and unspoiled by our ancestors who
once spread their seeds along these shores.
Gliding just above the sand’s surface, billowing
domes of foam, pierced and dirtied by sand bullets
scud like clouds away from their watery creatures;
hoards of domes propelled by gusts of wind
hover like invading monsters, leaving
traces of white web like encasements before
gradually dissolving into the sand just before these
sand dune sentinels who once again stand ready,
turning back nature’s wintery probe;
a timeless battle
waged independently, casts
eroding memories on our souls.
1983

Four from 1977

My Fears

Beneath her dark hair,

her eyes,

soft and caring,

naively,

took away my

fears and held me

and briefly

I was hers.

October 3, 1977





Drifting

Artistically housed are the

remnants of a memory

drifting through my mind,

about an encounter

that allowed me to share

a handful of your beauty.

August 20, 1977





An Encounter

Aimlessly you run in the
rain as it beats against your
frame, leaving you cleansed
exhausted and apart from the
nameless stranger who
encountered your innocence.

August 12, 1977



Entanglements











Kind and sensuous lips

Announce their subtle intent

Reminding me of

Entanglements and love

Never to be shared.

July 11, 1977

Affirmation of Life’s Remembrances

In memory of Alice (my father’s sister)

Darling child of youth

now spent in

easy years

and old worn clothes

and ageless memories

of old folk tales,

taken with remedies

and cures,

having never left and

always reappear.



December 20, 1977

To My Namesake

be loyal and honor your parents for you

where brought into this world by their love;

be strong when others display weakness

and gentle when they seem harsh;

be brave and courageous while

treating all people with courtesy and sensitivity;

be calm, thorough, and deliberate

in all your actions;

remember and return the kindness

of others for a true friend is like a brother;

be proud of your heritage and

always respect your body and mind;

hold your head up with dignity,

walk tall among all men,

for you are special and protected

and your reward will be a

life of happiness.



October 1981

Close Friends

Completely we are surrendered

willing partners

of our own knowledge

time and space suspended briefly

while the threads of our emotions wear thin

the fabric that shielded us from reality;

boundaries formed

testing natures calling

her will and her strength

pulled us in opposite directions

as the seeds of

our destruction implanted

themselves in the hollow

of our souls; lost and wondering,

soiled and degraded, we

bandied about

courageous and determined

reeked from our garments

shedding our cocoons when

our final transformation

molded our wings of wax;

superficial sounds stole the

noise from the 6 o’clock train

marking the end of another day;

self-incrimination and our

lost willingness merged us

into an ultimate understanding

which close friends must have,

allowing the fullness of our

complete knowledge to protect

and listen to the

patterns of our growth.



October 7, 1982

Secrets

Joined together by a common bond of uncertainty, we

Unravel the delicate silks of mistrust that has

Determined our fate and kept us apart as lover, whose

Yearning for each other is something we are afraid to possess;

Behind the shelter of darkness, we hide the passion

Raging like a caged animal inside, attempting to protect,

Always, those feelings there were so carelessly stolen from us;

Nowhere, can we share that secret longing to

Care for the desire that developed between us that first evening

We held our bodies close and surrendered to

Our perceived forgotten sensitivities.

August 1980

Giving Incompleteness

We stole the sun’s darkness and gave ourselves light;

We were fading shades of hope in yesterday’s realities;

We gave each other truth spawned from incompleteness;

Reckless abandon cradled and nursed our compassions;

We were joined briefly in a torrent of despair;

Our pleasures were lost in swirls of rites and rituals;

We climbed Sisyphus’ mountain and found fleeting remnants;

Graying, we locked ourselves in waves of time;

Our bodies merged and we became complete again,

a hollow completeness like a car with seats…

or a city without people…

or a clown without a face…

Secretly, we drew ourselves

abstract colors of red, blue, and yellow;

The painting existed and the basis for our existence examined;

Incomplete, were the cries we heard,

chilling the fabrics thinly draped around us;

Lost and found again, we dreamed and reached out…

Grasping for the light from the sun’s darkness again.

August 1981

Two-Thirty, AM

Silence huddles around me like an

old blanket babies cling to for security, and

outside my window darkness prevents me

rom escaping into visual distractions;

the bed springs sign a lonely moan as I

turn to gaze at the emptiness beside me.

The shapes and images rust in my memory

Like an old tin can cast out along the roadside,

forming patterns that I must hopelessly follow.

The image never alters as the voice

cries out, but is never heard, and all hope is

lost while the second hand forebodingly revolves.

Off in the distance, a bird in solitaire

Longs for his mate and hollow shadows

Of yesterday’s dreams are left without purpose,

And meaning is a forgotten promise that

Crickets sing when the night is still and

Those who toil by day sleep not alone.

July 1981

Why We Are Close

Joined together by mutual understanding

we are quick to judge not those who

Reach out for our caring and friendship;

Simple respect for each other’s loyalty

transforms our world from despair

to hope where we give beyond

what is asked, receiving the

unexpected as celebrations of life

form a bond into which we

escape and share each other’s trust.

September 31, 1983

Beyond our Grasp

In the Mecca of time

and the distances we keep;

where space is confined

and time is fleeting;

Where a single touch

holds our purpose

leaving us complete;

yet, without discretion

longing for the wasted

energy left behind;

Where purpose, undefined

holds us in it own dimension

and muted cries fall

to the ground undisturbed,

and the carpets hold

more of us than we do

of each other, and the

winters, cruel and as harsh

as the news we hear,

force us as tired actors

to do one more show

for the restless public

who knows nothing

of those unmarked

distances and

unrecorded times;

yet, listens to the

same music only

played differently;

faceless people drive

empty and aimlessly

on unmarked streets and

highways, searching

for the same

purpose as we;

discarded, as do all

who abandon the

fragile existence they

maintain with the

reality of their dreams;

an external curse

worn like some protective

cloak preventing their

Albatross of feelings

from taking them

into a world from which

they see no escape.

September 1983

Life’s Endearments – part 2

Spring arrived, the sun shone brightly

Eendless streets I saw were bare;

and, so the ones I called to join me

had no shelter from the heat;

standing tall, my crop I planted

grow mature and likewise be;

life’s endearment held to me fiercely,

ripping the topsoil from my soul,

peer pressure still came not often.

by fall, my endless streets were softened

a flower positioned itself and grew;

contagious were reclaimed emotions when

next I knew mistrust had vanished too;

one day, I woke from soundless sleep

and brushed against my cheek, a flower felt;

startled, I turned – flowers engulfed me

excitement ripped through my mind as well;

to touch . . .

to smell . . .

to see them all . . .

my body tingled as still asleep I thought . . .

the colors . . .

the shapes . . .

the sizes . . .

all, as far as I could see; and yet,

I wondered, what is left to be?

amid my garden, a form emerged approaching

and with outstretched arms beckoned;

our two forms met,

merged into one harmony

sacred spurred-on by the fragrances

and then I heard, “I love you.”

February 1983

Life's Endearments

Lost and wondering, I roamed the

endless streets of my imagination;

futile experiences translated my thoughts

while softened emotions lay dormant;

frightened, I fled internally accepting

not those tears I shed alone;

sideways, like a crab I built my courage

until life’s misfortunes could shelter me;

hidden from reality, I dealt with no one,

growing separate, one dimensioned matured;

when my wisdom needed resolution only

my thoughts were there to use;

prosper my child, with age and experience

hollow words, I often heard;

peer group pressure came not often for

I was the lead they tried to follow;

silent enemies within me tortured

my thoughts…

my being…

my soul to share…

standing tall I held on strongly,

“shake the demons from within, “ I cried!

This stain glass life which I protected had

harnessed my fear of life’s endearment.

February 1983