Poems I

6
Praxis

There are some things we’d rather stretch to infinity
than cleave,
Or trees better climbed, we think,
than heaved
over,

root-dead.

But we’re familiar with those little practices
of mending,
And deceived that the risk we take
in delight of
rending,

is worth it.

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Cruising

The most difficult part is after
you’ve passed him.
The looks have been given, and cast
back. The coming to a stop.
Beginning to fiddle with pretense.

A smoking habit is good here.
Or a street to be crossed.
Any excuse, the moon even
will do. Yes. Stop just there and gaze up,
hands in pockets.

No need to glance back. He will come.
It is instinct, old as the tides.

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Oblivion

Moments divided
between those
known
and those separated
by divisions of her light
into moments

of oblivion.
5

Feast on Your Life

6
This blog is called "Feast on Your Life". It is taken from a poem called "Love After Love" written by Derek Walcott, a Nobel Prize-winning poet that I had the honor of meeting many years ago.

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.


This poem is the first match of many to come. Its all about finding again the love of your life, who is yourself, myself, your deepest and profoundest self, the stranger you have abandoned and the cries out to return. I'm so hungry! I hunger for myself, for what I am and what I can be.
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