Poetry

Poetry

Poetry Collection

I am starting to organize the poems that are on this website.

I normally post my poems simply as blog posts, usually after spending some time editting them.

However, so are posted as fairly raw drafts.

Eventually, I go back, revise some of the poems, and place them into a structure related to other poems. It helps me think about how my poems interrelate. Hopefully, it will be helpful to you as well.

Some poems end up in a section at the bottom of uncategorized poems. These are often poems I haven't gone back to work on or to think about how they relate to other poems.

In particular, poems that I write during periods where I post a poem a day end up in this section.

There are links below to navigate through the different sections, subsections, and the poems within each subsection.

(Categories: )

#CLMOOC - Found PLN

#clmooc - Exploring the Liminal Landscape

I try to wrap my mind
around
a tribe of connected learners
sharing their introductions
and reactions
to other introductions
with words,
pictures,
and maps.

I am a new comer
to the tribe
not yet acclimated
oriented
as I look at the maps
of physical space
and mental space.

In one mind map
the word
“liminal”
jumps out at me.
This is a liminal space for me
at this liminal time in my life.

Connected to the word
is the question,
“How do we make meaning
when we are most confused?”
Is there any other way?

The words Beckett gave to Pozzo
echo in my mind:
“They give birth astride of a grave,
the light gleams an instant,
then it's night once more.”

All life is liminal
taking place
between
birth and death,
and perhaps the best we can do
is map the rhizome
spreading through
the liminal landscape.

Ramadan

“That looks like cancer”,
the bereaved mother
who had lost her son
to neuroblastoma
said to the handyman
carrying his bottle
of some weird
bright blue
power drink.

I thought it looked
more like solvent
or perhaps one of
those nasty chemicals
they pump you full of
during chemo.

“At least I’m safe here”,
she said
as she adjusted her hijab
looking down the street
at the homeless man
selling cigarettes
to the drunks
and addicts
when three young black men
ran by
chasing a stranger
down an alley
as something went wrong.

The sun hung high in the sky
shining on the just and unjust,
the Muslim, the Christian and the agnostic.

It would be three more hours
before she could break
her Ramadan fast.

The Pilgrim

He carefully placed his foot
thoughtfully, deliberately,
in front of the other,
as if
he was walking
on holy ground,
or on a journey
to some profound
destination
diligently pursuing
his passions
into the wilderness.

He sat at the table,
joyfully ill at ease
as if he were
an honored guest
whose welcome came
unexpectedly,
undeservedly.

He lifted
the dark
multi-grained
bread,
lovingly made,
to his thankful lips
remembering
so many other meals;
the day old
factory made bread
once
perfectly similar
to every other slice
before being squished
onto the shelves
of the outlet store.

He remembered
happier times
when he would take
the hard sour dough rolls
and a slice of cheese
or apple
that his mother had provided
with him as he disappeared
into the woods
for a day long
childhood hike.

Quietly
he listened to the clamor
of his brothers and sisters
as he shared a brief smile
with the soup kitchen
volunteer.

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