A Poem from Mike

My precious friend, Mike, is given to writing brilliant poems and sharing them with me, usually with the comment that they "are not very good". He's a very smart guy, my pal, but an idiot when it comes to evaluating his own poetry. As you'll see, his work is heartfelt, touching, and, often, a call to action. This past weekend was Pride weekend in Palm Springs, and Mike and his darling Carol are co-chairs of PFLAG in the area, so we march in the parade every year. This year was especially wonderful, because the high school kids from the Gay Straight Alliance joined us, and they are so energetic, effervescent, and hopeful about the future, tand their joy is quite contagious. Anyhow, Mike was telling me about how the two of us are at the age when we are rightfully concentrating on completing our final years with style, compassion and grace. Somehow that moved him to consider the day at hand and he wrote the following:

I hear often the sad opinion
That God no longer talks to us
God is not in his dominion
And one must be autonomous

This is not true for me
God is often guiding my
Life and I often see
Clearly my destiny.

The inner voice has never been
Ambiguous but clear and direct
The way is obvious and open
I never hesitate or introspect.

Defy ignorance and literalism
Abhor bigotry and lazy learning
Celebrate the joy of life’s prism
And good always gaining.

God is always with me.
Directing my feelings and I
Know that he leads me
To where I need to be.

The odd thing is that God said
Do not believe in me but rather
In the goodness that could be
And the hope that beauty and truth


Will be the conquerors of existence.

Art Quote of the Day

At the Palm Springs Art Museum members reception last week, glass artist Lino Tagliapietra was asked by an audience member how long it took to create one of his intricate glass works.

Lino paused for a moment and replied, "About an hour, plus fifty years of experience."

The Prisoner

One of my favorite televised series is The Prisoner, starring Patrick McGoohan, and dating to the late 1960's

http://wbx.me/l/?p=1&u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.theprisoneronline.com%2Fforum%2F4-the-village-music-a-props-%2F783-any-maps-left%23889

AMC is scheduling an updated miniseries version, starting 11.15.2009...can't wait to see it.

November Chapbook

On the wonderful Poetic Asides board of WritersDigest.com, my fellow poets and I are writing a poem a day, in response to prompts. We will then edit our drafts, select our favorites and create a chapbook, just for fun (and for the ones judged the "best", a little momentary glory). My personal challenge this month is to write 30 Haiku's, all with "peace" in the third line.

1. Entering Something New

Summer’s final breath,
ravens scouting this year’s nests,
monks still pray for peace.

2. Looking At Something From a Different Angle

Autumn’s first breezes,
humans spy as we build homes,
wrens find peace mid-air.

3. Something Positive and/or Negative

Seeking awareness
before winter’s arrival.
Peace may still flow in.

4. Maybe...

Maybe Walking Is Sitting

As winter draws near,
perhaps we’ll tread consciously.
Peace is every step.

5. Growth

Progess

One needn’t look left,
and neither need one look right.
Peace is straight ahead.

6. Something/Someone Covered

Winter’s fire is banked,
air dancing above hard coals
At peace in my bed.

7. Plant

Kiva

Sowing loans, not alms.
planting hope in the world,
one peace at a time.


8. Should (Tomorrow Come)

Preparing to die,
there’s no remedy for death.
Peace always awaits.

9. Slipping

Living On Planet Awesome

Turning towards others.
Living with an open heart.
Sliding into peace.

10. Love & Anti-Love

My Deepest Love

Soft blue, like the sky
in the first kiss of sunrise.
Peace, carried by doves.

My Deepest Hate

Nobody hates war
more so than the warrior.
Semper fi. Peace, out.

Open Mike

He has a wonder filled heart
and finds hope in the oddest places,
in the smile of a toothless bum.
the wagging tale of a mangy mutt.
He never met a vegetable he didn’t like,
especially the purple ones,
and wines, tried them all,
zins, cabs, even innocent merlots.
A hospice volunteer,
he has no fear of death,
heard too many reports of
waiting friends, tunnels of light.
He’s made music a challenge,
no genre a mistake.
Opera, jazz, blues all have
their place, their perfect right
to serve as background, foreground too,
in Mike’s discovery of life this turn,
his unbound search for new
and different joys.
No man alive loves animals
more than he, naming most
birds in flight, laughing at
dogs at play and kittens with their toys.
He donated blood to see how it felt,
then threw away the donut to taste hunger,
went home and baked bread for the smell,
and ended his day with canvas and brush.
He reads fact and fiction,
has friends gay and straight,
transgender as well.
He sometimes looks tired,
but that’s just how he’s seen
by our eyes, not his.
Too much is still not enough
in his full, artful life.
Overextended? Who says?

Where are your new poems?

So, my friends are wondering if I'm ill or bored or if I have been taken for ransom, since the wordslide has become a slow trickle. The truth is that I am working on producing two chapbooks of my earlier work, one on the lighter side, the other a bit more dark. It is a creatively draining process, this chapbook creation, and has not left much for new works. I remember reading about Oscar Wilde attending an evening soiree and telling another guest of his exhausting day. She could not believe that poetry could tire one so much, and asked exactly what he did. His reply: "In the morning I removed a comma, and in the afternoon, I put it back."

Getting Off One's Ass

One poem for one in angst
One dollar at one store
One can to one food bank
One card to one sick child
One call to one official
One book to one small town
One well for one sick village
One brick for one new dike
One shot for one new life
One step is all one needs
One Kiva for one world
One peace at a time