Categories
Poetry

There is a season

Some may mourn the passing of spring,

But I won’t mind at all –

The verdant, full trees an arbor

After their flowers fall.

But after summer wanes,

When fall winds play with weather vanes,

And birds turn south leaving north behind,

I’ll mind.

Categories
Poetry

Bird’s eye

I rest on laurels that crown my head

And a key’s strung round my neck.

Any turf round here is fake or dead

And contentment is feigned at best.

I think that, in this time and place

A bird’s eye view would be embraced

As a welcome look beyond this space

Clouded with smoke and mirrors.

Categories
Poetry

Parallel, perpendicular; Opposite, adjecent

Fascinating, to learn what one intersection creates, when two lines happen to meet –

Opposite angles find themselves ironically congruent, whether reflected or rotated,

And, as I have been taught, adjacents are complimentary – just one degree more, and we’d agree it’d be too much;

At that point, they’d be getting far too obtuse for their own good.

But, if lines align just right,

It all equates, divvied up so fairly – how convenient it must be!

Being perpendicular comes with those perks.

In the meantime, those parallels apparently have nothing in common (besides the plane that they share), no point of concurrence or unique angles formed by them,

No rays radiating from the center –

Only arrows to infinity in the same two directions, never skewed, never bent, no new leanings of any sort –

At least that we can observe.

Categories
Poetry

Still Life

A son who looks nothing like his father

Gets nothing he ought to.

Coldness is all he knows from his keepers,

Yet he adores them.

Retreat, dream,

Take the wide path, and then the narrow –

Come forth as a spring of words and verse;

Craft from a turbulent past

A still life.

Categories
NYC Poetry

By the second, my own self sinks deeper below my feet,

Lodging itself firmly into the asphyxiated earth under layers of asphalt and iron.

Like them, I wish to exist without apology –

I was only put here, after all.

Categories
Stories

Foundling

You must have been lost in these woods for so long –

I am full of joy to have found you.

Take my hand, and I’ll lead you from here – not out, but deeper

Through the brambles and thorns

And thickets of brush

Till we reach the very center of things.

There, we can live, and you’ll grow

Into a tree assured in its roots

And in the patterned grooves in its skin.

You will not fear the worms and maggots

Whose sure conquest you had dreaded so before.

They will not unsteady your balance –

Even the axe will not take away your standing

As a thing that did not shrink in the face of foreboding.

Categories
Favorites Poetry

Pin cushion

Okay, so, my face is full of little pins and needles

That I stick there when I’m not using them.

They don’t bother me, and I just keep sticking

As I sit, hemming endless lengths of fraying fabric.

Suddenly, there comes a wave, a sudden freezing of my face,

Prickling at a million nerve endings, throbbing with defeat.

Enough, enough! There are far too many, though I never thought I’d see the day;

There are too many, and I clutch at the needles that fill my skin.

I rip them out, wailing piteously, spewing convoluted complaints

Concerning everything, save for what ails me.

Categories
Poetry

Out of sight

Tears don’t come easily; they come months later,

When you trip over a couple dozen jars of them

And realize you’ve hid them away for safekeeping.

Out of sight, they’re kept in mind,

A pantry where each thing

Is long past its expiration date.

First fresh and sweet, they’ve fermented

Into something strong and bitter, in dire need of disposal.

Categories
Favorites Poetry

Tongue-tired

I’ve filled myself in the wrong way,

Like a failed crossword puzzle –

Let me start over.

Tell me, why should I care about should?

And why would I care about would?

I honestly don’t, and never did –

Maybe I, perhaps with some prompting,

Have just convinced myself that I do.


Can I retire from language and from sight?

I’d like to just be again.

Categories
Reviews

A Brief Review of Dr. Karl Stern’s “The Flight from Woman”

Last summer, browsing my grandparents’ bookshelf, I discovered The Flight from Woman, written in 1965 by psychiatrist Dr. Karl Stern. I was not previously acquainted with philosophy or psychiatry as subjects, but still finished the book since I became pretty absorbed.

The main theme of the book is Stern observing, in his own time, that our modern culture as a whole has somewhat rejected the “feminine” (i.e. intuition, poetry, nurture, divinity) so to speak, and why we desperately need to account for it alongside the more “masculine” parts of life (i.e. reason, objectivity, efficiency, logic). He then devotes chapters to different thinkers (Kierkegaard, Descartes, Tolstoy, Schopenhauer, etc.) who have shaped how we think today and how they fit into this dichotomy he presents.

I started to write a different review, but it got far too complicated. So, in a nutshell, I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and I think that anyone interested in philosophy, religion, art, or even just thought in general could find this enriching.

Here are some quotes from The Flight from Woman that give a peek into Stern’s exploration of the soul and mind in his book.


Faith has always been the perfect paradox: a synthesis of sublime intellect and perfect madness.

“Let science deal with places, and animals and stars; but to deal in that way with the human spirit is blasphemy.”

Søren Kierkegaard

It is typical of a tendency to establish the activist and rationalist mood of our time as the foundation of the human condition, and to make religious terms, hallowed by age, fit this current philosophy.

Clinical labels do not mean much when it comes to the riddle of a man’s fate, but they serve as practical shorthand.

Love can neither be planned or managed, it can only be sown and nurtured.

The most burning questions concerning every man… resist objectification. There is an inwardness to the process of becoming which resist analysis.