Archive for the ‘Loss’ Category



March 20, 2008


Love without love is a clouded glass
is a childhood dream, is an adult fear.
Love without love is a pleasurable state
without the problems and pain of love.

Life without life is depressing and cold
violent and sad, brought on by lonliness.
Life without life is a troublesome trap
never escaping, just going in circles.

Hate without hate is an envious state
is a lover’s thorn, is a broken date
is an evil state. Hate without hate
is a motive to kill when love is at stake.

Death without death is a obsession with grief
is a sad response to a lost dear one.
Death without death is pain enough.
Let go of the grief, you’ve suffered enough.


The original poem had one more stanza which I’ll reproduce below, but now (20 something years later) I think it makes it a little too obvious.

So the last stanza is:

Love without love is sex.
Life without life is depression.
Hate without hate is jealousy.
Death without death is mourning.

So, your thoughts? I think leaving out the last stanza is fine, but are the points obvious above without it? Curious to know what you think…



March 13, 2008


The doctor confirmed what I already knew,
that the fuzziness creeping in around the edges of my vision
wasn’t some imagined darkened curtain
but more a milking of the lens.

Adding haze to my specificity,
the green twinge of memory sending back
imagined reflections of different choices
a doubling of vision.

Two doors stand before me,
two paths, two roads, are they behind me or ahead?
I made these choices long ago
or did they make me?

Passageways I long abandoned
images of shadows of an imagined future
nestling with the dying embers of youthful spirit
long since burned through.

The light reflected and refracted
into a white-hot laser. I recoil
from the heat and searing images
of swirling doubt in hopes of seeing clearly.


For Hollis

November 7, 2007


In this day and age when 90 is the new 70,
When science makes Sophia Petrillo seem the new Shirley Temple
Why did we have to lose you so soon, Hollis?

You were the quintessential gentle giant,
An acrobat the size of an NBA star,
The sprite in the body of an Ent

You were a bundle of contradictions
A rapier wit masked by an unassuming manner,
Diet coke and a chocolate chip cookie.

You wondered aloud to me, saying that
You knew you would never find a soulmate
Someone to spend your life with,

You, Hollis, who had so many friends
People who loved you and knew you well
Unlike most of us, you didn’t have acquaintances

You only had friends. Perhaps you didn’t know
How much we cared for you. Perhaps
We didn’t take the time out of the day to mention

How your devil-may-care attitude and your
Essential Blanche-ness brightened up our day,
Turning the humdrum into pure magic.

In some sad way, your early departure seems
Strangely appropriate. You were too rare
For this world, too wondrous for our mundaneness.


When Last It Was I Looked Upon Your Face

August 21, 2006

When last it was I looked upon your face
your pregnant eyes were full of certain grace
your gentle touch, with all its soft carress
your spirit free, your soul by angels blessed.
Your dappled smile gave hints of summer dew
and joyous mirth. These images of you
are all that’s left to me now. Winter’s here
and what was newly born is old and sere.
Your memory, a portrait in my head
is drained of hue. My recollection dead
as passing time, the enemy of years
has drowned my childhood fantasy in tears.


Subway Dream

August 13, 2006

Something happened on my way home yesterday
you opened up your blue-green mouth and I was
swallowed up by the noisy indignation of the
brutal street; grey taxi-cabs passed me on the
thoroughfare of little angels and I dove into a waterfall
of slowly swirling images of doubt.

When I surfaced for air, all I could see was a sky
light of stars as they fell upwards, moving
to plug the leaks in the firmament that were left
by your big footprints, your high heels punching
patterns of holes in my self-esteem, and when
I turned the corner, I was back in my bedroom alone.


At the Window

July 21, 2005


at the window, I stare
at the twilight, And pic-
ture the sunsets, Of
ages gone by.

at the window, I stare
and I wonder, If life
in those old days, Was love-
ly and sweet.

And then
at the window, When dark-
ness has risen, I re-
alize life, Is a well-
traveled path.

maybe someday, When life
is completed, I’ll see
all the old days,
And know.


Goodbye My Love

July 14, 2005


Goodbye my love,
I leave you now,
your false desires
your constant ire
prove to me that I must go.

I put my trust
and faith in you
and you have let me down.
You left me here
to rot in Hell
for all that you have done.

I loved you, yes,
but not the kind
of deceiving love you crave.
It was not hate,
not cold, but you
who drove me to the grave.

And so I bid “Adieu”, my love
and please don’t try to follow.
For you are far too weak and meek
and your lies are all too shallow.

Hmm, guess I had some anger I needed to work out here. Funny, but I can’t remember what inspired this, but it is one of a series of angry poems I wrote about love as a teenager (14 at the time). Although some of the word choice seems rough to me now (and indeed I did modernize some of it for you, gentle reader — I didn’t think you wanted to read “I put my trust / and faith in thee / and thou didst let me down”), the emotion is genuine, so it seems worth saving.

The question I would ask you, gentle reader, is what did the “love” do or not do? I have my answer, but I am curious to read yours.


The Interim Moment

July 12, 2005

In light of what has been going on in London, Netanya, Baghdad:


1:59, a Tuesday afternoon,
or 3:32, an early Monday morning,
it doesn’t matter when,
since it’s coming, now or then.

Just before –
(A deep blue sky seeing
people going off
to work with their children
by their sides walking them
to school after waking up
that morning eating
breakfast getting dressed washing
up although maybe not in
that order)
– Peace.

Just ahead –
(Cities in rubble and people
die in fireballs and Ground
Zero areas will never
live again since the
world now is dead because
of man’s stupidity)
– Destruction.

Now is the Interim Moment,
is it too late to change the world?


Like Algae on the Water

June 13, 2005


I feel a certain tugging ’round my feet,
And tiny rivulets of water lead
Me to the place where land and water meet,
And there I see those who on water feed.

I feel a stronger pulling toward the land
As though these creatures pull me with a string
And, yet, I feel my death is close at hand
Since what I see so close — no earthly thing.

Like algae on the water, I am taken
In, and travel deeply down a gaping hole
And now within this body I am shaken
‘Bout, and ne’er to live again as one made whole.

For I am like an algae in the sea,
Like bodies, all these things envelop me.


The Quick and the Dead

June 11, 2005


We are the quick and the dead,
the leeched and the bled.
Until, on that day,
HE’ll take us away.

HE is alive and well and living in San Francisco

We are the old and the weak,
the strong and the meek,
wasting away
until Judgment Day

“Thank you.”  “You’re welcome.”
”Thank you for saying ‘You’re welcome!’”
”You’re welcome for saying ‘You’re welcome!’”

We are rude and polite.
We are black, we are white,
We are red, yellow, brown
Awaiting the sound.

“Oops,” said the flea, “there’s a horsey on me.”

We are the quick and the dead.
By HIM we are led
through the end of all days
by forgotten ways.

For thine is the freedom, and the flower, and the story,
for ever and ever.

A bit of whimsy, playing on the idea of the “quick” and the dead.  I never understood the juxtaposition of those thoughts — what’s fast about the dead?  Kind of a “Lord’s Prayer” after the fact.