Poetry

The poetry that follows is selected from a book that I self-published in 2003, pictured above with my cat, Sophie. The book is titled "I Told You a Secret: A Journal of Poetry, Commentary, and Visual Art," and is available for sale; send Kevin mail for details or to ask me any questions you might have about my writings. I hope you enjoy the poetry!

A leaf, a letter, A book. Pages read idle On new grass green. A petal, a blossom, A brook. Children splash Clear water over stones. A paper, a pen, An album. Careless words Grow like sunflowers. A boy, a dog, A fence. Two slipping through A gap not mended. A spring, a summer, A calling; A young man Comes not home.	Plant a seed; Water it, Watch it germinate. Feed the seedling; Encourage it. Treat it respectfully And see it respond To nurture. Sow a seed In a young mind And you will be blessed, By and by, With bouquets of flowers And baskets of fruit.
Carolina in my shoes, Sand from Grandma's drive, Up woods and past Daylilies bright, Always daylilies. They don't last a day So they last forever. Carolina shoes, Earth and water.	Carolina dreams; Fireflies in the night, Being young in spirit, Spending my youth with you; You Yankee you. Spending my youth with you, You in the shock I got From pissing on the electric fence. Spending my youth with you; You in my blue uncles' room, Trying on his old clothes. You in the house, You under the apple trees, You on the pasture. Carolina dreams; Being young in spirit And spending My spirit youth with you In my Carolina dreams.
Dark dreams, Hidden nightmares; Unspeakable crimes perpetrated. Can they hear my thoughts? Best not to think For fear of being overheard. Thinking in sleep; Who then hears my cry? How do I know When I'm awake Or when I'm asleep? Realities bent, Twisted and turned. Truth is relative And truth is transient, Neither awake Nor asleep.	My mind Is a runaway train In the black night. My mind Longs to be consoled. My mind Makes me hurt deeply. My mind Is afraid of goblins and Nazis, And creates them In multitudes To terrify me. My mind Doesn't know who I am, Or doesn't care who I am, Or would make me Something other Than who or what I am. My mind Lives a life not mine Among the rich and famous And dry martinis, Or the poor and destitute And Mickey's malt liquor. My mind. My mind. My mind. Why have you forsaken me?
The sky opened before me, A blood-red sun setting Into the dust of the desert; Mountains behind me, Turning deep purple With giant boulders, Smoldering still, Unrequited in their last Glowing embers of sunlight. I thought to cry out To the approaching night, But Venus low on the horizon Was relentless in purity Of light and of soul. So quietly I watched The death of another day Not knowing ever If there is to be yet another.	Smile for me, Little one; Be off on fairy's wings; Let the earth Beneath you Glide away. Smile for me, Little one, Once more, Before A little one You are no more.
Street night; Pavement wet with rain, Lights of the evening Glinting off the sidewalk, Air laden with the promise Of more rain. Street night; The 7-11 is ripped off, Beer stolen out the door; Do a few more lines Then have sex raunchy. Street night; The boys sell what they can For what they can; Insatiable dirty old men Clutter their lives. Street night; A siren whines In the distance As a jet plane overhead Was a witness To the street night.	A bad day I was having as a child, When a young woman, A stranger to me, Gave me an impromptu smile. For the first time in my life I felt empathy. A smile almost shy, Almost undetectable, Let me know I was not alone. Never forget One small gesture of yours, One word you speak, May influence forever Another's life.
Life is not a movie; Heroines are not saved At the last moment; A full orchestra Does not strike up Out of nowhere. Protagonists can't sing Or dance, But seemingly, They've read Chekov. The stage, though, Is not a cherry orchard, And life is not a movie. Men alone cannot prevent war, And war is not a movie; Life is not a movie; Life is a hard-fought war.	Sing a song for me, love, That I might forget Pains of everyday life. Sing a song for me, That in your melody, My melancholy might abate. Sing a song for me, love, That my heart and soul Might rejoice. Sing a song for me, That I might love you All the more.
Earth. A blue marble in space. Earth. I have tilled your soil. Earth. You have brought Flowers into my life. Earth. I am of you. Earth. I feel your pain.	I sold my piano To be with him. I sold my piano, My solace and joy. When they carted it off I didn't cry Because I was to be Together with him. With the sold piano money I went to Seattle To forge a new life With him. But the day I arrived He didn't want to see me. The sold piano Went to live With an old lady Who cared nothing About music, But needed the piano To complete her decor. Meantime I went to Seattle To be with him, On sold piano money; No longer could I play Bach in the night, But he, the one In Seattle, Sure could play me.
My mind is assailed With thought never-ending; Streams of consciousness Not my own. I saw a vase Full of flowers; My mind split colors And lines And form; I am constantly dissecting Everything that confronts me, Sometimes reassembling pieces Into new creations Before unseen; The vase became A cremation urn; My mind is assaulted By thought, Thought manufactured By my brain unauthorized; Never-ending streams Of illegitimate consciousness That tear me apart.	Hades descends, My mind full of Scarlatti And Proust, The din over which Most of you Speak indifferently And loudly, Expecting me to hear you Over voices of Virginia Woolf, George Sand and Chopin, To affirm my allegiance To gods not my own; To experiences I cannot have; To a sort of life Unknown to me, My mind full of Satie And Carlos Fuentes, The din of which None of you Can ever hear, You expecting of me, Hades descending, A life similar To your lives.
As a boy, Drinking lemonade In tall waving grass, Laying drowsily On the ground, I was content. As a youth, No longer a boy, Yet not quite a man, Drinking beer, Laying on the floor Of some guy's apartment, I was no longer Quite so content.	I don't feel particularly inspired tonight To write things to you, love, But know that I love you As I love wisteria in bloom in Carolina.