Today
I will not consider that today will fly in time,
a hungry hawk in the sky like a solo violin.
I will not allow the hours to pass indifferently as the sunrise.
Today I will greet the world like a lithograph by Blake.
I will go down an elevator at thirty miles an hour
pushing a button which lights up, imaging I’m Johnathon Swift
in his first time elevator ride.
Today will be the day spent with the poetry of somebody.
It is as good a day as any other to memorize something.
Today will be different, unlike yesterday,
because today I will not think about tomorrow.
I will not burden myself with considering those who are dead.
They are dead and I am alive and there’s nothing else to it.
Today my eyes will smile like the bees of a thousand eyes
and I will not consider once the crime of death which goes unpunished.
Poet With Guitar
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This page will engage others to write and feel the power of poetry, find out about creativity worksh
I facilitate poetry workshops covering a broad spectrum of topics for a diverse audience. I work with children and adults who are new to poetry or seasoned professionals
The Year of COVID
The future is due sooner than later.
Cures are found, the missing strain.
We’ll spend the season in isolation
Waiting under a willow in the rain.
We toss and turn each morning
Knowing the time to be worn,
Every minute another death recorded,
Every minute the wailing of crows.
We who survive will look back
When we are at last free to mourn,
Holding hands in halls of packed
Humanity singing a requiem song.
But we have been to war and wounded.
The whole world is frozen and stained.
We will travel the planet together soon;
I wonder if it will be the same.
11/23/2020
A a
OCTOBER, 2020
At last I’ve learned when to act happy, when to be sad
As the grey of winter makes its first suggestion.
Strangely I am sad for loss, and what has disappeared,
In the state of 'saudade' as Brazilian’s say,
Or Voznesenski in 'nostalgia for the present'.
How I miss hugging and smelling each other.
How I miss so many things.
We are ill-equipped to sleep through the winter.
Wouldn’t that prove a reasonable solution?
Awaken to the yellow happy-face of spring
When the modern world is paradise
Again.
The election has obsessed us; we hope, we hope
And I act happy. But am I my happy-happy?
I know I will act happy when Trumpius goes down
But already does the gut react with rage to these dead years.
Soon we return to the much bigger news
And months of enduring the plague.
Death rates up, NASDAQ down, crime rate up
Homeless town, climate this, climate that…
How I miss hugging and smelling each other.
How I miss so many things, I could scream.
Welcome to my world of poetry and classical guitar.
Welcome to my new FB page! I will be sharing poems, video clips from workshops, inspirational ideas and music.
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