Poetry Friday (Slight Return) - No Exit

No ExitHere at the center of the universethere is no movement; in the higher spheres,however, all things turn from bad to worse,and he is impotent who interferes.But you and I are here, perfect, in stasis:the Unmoved Movers, the Pleroma, who'veeternities in which no moment passes.(Asleep, you stir. Awake, I cannot move.)I cannot make you come, I cannot makeyou come to bed again with me. In pain

Poetry Friday (Slight Return) - No Exit

No ExitHere at the center of the universethere is no movement; in the higher spheres,however, all things turn from bad to worse,and he is impotent who interferes.But you and I are here, perfect, in stasis:the Unmoved Movers, the Pleroma, who'veeternities in which no moment passes.(Asleep, you stir. Awake, I cannot move.)I cannot make you come, I cannot makeyou come to bed again with me. In pain

Poetry Friday -- Respectability

Respectability

My hair cut short, a tie around my neck,
a jacket on, I wander to and fro.
All this procures a somewhat larger check,
but how much farther will I choose to go?
A little at a time I disappear,
but whether from the edge or within
I couldn't say. Am I becoming clear
or is that rather that I'm wearing thin?
I may say: I am really not like this,
it's just a role I play, a mask I wear.
But then I poke beneath the artifice,
a little fearfully: Am I still there?
So far it doesn't hurt when I negate
myself. But how long till I dissipate?

---
Inspired by my year as a food service supervisor, so it must be 1979.

Poetry Friday -- Respectability

RespectabilityMy hair cut short, a tie around my neck,a jacket on, I wander to and fro.All this procures a somewhat larger check,but how much farther will I choose to go?A little at a time I disappear,but whether from the edge or withinI couldn't say. Am I becoming clearor is that rather that I'm wearing thin?I may say: I am really not like this,it's just a role I play, a mask I wear.But then I

Poetry Friday -- Respectability

RespectabilityMy hair cut short, a tie around my neck,a jacket on, I wander to and fro.All this procures a somewhat larger check,but how much farther will I choose to go?A little at a time I disappear,but whether from the edge or withinI couldn't say. Am I becoming clearor is that rather that I'm wearing thin?I may say: I am really not like this,it's just a role I play, a mask I wear.But then I

Poetry Friday - The Greater Yield

The Greater Yield

The male disease, the power strategem,
the way of sacrifice, the love that kills.
If something has to give, it won't be them,
men hope, as they engage their phallic wills.
Some say they'd rather be a soldier than
a cripple -- there's a difference?  They believe,
as Wilde did, in appearance, but the man
they praise must wear his balls upon his sleeve.
Be hard, my dear: until you break.  Be brittle,
so when your facade has fallen, then
the tenderness you struggle to belittle
and repress can be exposed again.
Your armor isolates as well as shields.
Some you'll realize the greater yields.

----
(Late 70s or 1980.)

Poetry Friday - The Greater Yield

The Greater YieldThe male disease, the power strategem,the way of sacrifice, the love that kills.If something has to give, it won't be them,men hope, as they engage their phallic wills.Some say they'd rather be a soldier thana cripple -- there's a difference?  They believe,as Wilde did, in appearance, but the manthey praise must wear his balls upon his sleeve.Be hard, my dear: until you break. 

Poetry Friday - The Greater Yield

The Greater YieldThe male disease, the power strategem,the way of sacrifice, the love that kills.If something has to give, it won't be them,men hope, as they engage their phallic wills.Some say they'd rather be a soldier thana cripple -- there's a difference?  They believe,as Wilde did, in appearance, but the manthey praise must wear his balls upon his sleeve.Be hard, my dear: until you break. 

Poetry Friday - Performance Anxiety

performance anxiety

How could you call me gloomy, funny boy?
How little, then, you knew me; but I knew
how little you would let yourself enjoy.
I gladly would have been a clown for you,
I gladly would have taken off my mask --
for just as clowns are often sullen men,
we moody ones you hardly need to ask,
we long so eagerly to entertain.
And you, behind your smooth reflective face,
did you wish you could somersault and dance?
I could have shown you how. You had a place
in my act, but you wouldn't take the chance.
Instead I end in tears upon my knees,
before the audience I cannot please.

-------
Again, late 70s or early 80s. Image credit.

Poetry Friday - Performance Anxiety

performance anxietyHow could you call me gloomy, funny boy?How little, then, you knew me; but I knewhow little you would let yourself enjoy.I gladly would have been a clown for you,I gladly would have taken off my mask --for just as clowns are often sullen men,we moody ones you hardly need to ask,we long so eagerly to entertain.And you, behind your smooth reflective face,did you wish you could

Poetry Friday - Performance Anxiety

performance anxietyHow could you call me gloomy, funny boy?How little, then, you knew me; but I knewhow little you would let yourself enjoy.I gladly would have been a clown for you,I gladly would have taken off my mask --for just as clowns are often sullen men,we moody ones you hardly need to ask,we long so eagerly to entertain.And you, behind your smooth reflective face,did you wish you could

Poetry Friday - gripes

gripes; or, by their fruits shall ye know them

Because you dangle just beyond my reach
I try the harder to deserve you, darling.
There'd be no need to promise or beseech
like this were I an ant or fly or starling.
How tantalizing is your distance! Grind
my teeth and tear my hair out though I may,
I know if you fell in my lap I'd find
I didn't really want you anyway.
But then you're just the same: if I decide
to let you hang, you're always first to crack.
I don't know why. Perhaps it hurts your pride?
But when I turn away, you call me back.
And like a fool, I jump, for hour on hour;
but one day it'll be me who turns sour.

-----
Sometime around 1980.

Poetry Friday - gripes

gripes; or, by their fruits shall ye know themBecause you dangle just beyond my reachI try the harder to deserve you, darling.There'd be no need to promise or beseechlike this were I an ant or fly or starling.How tantalizing is your distance! Grindmy teeth and tear my hair out though I may,I know if you fell in my lap I'd findI didn't really want you anyway.But then you're just the same: if I

Poetry Friday - gripes

gripes; or, by their fruits shall ye know themBecause you dangle just beyond my reachI try the harder to deserve you, darling.There'd be no need to promise or beseechlike this were I an ant or fly or starling.How tantalizing is your distance! Grindmy teeth and tear my hair out though I may,I know if you fell in my lap I'd findI didn't really want you anyway.But then you're just the same: if I

Poetry Friday - I ran two miles last night

I ran two miles last night, my first in months.
Too long I've let myself get flabby, knowing
I can build my speed back up at once.
But you, old tortoise, you kept right on going.

I might have been Achilles, trapped in space,
defeated by a piddling abstraction,
but that's another tale, another race.
This one I lose by much more than a fraction.

Come out, I know you're in there: I'm ahead,
you hear me? Miles and miles ahead of you.
Unclose your shell, put out your legs and head.
It's time you showed the world what you can do.

You, slow and steady, cross your finish line,
while I'm caught napping, years away from mine.

--------------
Sometime around 1980.

Poetry Friday - I ran two miles last night

I ran two miles last night, my first in months.Too long I've let myself get flabby, knowingI can build my speed back up at once.But you, old tortoise, you kept right on going.I might have been Achilles, trapped in space,defeated by a piddling abstraction,but that's another tale, another race.This one I lose by much more than a fraction.Come out, I know you're in there: I'm ahead,you hear me?

Poetry Friday - I ran two miles last night

I ran two miles last night, my first in months.Too long I've let myself get flabby, knowingI can build my speed back up at once.But you, old tortoise, you kept right on going.I might have been Achilles, trapped in space,defeated by a piddling abstraction,but that's another tale, another race.This one I lose by much more than a fraction.Come out, I know you're in there: I'm ahead,you hear me?

Poetry Friday - Be still. The thing that I have made is silent ...

Be still. The thing that I have made is silent
and unmoving on the slab. Now cold
and unimpressive, it will by the violent
play of forces fearful to behold
shortly be animate, and beautiful.
They called me mad, and my experiments
obscene -- the fools! Is it so terrible
to seek perfection? With the instruments
of life, see now, I'll stimulate the heart
and soon, if all proceeds without a hitch,
my mother couldn't tell the two apart,
the thing and me. Now, throw the master switch:
only a moment more and you should see --
Oh, shit. It didn't work again. Why me?

--
Sometime around 1980.

Poetry Friday - Be still. The thing that I have made is silent ...

Be still. The thing that I have made is silentand unmoving on the slab. Now coldand unimpressive, it will by the violentplay of forces fearful to beholdshortly be animate, and beautiful.They called me mad, and my experimentsobscene -- the fools! Is it so terribleto seek perfection? With the instrumentsof life, see now, I'll stimulate the heartand soon, if all proceeds without a hitch,my mother

Poetry Friday - Be still. The thing that I have made is silent ...

Be still. The thing that I have made is silentand unmoving on the slab. Now coldand unimpressive, it will by the violentplay of forces fearful to beholdshortly be animate, and beautiful.They called me mad, and my experimentsobscene -- the fools! Is it so terribleto seek perfection? With the instrumentsof life, see now, I'll stimulate the heartand soon, if all proceeds without a hitch,my mother