Lovers Lament

The river flows dark and cold
memories dance 
down this viscous highway 
sparkling eyes of a young girl
dreaming of her lover
across on the other shore
a lone bell rings
echoing across the valley
reminding her of loss
the river flows deep and muddy
where bones lie quiet
and catfish roam

River

The river flows dark and cold

memories dance

down this viscous highway

sparkling eyes of a young girl

dreaming of her lover

across on the other shore

a lone bell rings

echoing across the valley

reminding her of loss

the river flows deep and muddy

where bones lie quiet

and catfish roam

Lesson learned writing Poetry

The febrile writer

stands within walls

struggles with words

lobbed like boulders

his attempts futile

trying to look the part

without living the part

writing the words

not reading those words

lost in his own fear

of being cast out

exposing hypocrisy

Simple

It’s simple

erase,

the loss,

the pain,

that emptiness,

erase it all,

move on,

smile,

laugh,

hide those scars,

behind sleeves,

those bruises,

cover them,

hide it all,

don’t weep

don’t live grief

exposing

us living with pain,

loss,

emptiness,

scars and bruises,

behind

sleeves

in silent caverns

of memory

Random Thoughts

I haven’t been doing much writing lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking but that’s nothing more than just internalizing all of my thoughts and not giving them space to breath. Today, as I was out cycling, I began thinking, once again internalizing, about what it is that is keeping me from actually writing. I think it’s because I have yet to come to terms with being retired. I just don’t feel retired, I don’t yet have any grasp on the intricacies of retirement. I have been actively engaged, either as a student or a worker, for the better part of my life and now here I sit trying to sort out what this all means. So much has happened in the last few months, leaving Trinity, then selling our home in Melrose, moving to Delaware and finding a new home here in Smyrna, which I still haven’t gotten used to, yet. Now, the season of Advent is almost upon us and I have nothing to prepare for, no services, no annual Christmas fair, no visits to be made, no Christmas pageant to prepare, I just sit here while “Church” happens. To be honest, I miss Trinity, I miss the people, the activities the whole community and yet, I needed to leave, it was time. It doesn’t mean I have to like leaving, but it does mean that I now need to refocus my energies. The good news is that in a couple of weeks I will be taking a retreat up at Holy Cross Monastery in upstate New York. This retreat is actually a poets retreat, a time to get away and in the silence and solitude of the monastery to help me to get some perspective, not only my poetry but all of my writing efforts. Stories are everywhere and I do have stories to tell, I have poetry to write and so much stuff rolling around in my head that if I don’t write it will burst out anyway. One thing I need to do is get back into the GrubStreet mode, write everyday, don’t worry about being perfect, just write. That poem lurking back there among other thoughts that litter my mind, go ahead and write that also, stop worrying, no one is perfect. Take that chance, write that story, set down those internal thoughts on paper or in this case, the iPad, and allow it the space to grow in the light instead of festering in the backwash of the mind. Maybe, if I write down these thoughts, it I take some time to explore them as they take shape on the pages, then I might just discover something about myself that has lain in the dark for so long.