Once when we went dancing
In a ballroom streaked with light
Your eyes were brown, your feet were prancing,
And the yellow glow banished fright.

Swirling, juggling, swooping, swaying,
Cutting grooves into the darkness,
Drifting with the music playing,
Golden pools against the starkness.

A glass of wine, a midnight toast.
A strident story, a light projection,
A jest, a laugh, asides, a boast,
A night defined by gay convention.

No fear, no problem here, my dears,
No evil shapes against the shades,
No risk of loss, just waltz and cheer,
Just dance before the music fades.

Too soon the drum crashed through its shell,
Too soon the violins sour,
The lights squished out, the candles fell.
Darkness wins back each hour.

Quick-kindle lights,
Quick-ring the bells:
Quick-save the night,
Ward off the hells.

What’s that you say?
You’ve lost your legs?
Your arms are dead,
Your head on fire?
You mean to say, the night has won?
In spite of dancing, wine, desire?

Nights weaves grey walls
From strips of skies
That drip with lies
And bleed all seams,
And nighttime calls
From might have beens
And trips and dies
Like nascent dreams.

You think you win when you play?
Nighttime wins. It kills the day.
And what’s your role? You know, you bitch.
You held the knife. You threw the switch.
There once was hope. Remember when?
You drowned it. It won’t rise again.
So live your life, its patterns set,
If you won’t give, you just don’t get.

And if you think my heart won’t hurt,
Go out and find it in the dirt.
Just remember, we’ll both look fine.
Living cool, behind the line.

What’s really lost?
The total cost?
What never grew:
Two lives askew.

Points of light and colored arrows
Cut the dark with shards of pain,
And glisten hard within the night,
Slicing life against the grain.

If dropping crystal breaks the sphere
And paves the ground with sparks of glass,
Then dripping feet will soak the earth
And stain to red the growing grass.

There is no way to mend the breaks
And paste the bits, rebuild the whole.
I say, “I’m sorry,” but in truth
Apology is not the goal.

And if I break a harder thing
And shatter love in time of need,
It’s useless still to beg for help,
Though both need help; we only bleed.

Not all are perfect, not all kind,
Not all judicious, sober, true.
I give all things that I can give
And simply say: I love/need you.

Sometimes, I don’t say it right,
Sometimes, I just fail.

Sometimes, I can’t sort the light
From out of dark constraints.

That does not mean that I’ve lost sight –
I love you all the same.

Sometimes, I must say it hard,
Sometimes, it’s how I feel.
Sometimes, all my thoughts are marred
By missing what is real.

And yet you know that, late at night,
I still call out your name.

Sometimes, I say it all confused,
Sometimes, it’s all askew.
Sometimes, that makes you quite bemused –
Sometimes, it saddens you.

Even then, with all my might
I love you without blame.

Sometimes, I don’t speak at all.
Sometimes, I seem so cold.
Sometimes, my mind falls in a pall,
And feelings are not told.

That does not mean that I’ve lost sight –
I love you all the same.

[1/8/89]

Once,
There was a moment
Soft as gentle memory
Warm as a glowing fire
Intertwining –
Refining –
Combining.
Slightly tangled in its dawning, but
Arising
As stars burned deep onto the night –
Uncompromising
Emphasizing,
and then
singing
Humming/purring and unfurling,
Releasing flowers and moist perfumes ….

Once,
There was a moment – and
It was you.

None of this is what I imagined. [Ed note: rare confessions]

All of this is unexpected.
Coincidences – incenses –
Somewhat eager ambivalence.
Touching touchings. [ultimate alliteration?]

Playing with the forms
From the worst position:
Bound by chains
Prometheus of America
Living the modern illusion [Ed: poet insists on one classical allusions, however embarrassing]

Forty
Reaching
Needing
Calling it love.

We annotate ourselves
With marginal reference
Explaining ourselves
To ourselves – who else would care?
Just a chance for gossip
Casual aside
And then, forgotten. [self-pity]

And you? The same you see:
The last thing I thought was: you are me. [concluding clever couplet: all done – turn to next poem]

[P.S. Ed. loves you]

8-21-83

How then to answer so indecent a proposal?
To wage war against it with all one’s weapons:
Rally up legions of propriety
And piety.
Bend arrows of honor
And outrage
From behind shields of indecision
And, all else fail,
Call forth proud dignity
For which all hail.

Now vanquished army:
Strike your banner of battle,
Give up the fight,
Kiss him good-night.

This is not a poem that you want.
This is not a poem that you need.
One could view this effort all as taunt.
A random shot that one best ought not heed.

This is not a rhythm that I sought.
This is no catharsis in my plans.
A simple outflow of unbridled thought,
Written by surprised, unwitting hands.

No doubt best that you throw this page away.
It’s either waste or salt upon a sore,
That sincere effort should no doubt defray
Lest burning yet again assail the core.

Well – if you’ve not yet taken my advice
By tossing out this silly little try,
Then listen not to my unspoken voice
To which best efforts ever give the lie:

Against all sense I know I love you still.
Against all sense you know I always will.
The ultimate presumption wends its way:
Without solution, yet I have my say.

Folk Song (Lyrics only –music by reader)

Don’t think I’ll write you poems anymore.
They tell too much, yet make me seem the bore.
(Plaintive) You read, but never heed it –
I guess you just don’t need it.
Don’t think I’ll write you poems any more.

Can’t write a poem that gets into your mind.
You see the words but always come up blind.
(Confused) The words I pick just fail me –
And the hopelessness assails me –
No poems that I write get to your mind.

And I sure can’t write a poem for your heart.
(Angry) It’s an effort that is doomed right from the start.
Your heart shuts up tight to me –
As your words cut wide roads through me –
And my poems never quite unlock your heart.

No poem that I write can gain your time,
You always move away when I try rhyme.
(Resigned) You may smile, and say “how bright!”
But when it comes to spend the night
My rhyme just cannot gain your guarded time.

So tell me why I ought to write you verse?
(Allegro It reaches out, but only makes it worse.
But There’s no way thru your shell.
Wistful) My words just cause me hell.
So tell me why I ought to write you verse?

Happy New Year.

And to all the hurt,
The uncertain pain,
Farewell.

Happy New Year.
Glad to see the old one go.
Not my best,
You know.
You did better, it seems –
Or so you say.

What did we miss?
By how much?
Will it come again?
Or was its essence just that moment,
Real if taken, but
If not, then always gone?

And is it smart to ask
Such things
Just when you’re almost ….?

A few months ago
I wrote an angry poem,
And at year’s end –
Cleaning house – I read it once again.
I’d written it was good –
Not to have to love you anymore.

Threw it out –
Hasn’t been a day I have not thought of you.
Your body,
Or your thought
Or your smile.

So what?
Not much.
Platitudes never bought us much.
Self delusions,
All mine perhaps.

I once thought myself a coward.
Then, in defense, as brave.
Then, assailed.
And now, in this warm December
Wallowing in the muddy sense of martyrs?
Just selfish –
And therefore very cruel.

Don’t have a resolution
I trust myself to keep.
Continued self-confusion
Is all I dare to reap.
Just hoping for the nighttime
To end the day’s hard fear,
They’ll never be a right time
To say “Happy New Year.”

If I am afraid
It is for you.
The knot upon my chest is not for me.
I cope in my way, and tell myself I win, and am content.

But as for you –
I do not know …
Please nest beneath my wings,
I am afraid it soon shall start to rain.