Bad News

 where did we go wrong
it's not just me
the sense of decline is general
the young keep on
trying to ignore it
but a dire tone dominates
the news stays bad
the threats are real
and in our face
these are cataclysmic times
and getting worse
not better like athletes and musicians
who practice harder than ever
training to be perfect and to win

while they can
knowing it's almost too late

Solstice Fire

is reading and writing all there is
or only all I have to do, how else
let life flow through me as it must
 
that's the situation now, at least
after the winter chores are done
gifts and celebrations ordered
 
is this the letter I want to write
to my widely scattered friends
each treasured as unique with
 
private sharings and themes
we like to talk about, I wished
you here to see my solstice fire
 
burning merrily in the twilight
fog, the dimming world illusion
while the bright flames danced

Unfinished Business

 have I done the "necessary work
of mourning"? we never noticed
death, people simply stopped
appearing, transitioning to
dead at a respectful distance
 
occasionally a dead person might
appear for a day or two, never stop
popping up in dreams, alive again
their new death worse than before
 
maybe I mourned, but we rarely
talked about how it happened
as if everyone knew and was
embarrassed, it's embarrassing
to die or pay undue attention
 
the scattered few became a
multitude, and I didn't have 
time to stop and think about
each one, claims of the living
seizing and holding the stage
 
unfinished business piles up
I throw up my hands and
reverently let them slip away
if that's the work I've done it
 

More of the Same

 this is the sort of thing I say
over and over because I do, I
have to say something, it's my way
 
I always want to be clear, commas
help so why not use them, purity
doesn't matter once you've been abroad
 
it's almost dark already, time for
something else or more of the same
without apology, with hope for harmony
 
I try to like myself and hope you like me
too, try together to be honorably human
unconditionally qualified for heaven
 

First Step

 I want each reader to read each poem and think, "What does that mean? What was he thinking?" and go back and read it again, looking closely at its parts, and see what it make them think. Reading it aloud to people is pointless. Hearing its music is only the first step.

New Ideas

 it's only four and it's getting dark
where's my afternoon, in fact it's
early, I still can do anything I like
 
I plan another book of poems
2015 a very good year, why stop
now, I can still see well enough
 
even darker days ahead, but they
will pass, the sun return bringing
leaves flowers eggs and new ideas

I Say

 I say to myself Michael
you're just incredibly brilliant
pouring out these poems
packed with ideas and images
how can you think all that
and dare to say it

Stop Pretending

 I'm in a hole
or I am a hole
formerly here
vaguely active
now I have to
lie down stop
pretending
I still exist

Passing Time

 rectangles in receding planes
some at angles
light from different windows
weather-shaped
colors paling in the damp dusk
a distant rumble
or is that his blood
or passing time
he wants to keep it simple
though it never is
comfortable in his chair
and body
savoring the day

Wild Horses

 where did we go so wrong
God is the whole not each one
individually trying to outsmart
 others and the actual situation
 
analytic strategies bite back
nothing wants to be atomized
inoperable in separated parts
requiring to be reassembled
 
that's some of it anyway think
before you identify with one
self eating its way through
others ganging up to fight
 
evil maniacs stimulate the urge
and feast on causing misery
as if life itself weren't hard
without imposing more pain
 
that's no excuse either I
can only blame philosophy
wrong thinking shakes the
reins we the wild horses

Getting On

 if I were myself
who would I be
 
clean white socks
positive outlook
 
after everything
still getting on

Other Animals

 the rat came around the corner
saw me spun and fled its claws
chittering on the walk this is who
has been opening up the eggs
 
something bigger is under the
house viciously screaming in the
night one skunk trapped probable
raccoons probably raising young
 
we are their enemies they will
die and others come right after
to populate the leftover spaces
never intended to be occupied
 
and prey on our animals poach
our produce deny our title to
the land and right to evict or even
kill them for trying to go on

Molten Words

 what what what am I to do
how am I to live these precious years
this precious day fading my body
weakened and failing in parts
cast the moment in molten words
transparent to the universal rays
open like the door to heaven