Water Damage

 Another old poem from WIP. I guess I am talking about the need to let go of 
the past in order to move forward.  I did write this almost fifteen years ago.
 
 
 
 
             WATER DAMAGE         
 
             Building old buildings.
             Water risingup
             from hidden wells.

             Time is the only barrier
             holding back the
             flood of emotions.

             Releasing memories.
             Relief not only
             from erosion,

             but also, yhe
             removal of
             ancient problems.

Lifeplan

An old poem from WIP. Probably from a "Greeting Card" period in my life.               LIFEPLAN

              Be  happy
              for me that's
              all I ask.

              Yesterday's deeds
              must be relegated
              to the past.

              Tomorrow is all
              that we can change
              but today needs you.

Ode To The Fairest

This poem is from my "Love Bites" comes, 16 years ago. I guess I was talking about flirting really comes from a lack of self-esteem. I think the "Ode" thing in the title was just an attempt to pay homage to past poets.

Ode To The Fairest

Please do not expose
me to you uncertainties.
My sanity requires a
degree of stability.

Being unsure of your
own love, does not
give you the right to
coax it from me.

Your beauty is without
question, you do not need
to validate it with my attention.
I will not be your confirmation.

Vanity is insulting no matter
what mirror one looks in.
At best all we can see
are empty reflections.

LIMITATIONS BY EXLUSION

Another one from "Works In Progress" back in 1996. This e mail newsletter lasted about a year and a half. So somewhere out there in cyberspace there are over one hundred other poems floating out there. I had followers from New Zealand to Austria.

I think what I am trying to say here is that the appearance of beauty is not beauty itself.



LIMITATIONS BY EXCLUSION

Protected by thorns,
the enjoyment of
a rose is limited
by its nature.

Beauty must be
experienced at
a distance and
partially.

Never able to fully
give if itself
the flower remains
incomplete.

BAPTISM

This appeared 14 years ago in WIP. It's hard to believe I was that spiritual at that time of my life. Basically I think I saying is that we learn from all our experiences.



BAPTISM

Washing away
sadness or
moistening the
seal of joy.

The water that
flows from our
eyes christens
personal experiences.

Life's moisture
can quench a
dry, parched
soul.

OUT OF THE CAGE

Being a parent is never easy!


OUT OF THE CAGE


Can you hear
me scream? My
pride falls on
deaf ears.

Must I act out
to get your
attention? Sadly
I must live

with the consequences
of your silence.

LOVE BITES

This is the title poem from my second book. It was written (the book) during Memorial Day weekend of 1994, the last year I lived in West Virginia. Composed after my second divorce, oobviously the bites weren't fatal because I got married two more times. I guess I was looking for the prize.



LOVE BITES

Nibbling at the heart,
it causes damage even while
providing pleasure. To love
is to suffer. It is avoidable.

Bleeding comes from the
pressure of proximity, not
intention. Bandages provide
only temporary assistance.

Separation is always
inevitable. Desire plays
no role in the outcome. We
are prisoners of the finite.

Despite the prognosis
there are plenty of crusaders
ready to start the journey. The risk
of injury forgotten for a
chance at the prize.

STATISTICS OF SHADOWS

I was inspired to write this poem after listening to some specialist telling this teacher hat to teach in order to get her student's higher standardized scores.


STATISTICS OF SHADOWS

Education by
complication leads
to failure that
masks itself

as achievement.
Graduation becomes
the cultivation
of inadequacy.

Manipulation of
documentation only
provides illusions of
standards met.

COACHING FALSE IMPPRESSIONS

You can't teach a test.


COACHING FALSE IMPRESSIONS

Education by the
numbers is learning
that equals faulty
reasoning.

Knowledge is zeroed
out through the
operations of administration.

EMOTIONAL TOPOGRAPHY

No matter how much we want to, you can't hide from yourself.

EMOTIONAL TOPOGRAPHY

Moving away to run
away. Away from
problems that overwhelm
my sanity.

Changing locations to
avoid a contradiction
in reactions. Unfortunately

a change in location
only leads to a
change in problems
instead of solutions.

MELTDOWN

I guess I have to learn to accept what I can't control.


MELTDOWN

Explosions happen from
the deterioration of the
control of my environment.

Attempts to manage
the variables result
in frustration. Even

though the outcome is
predictable, it is
not always preventable.

The casualties however
are necessarily
permanent and personal.

MENTAL MORTIFICATION

Such is my life!



MENTAL MORTIFICATION

Reasoning with the
unreasonable, imprisoned
in an altered
reality.

Intentions are
insufficient for
the regulation of
sanity.

Resurrection through
medication is not
always a guarantee of
modification.

HOLY ANSWERS

This poem was inspired from a line from a song that my priest, Father John Sheridan posted on Facebook. He does this quite often to get us to see God in the everyday.


HOLY ANSWERS

Dreams are prayers
longing for a
voice.

A voice is a
prayer answered by
God spoken through
you.

For us to speak loudly,
we must listen to
God's softest
whisper.

Jovial Finale

This was the closing poem of my first book. At the time I just thought it was a good way to end the book. That was in 1988.

In the spring of 2009 it was read as a closing benediction at a Catholic writer's conference I attended. Looking back on it I can see it was pretty spiritual.



Jovial Finale


Laughter became tears.
Order became chaos.
Lost but not alone.

Guided by love.
I found my way
out of darkness and misery.

Calculated order has been
restored. My sense of
accomplishment has been worth
the struggle. Life goes on
and so will I.

Behind The Veil

This was the title poem of my first book and my first serious attempt at poetry. I honestly don't know what I am doing but maybe that's better. Too much attention is paid to form and not enough to content. I was trying to show that things aren't always as they appear.



Behind The Veil

It grows inside me,
unseen by even the
most penetrating eye.

My exterior is aglow
in perfect disguise. No one
suspects anything to be
amiss in my private hell.

What can I do to escape
these feelings of bitter torment?
Am I trapped by my own
sweet powers of reason?

My hope lies in the future.
Despite the sores tha fester
under the dark shades of my
accomplishments, a light
shines on the horizon.

Library Fines

I wrote this poem in response to my volunteer activities at the Ford School's libraries. This poem appeared yesterday in my other blog, "Lynn School Watch". Is this shameless self promotion? Most definitely but I am moved when I see a little kid clutching a book.


Library Fines

The library is no
laughing matter.
Without librarians our
education only gets sadder.

Books are written
necessarily to be read.
Without reading, learning
surely must be dead.

Bring back the librarians
to give our kids a chance.
Without them how can
our MCAS scores advance?

IN REFERENCE TO REVERENCE

ACCIDENTAL HORTICULTURE

Unfortunately the inspiration for this poem came from a real life fall. Looks like my accident has finally caught up with me. I join the ranks of the truly handicapped. I now use a cane.


Learned of a new flower
in life's garden on
Labor Day called
a face plant.

The sidewalk blossomed
with red, painted
with fresh blood.

Backboards and neck braces
provide protection
against fractures of the stem.

AFFECT CONSTRUCTION

Another poem from WIP in Jan. of 96. I was trying to talk about how your emotions shape the person you become. I know we've been told "the clothes make the man". It's really our emotional makeup.


AFFECT CONSTRUCTION


Purposeless and non directional,
it continues to
destruct. Providing building

on contact.Built from a
blueprint without
lines. A code for chaos
and free from zones, but

present everywhere.
Condemned
structures still have
no vacancies.

The War

My , mom dug up a copy of my Works In Progress newsletter from Jan. of 1996. It was the 4th issue.This particular poem fore shadow's  my problems with marriages. Funny I use a military metaphor. You know what they say, "Love Is A Battlefield".

The War

A casualty of
emotion, logic
left
behind.

Driven by
sensation
unable
or unwilling

to avoid
being
a
victim.

DIRECTIONS AND CORRECTIONS

This is another poem that first appeared in "Works In Progress" and was featured in "Vagabond Pages". It was written right before my third marriage. I've had four and I sear this my last one. If I would have paid attention to what I wrote I would have saved myself a lot of grief.

DIRECTIONS AND CORRECTIONS
Travelwise and
found foolish.
Seeing but
ignoring all the

road signs that
would have aided
direction. Yet
it is never too

late to alter
your course. The
right way will always
be the right way.

"ODE TO AN OUTHOUSE"

I first wrote this poem a little more than twenty years ago. I included it in my first book, "Behind The Veil". It was my first favorite poem. The inspiration for this poem came from my work at the Elkins Mountain School, a residential behavioral treatment center for young boys. There I constantly observed the tragedy of young lives corrupted by their environment.


ODE TO AN OUTHOUSE


Built new from old boards
it has seen many seasons change,
even though this is its first winter.

The odor is strong but it
smells not of itself. Others have
contaminated its bowels and beyond.

Not part of the house, it must
stand alone and remain behind.
No vision, no thought.

Labeled a relic, we demand it must
be replaced with a shiny porcelain jewel.
Progress knows no compassion.

THE SYNDROME

I wrote this poem in 1997 prior to my third, not my last, marriage. It first appeared in the second year of my e mail poetry newsletter, "Works In Progress". It also appeared in "Vagabond Pages" a webzine.

THE SYNDROME
Meltdown, total
meltdown. I¹ve lost
the control but
not the feeling.

Played with fire,
yet my fingers did
not burn. Still my
soul has been
consumed

Radiation kills
without the need
of penetration. Other
kinds of exposure can
be just as effective.

Whenever Dreams Die

I wrote this poem while I was in cllege I think. I seem to remeber printing up a certain number of copies and giving it out to people. That way  could limit the amount of criticism I got.

The poem is about the outlook one must have when facing changes in your life's plans. Always be open to different directions because you can still end up in the same place.



WHENEVER DREAMS DIE



A tear falls from my
and trickles down my cheek.
The salty, bitter water burns
my lips,
whenever dreams die.

My body heaves a helpless sigh.
Fervent hope becomes futile agony.
Nothing seems to stop the harsh pains
of reality,
whenever dreams die.

I must pick myself up and move on.
My future ahead remains bright.
Everything will be alright
I guess,
when I open my eyes.