The Writer's Life: Film & Book Reviews, Observations, and Stories
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Category — Final Poems

Starlings in Flight

Suddenly loosed from the ties that bind me to the world
I float freely in a maze of starlings in flight
Seeing the patterns we weave as we make them
As if on the outside, an observer watching
Stunned by a beauty I cannot comprehend,
And when I can stand it no longer
Being both within and without
Both inside and out
Stricken with vertigo,
Terrified, and blinded by rage,
I pretend it never happened
And watch it disappear
Like a dreamer at the edge of waking.

January 19, 2018   Comments Off on Starlings in Flight

The Empty Glass

Kneeling by the stream
Water rushing through fingers
Soft sand drifting by
Like stretch marks, like preambles mumbled
In a vain attempt to get my head around “The Waste Land,”
Lost before I can remember
Because the fleeting moment does not abide…
It has always been thus,
Never smart enough or quick enough
Not good or bright enough
To fathom what so quickly passes,
Though it is worse now, much worse
Because the glass is almost empty.

July 13, 2017   Comments Off on The Empty Glass


It was a secret war that I had lost,
Casting off winter’s cast
Only to find a dead man.

April 18, 2016   Comments Off on Epitaph

The Invisible Bee

Though I did not see you
Or feel your wings
I am stung
At that place
Where there is no judgment or fear
And for one brief moment
Live again in perfect peace and harmony,
But just as quickly as you came
You went
Leaving me bereft,
Wholly undone again,
Though this time, unlike the last,
I know what you seek
And how to summon you.

July 24, 2012   Comments Off on The Invisible Bee

The Burning Wind

I sweep across the earth as a dark shadow
I remember from my dreams
The bird of pain I know so well,
While squirrels lie panting on the grass
More brown than green
And leaves, loosened by the summer sun,
Cascade in sheets of yellow,
Now driven by a burning wind
I finally understand
Because I no longer have the power to resist it.

July 8, 2012   Comments Off on The Burning Wind

Now while stars are falling…

Now while stars are falling like firelit dewdrops
and the ring of mist like some belted milky way
casts shadows of a mauve too purple
to lightly pass,
I forget which sun’s too animate rays
have exploded pollen’s fragrant grasp,
but I, who wear no clothes but the ones I have on,
who sing no other songs but my own,
though magic is for fainter hearts
and echoes are my recompense,
like some noisy songbird sing singly
just before the breaking wave of dawn strikes
the already bruised heel of night.

June 17, 2012   Comments Off on Now while stars are falling…


Because everything I know about women
I learned from you
Who treated me as a lover
You spurned
Because you had none
A scapegoat for your husband, my father, whom you despised
Who abused you
And made you his slave
Who ranted and raged like a wounded beast
A petulant prince who had lost his mind.
How did I survive this?
Why was this my destiny?
And why am I now the one person
Who protects you and keeps you safe
Even though you cannot stop hurting me?

November 26, 2011   Comments Off on Love.

from unlearning

From unlearning everything we thought we knew
was coalesced a wondrous rectitude with all things
and all beings, and in this space from each of us
we put a plait of tattered strings as a reminder
that our pasts had no futures until we gave them hope,
and though we measure everything by our own standards
and are as different as right from left, we stand together
bound by love which knows no end and has no purpose,
and in deference to our resolve the willer of the world
has lent us time to play our parts, and so
with grace and natural dignity, we cherish
our few moments and are gone.

November 6, 2011   Comments Off on from unlearning

The Last Time

It will end
As a sacriledge
With no one having a clue
What I’m doing or why
Me staring at blue blinds
Shaking uncontrollably
Repairing the breach in my ground of being
That death created
An actor reinventing himself
For the very last time.

October 30, 2011   Comments Off on The Last Time


He dragged one leg,
Our piano tuner,
Because he’d had several strokes
After contacting a disease from a bite
That consumed his heart,
Or so he said,
But he could still tune pianos.
Hearing him work
I found myself in a Zen garden
Listening to syncopated chimes
And the soft cries of insects
Burrowing into hard wood,
And I thought
How absurdly strong
The human spirit.

October 20, 2011   Comments Off on Ed