Blog Archive

Tuesday, September 02, 2008


Suddenly and without warning I am set upon by the Muse that has been absent from my life these three years. And I write seven new poems in the course of one evening. In English.


Being Alone

It comes and goes
the way the moon does.
flowing the way the ocean wins, loses,
wins, loses.

Let us be perfectly frank:
there is no pain deeper
than being alone.

This fear grips me at the heart
and squeezes it at times.

It comes and goes
the way the silver moon does.


Yes, Father,
I still miss you.

Even though I never seem to have time
to visit your final
resting place anymore,
I still love you deeply.

And I miss sharing my life with you.

But there will always be that final tear
rolling down your cheek. It is the glue
that hold my memories of you

Nettie Roos

My thoughts turn toward my little companion
the little throw-away dog we call Nettie Roos
because everyone respectable should have
both a name and a surname

She was so infested by worms
when we got her that they crawled out
her backside on their own
how utterly disgusting

The nervous little thing shared my bed
until it was filled more profoundly
and demoted herself to the floor
in order that I could fully enjoy my new happiness

I have to confess that I behaved with alarming
violence against her when once I bathed her
and she was nervous and tried to escape
which the slippery bath made easy

And, having moved and having left her behind
she grieved a while and then with admirable
and religious resignation assigned herself
to the basket beside the bed of her new mistress


It is only a house.
Will I have to leave it

Sometime soon?

I am not ready to leave
This only house.

It ages.
Grey hair.
Hair lost one place
sprouts in another.

I do not love this house as much
as what I am able to do with it.
Who I am able to touch. Kiss. Love.


I never imagined I’d have
this ability to communicate
without using words

and yet it seems perfectly natural
the way you and I speak
to each other silently

but it frightens me a little
how entangled we’ve become
because it will not last forever


Few pleasures are better
than licking melting butter
from hot toast that the one you love
has just placed in front of you

The One

He strides confidently down the stairs
his big hands confidently tying
the belt of his fluffy black robe

Written by i