Late Weekend Nights at the Hotel

The prostitutes all come, but do not rhyme --
They go upstairs for a short time and climb
Into the warmth with bare legs, wooly boots,
A standard mini skirt, and silver roots.
Such models of efficiency I see
Them each return and leave so rapidly
You'd think they're paid by piecework rather than
The hour (no doubt they are, paid man by man).
They never speak -- they have a job to do --
Indeed, they do, the faster ones. And through
The night their sisters come and disappear --
But they are paid with whiskey shots and beer.

Tragic Hope

Does lack of destiny kill tragedy?
The Age of Great Napoleon brought forth
No tragedies. And Stalin's Russia, too,
Produced no Aeschylus of their far north.

But they believed in Destiny! They ruled
Two countries who believed in Destiny.
Instead of Shakespeare, all we saw was death --
Blood flowed with every promise we'd be free.

Perhaps it isn't destiny, but hope --
No Golden Age behind us, future bright
Instead -- the promise of emergence with
The dangers still in sight -- but we will fight.

This is the promise and the threat of hubris --
The tragic hero must be born in hope --
And he must struggle to break free and stretch
Us to new worlds while tethered to a rope.

This isn't Destiny. This isn't death
That just destroys, inhuman, in its good
Intentions. No. It's growing tall so lightning
Rounds off our top -- a massive, tall redwood.

I pray then that we're ripe for tragic art,
That we are pregnant now with future, not
A Destiny that destroys man and cuts
Him off from his humanity, to rot.

Relief, A Poem

Is that a crocus peeking through the snow?
The winter melts away around the bloom
Of tender promise in light indigo.
I'm thankful for the disappearing gloom.

Mating Ritual

The sun shined sliver from its gold-orange
Sphere, breaking through the trees as to avenge

The makers of Stonehenge, tied to the sun
And sun-made oaks, in cloaks that hands had spun,

Ensuring purity with their pure hands,
Hands pure from human blood as the demands

Of deity are met, to find the one
That does not rhyme a match -- or is there none? --

A match that doesn't match and therefore makes
A more engaging mate, until it takes

Its final line of light below the lip
Of land and light releases its last grip.

Ae Freislighe for My Love

My love for you ever grows –
A flower beautiful
In the garden never knows
How it is so plentiful.

My life is a paradise
Since I fell in love with you –
I will always bear a price
Unless I make our myth true.

I’m on a tall garden post,
A coiling snake, my dry glove
Slaking off – please pardon most
Metaphors for my love.

On How to Be a Man: A Poem

Son, stand and be a man, responsible
And virtuous and kind. You will not find
A man of worth who’s listless, cold, and cruel,
Who lives a life reptilian, not of mind.

Don’t live an anesthetic life; embrace
The senses, beauty of the world and life
And art; reject the bodiless and soulless,
The hatred of the world in strifeless strife.

A man of action is a man of words;
A man of words will always listen well;
The poetry of thought will see its source
To train you so that you can always tell

The wisest way to walk, traverse the waves,
And fly on falcon wings when you are sure
Your feathers formed, both soft and firm, for both
Are needed if life you will endure.

A man of wisdom is a man of worlds –
The worlds of simplest physics, chemistry –
The complex worlds of life, emergent systems –
All; cultures, art, and true economy.

A healthy man is one of healthy loves
And life; a life of beauty unifies
Diversity, transforms each soul it meets
To light, gives feathered wings so each one flies.

The opposite of manliness is not
The feminine. The feminine is truly
The complement of manliness. The boy,
So irresponsible, unkempt, unruly,

Is the true opposite of manliness.
Embrace the fullness of both sides of life,
The feminine and masculine, and you
Will have the truest virtue, not one rife

With hardness when you really need to show
You flow and bend and, flowing, show your strength,
Nor softness when you must stand firm and show
That you won’t always bend to any length.

Yes, son, to be a man you have to stand
For right and virtue, knowing when to bend
With strength and knowing when to love. Be true
And good, a soul of beauty to the end.

Couplet

The cattle stand upon the hill at night
And moo the moon to milky white delight.

Quatrain 4

Two Scotsmen and a saint provide the light
And tension needed for the growth of man --
Behold their paradoxical delight,
The source of growth from when it all began.

Quatrain 3

The island nation lights the lamp of liberty
As it goes out in the devalued, dying west
As they embrace lies' leaders and frivolity,
The promise they can all suck from the common breast.

Quatrain 2

The fire shall sweep the countryside to ash
And singe the eagle's feathers, threaten her
Young eaglets in the nest. The nest will crash
Into the flames and crush the moral cur.

Quatrain 1

The fiat virus grows relentlessly
To sicken, poison almost all the herd
Until the herd itself is blamed -- the three
Shall kill the herd, supporting the absurd.

On Tony Hoagland’s Poems

Shall I compare them to good poetry?
The lines are most atrocious, bordering
On adolescent ravings. Gallantry
Is pissed upon by a limp phallic spring.
They bravely condemn racism in the
United States in all their college lines
Ink-jetted in the racist century
Obama was elected, hate declines.
But surely, despite this, they have a point?
But, no – their mindless Marxism is flat,
Pathetic, most embarrassing. Anoint
Yourselves, you silly lines, with flames grown fat.
Such self-important poetry’s not art –
It's nothing but a psychopathic fart.

Previously Published in Sojourn (out of UT-Dallas)

False Memories

Why have gaslight in an electric age?
Why feel the need to be transported
Back to a time none of us remembers,
So far removed it has turned cliché,
A time rustic and quaint, time
Flattening difference into utopia?
A Parisian café longed for
By a man who never left the States.
Narrow streets, full cafes, buildings
Centuries old. Or,
So he’s heard. A romantic place
Of Hemingways and Fitzgeralds, everything
An off-focus impression.
At night, lamplight, neon
Goes unseen. A myth
To be sure – uncommon, but
Not unseen. Waiters seat
Single customers with others –
Discussions, wine, and bread until
Gas-lit flame replaces day,
Flickering faces orange, the deep
Shadows drawing wisdom out
Of every café face.
A woman, in short shirt –
A navel, orange in the lamplight –
Draws the eye to new shadows unseen
In a clean electric-light place.

Teaser from K(no)w

From my play K(no)w:

An empty stage lit by a pale red light.

Scene 1 – Enter FATHER FISCHER.

FISCHER:

If time is real, then God’s illusion, but
If God is real, then time’s illusion. What
Is an illusion, then? Or am I wrong
In my conclusions? Sing the holy song
Of God, or nature’s song? Why do I feel
That I must choose? Why can’t they both be real?

[Enter CHRONOS as a demon.]

CHRONOS:

You don’t need God. Just look around. You see
The evidence – it’s truth can set you free.
Self-organizing systems now explain
The universe, so you would be insane
To keep believing in a God who made
The universe. His memory should fade.

FISCHER:

I don’t believe that’s true. The universe
Was made by God so He could then disburse
His love to beings who could choose to love
Him back. He then descended as the dove
Of Christ to show that love to everyone.
His love was manifest within His Son.

CHRONOS:

The universe was made for love? You must
Be kidding me. It’s strife, you speck of dust,
That runs the universe, for without strife
You have a universe that’s bare of life.
The same is true of time, my foolish friend –
Without it everything you see would end.
So if you must insist that God’s not real
If time exists, then enter in the wheel
Of time and life and give up your illusions.

FISCHER:

I’m not convinced by visions or delusions.

CHRONOS:

Then you’re cut off from true religion’s sight,
For vision is what lets in every light.

FISCHER:

Now hold on, you’re confusing me. You said
That God’s not real, but then you’ve gone ahead
And said that true religious sight is found
In visions and delusions. I am bound
To reason, that’s the logos – John one, one.

CHRONOS:

Perhaps you need to go and read John Donne.
There you will learn that logos is far more
Complex – that God’s an information store
Beyond Cartesian reason. You will find
A truer understanding of God’s mind
If you break all your binary exclusions
And come to dialectical conclusions.

FISCHER:

So you admit that God is real! I have
You now. Besides, with God, I have a salve
For all your stings, you scorpion. Your tail
Can lash out all it wants, but it will fail
To strike me. Do your best. I stand here, shod
With armor that was given me by God.

CHRONOS:

Don’t shut your mind to truth, my friend. You must
Be open to the truth. God doesn’t trust
The kind of man who shuts his eyes to how
He made the world. Believe in lies, you bow
To Satan, even if you think you stand
For God. Keep eyes on Him, but feet on land.

Fishcer:

I do not understand why you would tell
These things to me. Aren’t you from Satan’s Hell?

CHRONOS:

You do not think that I’d betray my kin
If I could get in Heaven once again?

FISCHER:

Is that what this is all about? You think
By helping me that God will let you drink
Out of the pool of goodness that is Him?

CHRONOS:

My friend, I used to be a cherubim –
A joyful time once with my God. I fell,
Revolting, but I no longer rebel.
I want to be a part of God again.
Do you think God would ever let me in?

FISCHER:

Our God forgives. If you’re sincere, I’m sure
That God will show his love to you. Be pure
In your intention, be a solid rod
Of good, and you will stand again with God.

CHRONOS:

In truth, I am a pair of serpents on [Lights change to gold.]
A rod, a caduceus, bringing dawn
And knowledge to the world. I’m living Time,
The universe’s rhythms and its rhyme.
And God’s the one who sent me down to you
To test you to make sure that you are true
To what is true, to understand the mess
You’ve made in thought – for God’s all timefulness.
There is no conflict between God and me,
For time is what make you and God both free.
So embrace time and do not ever fear it,
For I am part of God, the Holy Spirit.

[FATHER FISCHER falls to the ground and bows to him. Lights go down. Exit FISCHER and CHRONOS/HOLY SPIRIT.]

A Lifetime

The sunlight softly shined in through
The breakfast window pane. The sliced
Half grapefruit glistened in the light.
And he began to drink the iced
But barely cold tomato juice.
And he began to tell his wife
The story once again, the same
Of many stories of his life
That she had heard over the years
But ten or twenty, fifty times
Or more, and yet she never tired
Of hearing what he said, like rhymes
That we have heard and want to hear
Again, the voice delivering
It being his. The stories told
Repeatedly, cold shivering
Whenever he began to tell
Of when he fell into the lake,
And when she told that funny tale,
He’d still begin to laugh and shake
Between them, all the stories known,
And still they tell them once again –
And sometimes slip into a high
And playful child voice. The sin
Would be to interrupt the tale
Once told, these stories told in dull
Late morning sunlight, its soft glare
Reflected off the cereal
In milk. The lives lived once again,
Again in each of their love’s ears
Without a fear of boredom through
The days or months or even years.
And so she told her story too,
A story she forgot she told,
A story that he knew she had
Told ten or fifty times, so old
That he had memorized the tales
She told before on other days,
And over morning milk, or nights
As they would fall into the daze
Of sleep, both happy just to hear
The voices they’d remember, fill
In all the coming years when they
Both knew and feared the air’d be still.

Elemental Rebirth

Here is a sonnet I wrote. Scroll down a bit on the page to see it.

The Cain Apocalypse

A teaser from my new play "The Cain Apocalypse":

ACT I

Grasslands. Very primitive living quarters on the left edge of the stage.

Scene 1 – Enter Adam hoeing the ground with a very primitive stone hoe. He hoes for a while, stops, wipes the sweat from his forehead, and begins hoeing again. He hoes a while before he stops, his hoe stuck on something in the ground. He pulls, pulls the hoe out, then raises the hoe over his head and drives the end deep in the ground. He pulls, and a stone pops out.

Adam:

I work this ground and all I grow is rocks
And weeds. I have to say, at least my flocks
Of goats do well enough. The well is dry.
I have to dig it deeper. I should try
To get these rocks up. God, your sun is hot.
Why keep this up? You think that I forgot
The reason Paradise was left behind?
Is punishment deserved to have a mind?
My Lord, my God, you rarely speak to me
Since Eve and I ate from the blesséd Tree
Of Knowledge of what’s Good and Evil. Now
I know that disobedience will grow
The fruits of wrath. But how could I have known
That eating of the fruit was wrong – no loan
Of knowledge given ‘til it was too late?
We had no choice – it was our given fate
To eat since we could hardly know about
Its wrongness ‘til we ate the fruit. I doubt
We would have eaten had we known what we
Could not have known without that blesséd Tree.

[Adam wipes his brow, bends over, and picks up the rock. He turns it over, looking at it.]

Just like this stone, I come from dust. God’s breath
Made me less petrified. And with my death
I’ll turn to dust, my breath return to God.
I can’t explain this feeling – it is odd,
This feeling of suspension in between
The Earth and Heaven. Ah, the things I’ve seen,
Of Paradise and work, my lovely wife
In innocence and shame. She is my life,
My Eve, the mother of my children, sons
Who help me with my work. A man who runs
From work is not a man of God, is not
A man who’s worthy of the name. A cot
Is not a place to spend your days. Although
I did enjoy nice Eden’s sloth, I grow
Each day I’ve left. My Lord, I am confused –
I seem to swing between resentment, used
To Paradise I was thrown from by you,
And thankfulness for showing me what’s true
And good and just and beautiful as well
As ugly, bad and evil since we Fell.

[Adam throws the rock off stage right.]

Well, be that as it may, I cannot help
But long for innocence again, the whelp
I was when I was there. I was a pup
Who could not know that God had set him up
To fall by Eve, who God had made for me,
By me, to be beside me, make me free.
And where’s my wife, my life, my strife, my love
And my companion, gift from God above?
She isn’t back from gathering what she
Could find for us to eat. Where could she be?

[Adam looks around, shading his eyes with his hand. He shakes his head and wipes his brow. He lifts the hoe and exits stage right to look for Eve.]

Sandy Keenan: A Tragedy

Here's a teaser from "Sandy Keenan: A Tragedy."

Sandy:

A senseless war has killed my son. A war
Of nothing but revenge – against a man
Who never did a thing to me and his
Poor helpless nation, made a victim of
This nation’s President. How many sons
Has President Oakshott sent to the grave
On either side of this damned war? The brave
Must die so cowards holding power look
Like men. No man would send an army out
To fight their battles for them. Caesar did
Not stay in Rome. Great Alexander and
His boyfriend both were on the battlefront.
And Richard was a Lionheart because
He went to fight, himself. How easy it
Is now to sit behind a desk and send
So many others out to die and you
Just have to think about the polls and how
To be more popular. You do not have
To be responsible. Who will hold you
To it? The virtuous must die so that
The President can give a speech about
The virtues of this stupid war. He’ll use
Each soldier’s death to go up in the polls.
Disgusting. My intestines roil at
The thought. My gas pains, heart pains – how the soul
Can make the body ache. The two are one.
My spirit weakens me. I must be strong.
My husband thinks I’m delicate. That’s why
He left me here. But all he did is let
Me burn inside until I bear the stripes
True to a mother’s pain. I will not gaze
Upon this country’s government with blind
And starry eyes. Oh, no. I see the truth.

Teaser from "Vice: A Tragedy"

ACT I

Outside. We see the corners of two houses. There are bushes planted between them. Flowers also decorate the fronts of both houses.

Scene 1 – Enter Sam, Allie, Ben, and Randy. Allie is dressed in such a way as to indicate
she is a member of a very conservative religion. It should look fairly uncomfortable to wear. She will wear something familiar throughout. The men are dressed conservatively.

Sam:

The sign is down. I guess that someone bought
This place. What kind of neighbors will they be?
I hope they’re moral and do as they ought.
To know that we will have to wait and see.

Allie:

Don’t judge them, Sam, before you get to know
Them. We will see if each is a black crow
Or swan-white, full of grace and beautiful.

Sam:

If they all shine with grace or all are dull
From evil living, I will know for sure
When I meet them. I’ll know if they are pure.

Ben:

And if they’re not? What will we do with them
Beside us? It could be a real problem.

Randy:

Can virtue live this close to wicked vice?
I hope they’re good, else we will pay the price.

Allie:

I’m sure that they’ll be fine. They’re moving here,
So they must know that our community
Is very ethical. I doubt they’d leer
At us or try to foster enmity.

Sam:

I hope you’re right or, if you’re not, that they
Are open to conversion. That, I pray.

[Exit all.]

Teaser from K(no)w

Act I, Scene 1 of my new play K(no)w:

Scene 1 – Interior Catholic Church. Enter Father Fischer.

Fischer:

Oh Lord, I pray you give me wisdom, strength
To lead my congregation, show the length
To which we all must go to give up sin.
Submissive Christians, finding freedom in
Our faith, please help us learn benevolence
And mercy-tempered justice, teach us sense
And wisdom in our lives, and bring politeness
Into our lives, the basis of true rightness
Of living in society. And start
With me, dear Lord – I’ll drag the burden-cart
And show through life the way you want us all
To live. You gave us knowledge in the Fall,
The knowledge of what’s good and evil, made
Us truly human, gave us choice and laid
The ground for loving you and your forgiveness,
The gift that was and is your son, who’d live less
Than forty years on Earth and take the pain
Of all our sins on Him. On Him you’ve lain
Out the last sacrifice and all we must
Now do is just believe in you and trust
Your word, be comforted by You, Your Son,
The Holy Ghost, the sacred Three-in-One.
And when we do our lives will be transformed,
Our souls and actions, lives and thoughts reformed
By You, in You, through You, my Lord. I’ve been
A sinner. Forgive me, my Lord. Amen.