MEMORIES BEST FORGOTTEN

The mountains eat my eyes,
and I brush away the crumbs.

It’s midnight
and the moths gather
on the walls and ceiling
while the cats stalk their shadows

(shadows of the moths)

falling to the floor
like dirty snowflakes
or pregnant seeds.

“More,” they whisper
to the hand that scatters them
upon the hungry floor

that eats them in our dreams
of starving children
dropping to the ground
like spore

until they wake us,
and we dream no more.

———————————————-
NOTES:
1. “…and the moths gather on the walls and ceiling.” From a childhood memory. My family was vacationing in a summer beach house. One night I awoke alone, terrified to see that the walls and ceilings were swarming with large, black water-bugs.
2. “…until they wake us and we are no more.” A variation of the ending of Eliot’s Prufrock, “We have lingered in the chambers of the sea / By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown / Till human voices wake us and we drown.”

Advertisements

HOMAGE TO THE SATAN

And, indeed, there will be time.

Time to set my house in order,
time to set the clocks,
time to lock the doors
before I sleep, I dream.

Before the spiders spin their webs
across my face to catch the hours
before they tiptoe out the room
and down the stairs,
the silent stairs,

and out the silent doors,
into the silent night,
into the arms of Samael

sitting on a tree stump
in the center of a faerie circle.

SABBATH FISH

I remember

there were raisins
in one hand,
and almonds in the other,
and a distance in her eyes

looking into
the boiling pot
of gefilte fish.

Gefilte fish.

And raisins and almonds
in her hands, and
a distance in her eyes
that frightened me.

as I spied around the corner
of the kitchen door.

THE SOMETIMES ROOM

        “Now that lilacs are in bloom / She has a bowl of lilacs in her room / And twists one in her fingers while she talks.” ~T.S. Eliot, Portrait of a Lady

The wolf sits at my door,
peering through the keyhole,
sniffing at the doorknob,

panting.

The panting wolf
sitting at the door,
peering through the keyhole,
sniffing at the doorknob
mutters to itself,

“Come out, come out,
wherever you are.”

But I have wrapped myself
in various ephemera
taken from the mandrake dig
last night,

the night before
the big bad wolf
muttered at my door:

“Come out, come out,
whoever you are.”

Whoever I am.
Whatever he is.
Wherever we are.

I choose not to know
such things as these
swimming in a bowl upon the table
where the lilacs bloom.

But I shall sit here in this sometimes room
until they leap upon my lap,
like beastly children
with their beastly questions

about the beast, the wolf,
the big bad wolf
who waits, who pants,
who counts the hours

outside my cottage door.

MAY 23, 2015: A Poem

rain in a teacup.
a tempest and a storm
in the kitchen sink.

and a hand on the door knob.

knives and forks and spoons
dancing behind closed eyelids
sewn shut by the hands
of drooping clocks
scattering seconds
on the timeless ground.

empty pockets fill with rye,
four and twenty blackbirds
split the pie sitting on the sill

while Snow White chirps a lullaby
to restless bluebirds
also sitting on the sill,

waiting for their turn to die.

THINGS I’VE LEARNED ABOUT LIFE IN 80 YEARS

                  “Often times the people who disagree most strongly with something I’ve learned in life are the ones who exemplify it the most. Those who have ears, will hear.” ~ L.G. Corey

o It’s not always wise to be smart.

o Be careful how much intelligence you show, if you don’t want to offend others or call injury and hurt upon yourself.

o There are those who are rankled by your success, and then accuse you of envy for pointing out theirs to them.

o A friend is someone who celebrates your successes, not who questions them.

o Do not — I repeat, do NOT — embark on Jung’s path of individuation unless you’re prepared to spend the better part of your life alone and rejected — that is, if you do it right.

o The man who demonstrates any level of autonomy must be prepared to spend the rest of his life alone.

o I must confess that, with some rare and beautiful exceptions, my life confirms Sartre’s famous dictum, “Hell is other people.” That’s why I’ve chosen to spend what’s left of it as a recluse with my dogs and cats in our little house 7 thou. ft. above sea level and civilization.

o There are people who are offended, insulted and angered by the intelligence, creativity and strength of others. Don’t be one of them.

o If you suddenly realize that you’re not getting anything out of a friendship (even one of many years) except a load of shit, then end it, difficult as that may be.

o There is still so much to explain, but so little time remaining to explain it.

o Better to die alone than to have lived among fools.

o I don’t think I’m better than you. I just don’t agree that you’re better than me.

o I don’t know if it amuses or infuriates me that some people will “fight for your right to your opinion,” as long as it’s the same as theirs.

o In some circles it’s considered bad manners to actually know what you’re talking about.

o Contrary to what some people want to accuse me of, I don‬‘t “know everything.” But I DO know something‬ — and what I ‪‎do‬ know, I know very, very well.

o Often times the people who disagree most strongly with something I’ve learned in life are the ones who exemplify it the most. Those who have ears, will hear.

o I consider it important to know what you’re talking about if and when you challenge someone else’s thinking. Apparently, not many others do.

o There are some people who are just too stupid to realize when they’re being insulted.

o You can’t learn something new if you’re convinced you already know it.

BAMBOO WIND CHIMES

The blind see,
the lame walk,

but I sit
here, I sit
here among
the blind, the lame,

who neither see nor walk

but trip and fall
and listen to the dust
breathing in the wall,

and make their beds,
brush their teeth,
and say goodnight

to monsters
under their beds,
under their heads,
between their toes,

and over the moon
where the West wind blows.