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Poetry Selections

To Tessa 09 10 08

Can it be

That we Have circled our fiery mother

Three times As Mr. & Mrs.?

Was there a day

That hinted at boredom?

I think not! Was there a day

That I questioned our union?

I think not!

Was there a day

When I was not

Wildly excited about our future?

I think not!

Not ecstatic at the legacy

We leave Like bread crumbs

Showing a possible, beautiful

Route through the brambled wood?

Not joyful in the moments

Of our rituals:

The hot water and walks in the woods

The flavors coaxed from our kitchen

The late night planning And scheming

And designing

And putting out of fires And the kindling of others?

No, no and no!

Three years and you have been so kind

To accept me

As I am

And I have given myself

To love and respect

The amazing woman and wife

That you are.

We are the product

Of the stellar orgy

Of light and mass,

Bound together

By the will of the universe.

The air that I breathe Is tinged with the scent of you.

The landscape To which my eyes are blessed I owe to you.

My dreams are no longer

Solo excursions.

Your companionship in these visions

Gives me rest and peace.

You are my wool blanket

On cold February abstinence nights.

You are a cool rain

On hot august evenings.

You are the first green tomato

Of summer,

The nutty Moroc of Amsterdam nights.

You are the flicker of candles

Making magic of every night.

Your goodness makes me proud.

Your generosity makes me rich.

Your kisses bless me,

Your touch heals me.

Your trust touches my heart.

Three years

Of no regret.

Three years

Of intense adventure.

Three years

Of a life so gracious

And blessed.

Three years

With your honored company

Only makes me hungry

For the next three.

And the next.

And the next.

With all the sincerity

That living 55 years can muster

Let me thank you

From the bottom

And the top

And all sides of my heart.

I love you.

What Must One Do

12 03 06

What must one do

When he can no longer get warm?

Though he seals himself

Behind tight windows and doors

The November wind,

Gathering cold

As it blows across the north;

The barren and snow covered fields

Of Saskatchewan,

Feels unconstrained

By my home’s thin protestations.

The cover of green life

That adorns this place in summer

Is gone,

An ashen gray mask in it’s place.

Where there was water

The hard unforgiveness of ice

Has taken it’s place.

Even the birds take on

A monochromatic hue,

All save the Cardinal

Who’s vibrant red coloring

Seems less to comfort

Than to mock

Reminding us of what is lost.

It is not bad enough

That we should suffer this

Fridged threat to our flesh

But we must do it in darkness,

Winter stealing the very hours of light

From the world.

Why do I stay in such a place

This gulag of unfortunate climate?

I think it must speak

Of a timidity of my enterprise.

Knowing that warm places exist

Peopled by similarly kindred,

And yet more intelligently motivated,

And certainly more comfortably clothed

Humans of my ilk,

I remain here

Shivering against the ever-present night

Fearful of the wind rattled windows

Wrapped in the woven fibers

Taken ungallantly

From wooly four-legged creatures.

Ceremoniously I plan

My short salvations

My quick forays to warm places,

That will somehow have to satisfy

This shivering spirit

And warm,

If only for a week,

These damn cold feet.

One

One, as a number, is so uncomplicated

There are no variations of one

One, singularly, is always what it is

simple, bold, alone.

Two, on the other hand, 

cracks the egg of infinity

a binary cascade of possibilities

that gives life its' varied dimensions. 

Let's marry our oneness together

and give birth to a playground for love. 

Quiet

It would be perfectly quiet 

save for the ubiquitous distant bowling of the giants, the waves cashing into rocks

and the crickets harmonizing a wallpaper of sound

and the occasional leaf falling dryly on the bricks

and the plaintive meow of a kitten

living a life of constant hello's and good-byes

and the soft sounds of a Gershwin tune

and water from your shower rolling through pipes

having had the pleasure of your body

save for this it would be perfectly quiet. 

ING

In the water sunlight's glittering

In trees the birds are tittering

Everywhere butterflies are flittering

while I sit here considering,

frittering with my pen.

The palm fronds fluttering

the ocean's insistent muttering

the teal birds stuttering

surround me while I'm meditating

reminding me of you.

For Tessa

Last night I asked my love to join with me

to hand in hand create a future new

beneath the moon and near the shining sea

to me her heart she pledged forever true

two paths merging, engaging together

two life stories commingling as one

two hearts choosing each other forever

filing empty pages under the sun

I am a lucky man, it's true, so true

to find a love as wonderful as you

Salt 

Salt in the ocean

And on the rim of my glass

and in the sweat of my brow, dripping, deliciously to my lips

and the lingering flavor of your kiss, you, walking from the ocean wringing your dark hair

and kisses from the full moon and the endless sun

and the smothering lips of the waves tonguing my muse

cleansing my spirit

like a god-kitten

cleansing his flock

New Years Eve 2004 10 lines

It is precisely at these times

Where I see in endings

the stuff of new beginnings

that I realize I am most alive. 

Farewell good year that you were

I'm thankful for your gifts

of love and life and lack of loss

Welcome new year

I greet you in respect of your power

I bow, humbly, and ask your grace.

A Saturday Night    09 22

A Saturday night

when everything's sweet

A perfect evening

A sunset with bleeding tipped fingers

of radiating clouds

exploding across the sky

Only the mosquito-like annoyance

of occasional macho motorcycles

spitting sound like lead

from a pellet gun 

in the distance

My body's chillin'

to a post endorphin skate

where a man who was 

clearly by his nature

predisposed to sarcasm

gave me the thumbs up

and to the effects of 

the first two glasses

of California's finest gift

to us flatlanders

And my mind is luxuriating

in the simple realization

of the deep breathed happiness and 

sincere and grateful peace

filling my soul

A Little Too Late    05-04

You with your wicken ways

Cast your welcome to the corners

and for a moment

include me in your circle.

I only want

to ask your forgiveness,

Every seven minutes a rosebud blooms

Every seven minutes love's gift's consumed

And a star does fall, and love rings true

Every seven minutes I think of you

Every seven minutes a wild stags' leap

Is frozen in the mind of sheep

I have fantasies of saying I do

Every seven minutes I think of you

Every seven minutes a solar flare

Illuminates the universe out there

And turns the black of night into blue

Every seven minutes I think of you

Every seven minutes the mind of man

Is reborn according to plan

And reminded of what he must do

Every seven minutes I think of you

Every seven minutes seems to take

An eternity and I can't fake

This longing and love I feel for you too

Every seven minutes I think of you

Every seven minutes a rooster crows

Fish dart, a volcano blows

And somewhere lover's vows renew

Every seven minutes I think of you

Every seven minutes I hear a song

That I can't help but hum along

Love and lust a potent brew

Every seven seconds I think of you

Every seven minutes your face I see

Your breath I smell and I want to be

In the center of what I know is true

Every seven minutes I think of you

Every seven minutes an electron fires

My brain awakes, your memory inspires

Thoughts of you that stick like glue

Every seven minutes I think of you

Every seven minutes I'm reminded anew

And rejoice in the fact that I know it's true

This realization that we'll never be through

Because every seven minutes I think of you

A Northwestern jet will never look the same

Since I met sister Livia

And the neighborhood near 38^th & Grand

Will always be

Where I left my gloves

And had to return to seek

Through the late night smell

Of breaking bread

Bejeweled stoppered bottles of wine

And votives making my table shine

Curtains hanging where once stood

A utilitarian door

Are just a few of the changes you've made

to the landscape of my life

A pile of love notes is stacked by my bed

Left under pillows by you

And a beautiful blue stone

Adorns the hole in my head

Reminding me always

Of what we've been through

I have tunes on my I-pod I 'd never have found

Shirts hang in my closet I'd never have worn

My hair smells of grapefruit

My heart's singing praises

Because of the changes you've made

to the landscape of my life

So many memories are etched in my mind

Of hot sulfured waters and rolling in snow

Of hot pink backpacks

The sweet smell of nutmeg

Waiting your arrival and watching you go

Dozens of faces I'd never have known

Now inhabit my world

Lighting dark corners

Sparkling

Like small lanterns in a cave

These are a few of the changes you've made

to the landscape of my life

Dogs named Lutsen I'd never have known

And thoughts of Thailand would never have grown

And long dark hairs would never have graced

My new linen pillows

And made them feel

So inviting, exciting, so full of peace

This smile on my face I see in the mirror

This love in my breast I feel when you're near

These are the gifts of the changes you've made

To the landscape of my life

Allow Me Mine          August 2003

Ok, YES!

but...

yes, I want to love you

but...

what about...

I can so easily imagine 

being ecstatic with you

being proud with you

being brave with you

but

what happens to this dream

of having it all?

You can't be everything to me

how do I mourn 

losing

everything but you

without you

trying to own

the emotional opportunity

I 

need 

recognition

acceptance

that I am some things you like

and some you don't

if you choose me 

you choose all of me

I 

am 

not

going to magically become

your fantasy man

close 

will have to be

good enough

love me 

like you would your child:

accepting

forgiving

recognizing that

they are what they are

I

am

what I am

I will try to please you

your happiness

is my happiness

my happiness

could be your happiness

keep me in corn chips

enjoy your own world

allow me mine

take time for yourself

allow me mine

the great man sings

what a wonderful world...

After She's Gone    July 2003

When do I examine

whether I am wrong?

After she's gone?

Realizing

in sudden spurts

surfing my wake

gave her more freedom

than

sitting on the dock

without a boat

When does she examine

whether she's wrong?

After I'm gone?

Principle 

and pride like knives

in my side

fuel my delusion

cause me to

make decisions

without caution

When do I examine

whether I am wrong?

After she's gone?

A fish nearly caught   07 June 2003

The world feels different this morning

Like a fish nearly caught

Feels about it's liberation;

hook firmly, permanently, disfiguring it's mouth

trailing leader and line

through unconsidered waters.

Does it matter when it's over

that you fought the good fight

if you lost?

Does time itself matter

when it's over?

I'm betting this morning on platitudes

like "endings are only beginnings" and

 "hope springs eternal"  and 

whose ceiling is this and whose floor?

You gave me my walking papers last night.

It seems that I am an albatross

laboring under the misconception

that I could be a doorway for you

into a brighter future. 

But I am no portal for you

nor, evidently, you for I

but rather a stepping stone 

alternately praised and cursed,

as you make your perilous journey

across the river of your life.

I thought I could be a bridge for you, 

or a boat, 

or that I could carry you 

safely over the churning current.

But you have spurned my arms, my back, 

declined safe passage in my company

for an as yet unknown better alternative. 

To your credit you did consider me.

And to your credit you've let me go.

And to your credit I admire your bravery

As you walk away alone. 

I am less angry than sad

to be left for nothing  more 

than an unknown, potential opportunity,

not choosing something, simply

choosing not me. 

I am less bitter than scared.

I have for so long been able to consider

the future with only you in it.

So I'll watch you go,

you go girl,

and I'll pretend to be appreciated

and I'll blame you for hurting us both:

rejecting life's' need for tragedy

but acquiescing to the evidence

of its' existence. 

And in years to come I will say

we could have been somebody:

should have, could have, 

but for mistakes we both have made.

And maybe in years to come 

this feeling of loss will be supplanted

by events yet to unfold.

And you will find the meaning and the love

that I cannot provide you

and I will travel directions

hitherto unconsidered.

And this mornings' different feeling world

will come to seem familiar

and we will remember one another 

fondly.

A Poem Written While Skating      July 2003

The rising tide did not lift me

to a pinnacle above the sea

it left me here with you

wondering what to do

like the holdin' of a ticket

in a station, ten minutes

after the train bearing your fate

slowly slipped away

but we rejoice when we are desperate

that we are not among the victims

of the rising tide that swallowed them

and washed their names away

Sun May 11

What Tara is to Tarahaute

What Tulsa is to Tuscaluga

What sin city is to Cincinnati

What Bonn is to Bonifacious

What Kent is to Kensington

What Reed is to River's Edge

That's what your love 

Is to real love

That's what your care 

Is to comfort.

What rock is to metamorphic

What breath is to atmosphere

What Saturn is to the galactic

What I am to the biosphere

What a mile is to the speed of light

What a watch is to eternity

That's what your love

Is to real love

That's what your concern

Is to caring.

Scratching your back  Jan 2003

An hour of scratching your hands and back and arms,

keeping you from vertigo,

an act of friendship and grateful parenthood

and responsibility.

You, fighting to remain coherent,

to assure me of your fortitude, of your manliness.

Beautiful moments.

Satisfying parental recompense.

What a funny thing to outlast your son,

to say, "what if we needed to stay awake,

to walk home through a darkened city

what good would you be?"

and you sitting straight up and saying,

"I'd be good for three hours",

and then dropping back to the pillow

reaching an arm out to be scratched.

What a funny holiday this is.

How unusual to not be alone.

How funny not to be talking to myself.

How great to be necessary,

to be sitting here sipping wine feeling necessary,

feeling like  laughing, smiling, jubilant and peaceful.

You are snoring,

finally at peace with the beers that tormented you earlier.

And I am finally able to acknowledge the beers in my own system.

I can let the dull anesthetic swim of the world overwhelm me

knowing  all is well with the world for now.

Let tomorrow bring what it may the moment rules.

Our magical time together

shortens hour by hour.

But I fell so satisfied 

that this time is not lost with me

but lives on 

inside my son.

I'm not one for sentimentalizing the "blood" thing

but I do appreciate the power of shared experience.

It lives even when you don't,

which, of course, you won't forever.

But the act of shared experience,

the power gained in an experience shared, 

lives on

to be told and shared and used and emboldened

and is, in the end, a testament,

a marker placed in the vast expanse of time,

that living occurred:

joy was experienced,

hopes and dreams were shared,

blood ran through people,

emotions existed,

will was exercised in the great expanse that is wrongly characterized as nothing.

Sleep sweet product of the best intentions of good people.

Sleep a sweet respite

from the nagging questions of wakefulness.

Pass to the awake the burden

of remaining restless

over the questions of the soul,

of the rightness of being,

of the ever-present regret of acting in a world demanding constant compromise.

Sleep while you can.

The final sleep is a long way off

and you will need your strength.

Not dog enough 10 Aug 00

Seeing One Color In White 7-30-00

How could you let me go.   08 02

2000 06 20 A moment in my tree

I sat in my tree tonight

With the pastel frosting of sunset

Covering the dark green forest below

It was so sweet

It reminded me

Of melancholy, bittersweet

Times of my youth

And my head was my own again

{for a moment}.

 report to anne   13 aug 95   Scott Hagg

skated in the rain today  

felt like something I used to do

even before the rain

the air was wet

dark wet

warm, sticky wet

womb wet

primordial wet

and then the rain came like a baptism

realizing it's potential

a warm gush from the heavens

wet

wet like desire

mother nature's tepid invitation

and I skated, hydroplaning, eagerly obliging

mouth open

drinking the wet that drenched me

spinning through the thick curtain of water

happy

in an insane kind of way

happy

to be happy that way again

finding the pavement like ice

frictionless

more water than street to deal with it

standing water

becoming instant lakes

the darkened day illuminated by lightening

the stillness illuminated by gusting wind

I was illuminated by sensuality

the machine of muscle cooled by the reassurance of mother ocean

all the mouths of my body that open to water

gurgling, spurting, laughing

singing as they held aloft this brain

pleasing it with tricks

and dances born of ecstasy

once again balance became god

and I was determined

to dance a water dance

until the rain stopped

or the walkman was destroyed.

Untitled    by Tangie A.

In my mind
I've already been there
I remember smelling the salt in your hair

When even your skin
Tasted like the beach
I remember not being
Just out of reach

In Isla Mujeres
We met for a night
The waves whispered to us

You are here
This is right

I find myself unable
To continue or end
Or perhaps I'm unwilling
To stop remembering when

On the island of women
We met in my mind
When there was nothing or no one
To leave behind

When your world
And my world
Did not collide

I will remember it always
But only in my mind.

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