I wanted to use
the words “ladder” & “quagmire”
in a poem
randomly chosen;
here goes–
where is my ladder
from this quagmire?
First off–what quagmire?
Why can’t I simply take
the path from the swamp
or exit the dilemma–
maybe an elevator from the mire?
A ramp up from the sump…
But that’s not how
this challenge began
it was “ladder” & “quagmire”
not the other routes–
My ladder is out
on the deck (literally)
and the quagmire
(of doubt, fear & dark)
is in my head
Getting both places
together is harder
than I thought–at least
I have my start
though it’s clear
the ladder will never fit
through my door.

The night outside
tells me nothing
keeps its secrets
to itself and makes
me wait
makes me beg
with words
for answers
or clues
But there are none
Even though
I am patient;
Yes–like a fool
it’s true
I love life
like a woman
and know
that someday soon
she, too
will break my heart.

Let’s see–
where did I put
the night?
Maybe it’s right here
on the table
by the empty teapot
and the dull knife;
nothing cuts
for too long
in this transition house;
the very steps creak
with comings and goings
doors shutting
and summer windows
thrown open…
I anticipate a cold winter
but that is only fantasy
like a dream of water
in the desert
or a restless sleep–
clutching my pillow
like a panacea
to this darkness
and utter lack
of answers–we age
along a prescribed course
life in veins rises
as do other fluids
to the heavens
If you’re lucky enough
to believe–if the moon
doesn’t leave you
all alone and the stars
don’t laugh down
from their distance
at you and me
in our little fiefdoms
of satisfaction.

The moon
rose late
sat brazenly
like a broken tea cup
sublime, useless, arrogant
in the day gone grey;
it wasn’t a crisis–
on the town corner
the filthy t-shirt man
muttered his discernings;
spat out words
no one in Mayberry spoke
save for those
that’d lost hope
or, similarly, gave up
So–into the sad
ridiculous, lovely
lonely afternoon
the sun skulked off
like a distant relative
embarassed by his visit
without even
saying goodbye
and, strangely
I understood.

Tossing
bagel crumbs
for the sparrows
and pigeons
at the Malibu
Coffee Bean today
I caused
a mad scramble–
I want to say
out loud
Guys! Guys!
Stop it!
There’s plenty
for everybody!
But I knew
they’d never
understand.

Lavender,
I imagine–
your eyes
if you’d look
my way
for any length
of time
but that’s
the question;
seeing deeply…
Instead, I glimpse
only edges of azur
a violet corner
in your fleetingness
amid claims
you make
of green one minute
canary the next–
I always have
to guess
Unsure this alluring
arrangement
fickle as the stars
at dawn (some
eons gone)
fading out
leaving the room
loving,
untrue.

I can’t lie
to dead insects
on the sill
about my poetic drift
towards the unreasonable
in life–questions
such as “why are we born
if only to die?”
Tell that moth
next to the fly
on the white window ledge
who both looked
for one last time
out on the day
behind the glass
that trapped them
and wondered
with a final thrust
“why can’t I
get out there?”

Standing, solo
on a corner
the girl in purple
who yesterday
wore red, standing
weight on one leg
scratching her head
“How did it get this way
to be so alone at 42?”
a flash of hope
an aura of despair
shoes smartly polished
dress in perfect array….
People give tithings
to her–quarters
dollars, say “Hello”
Offer spare clothes
but there’s no where
to go, except the cafe
for a third refill
the bank lobby
to get cool, and back
to her corner, or another
to contemplate the long
end of a summer weekend
and Holidays coming soon
and what, as always
she will do.

Strange coincidence–the sun
in the same place in our sky
as it was yesterday
at the exact time–1:00 sharp
Along the beach fence
at the end, near the tide–
with August grasses at one side;
golden, pliant, pointing west
and a wooden guard rail–
the handiwork of men
at the other edge, to lead you
to a vantage point stretching
out across a vastness of sea
matched only by your hope
for another day, seeking love
almost like water, to drink–
the sea, at your feet, rising
and falling back to source
inhibited only by possibility
and surrender…good fortune
and fate–a relic you bend down
to retrieve, of worn driftwood
in the shape of a smiling owl
one who knows about
the work of time and persistence
and how we are all
finally shaped.

Maybe you found out
what life was about–
the truth of the riddle
the mystery of the puzzle
Here, where blue
pales by the day
in diminishing summer
and, long– turns
predictably short;
yellow light on leaves
entices without notice
a sudden landscape startles–
Your shoes left by the porch
though the house was sold
to a family with kids
who love to surf too
I didn’t expect
your departure
But that was long ago
in a room of distances
where nothing seemed real
and still–it had
a real appearance
But, stacked now in boxes
as the items came in–
oil lamps, chipped plates
a small mirror; these belongings
scream impermanence
like we expect October to be
impressing us with
its slanted shadows
and brevity–where
every arrival is just
in passage to another room.