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it’s up to you

They won’t always inspire confidence when it comes time to send them out into the community, but you have to hope for the best and wish them well in any case. At the very least, they deserve a chance. And who knows? Sometimes they’ll even surprise you in the best possible way.

it’s up to you

we came together to guide your way,
to point you toward a better path,
to pull you back from where you strayed
in darkness toward the aftermath
of choices only made to fuel a fire
that raged within your soul a deadly pyre.

we shared the wisdom of our years
and tried to help you see that life
extends beyond the nearest curve
that looms before your mental eye,
and that real gains are much more far away
than what amusements rule your thoughts today.

we tried to fill you with a sense
of motivation to transcend
the tragedy of circumstance
that spawned your urgings to offend,
to grow beyond the sum of all you’ve known
and seize a brighter future as your own.

we tried to teach you self control,
to think of more than just yourself,
to contemplate how others feel,
to cultivate a growing wealth
of tools to ply against uncertainty
and into shaping opportunities.

but after everything we’ve done
to elevate the way you think,
it seems that you must be the one
to make the choice to swim or sink;
either way, we’ll wish the best for you
and hope you’ll choose what’s right in all you do.

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Wordplay

I would say that my serious interest in poetry as a writer began in July of 2001. For this is when I embarked upon putting together a seven part poem consisting of terzanelles, which I titled “Fragments”. After this, I decided that I would dedicate the rest of my life to poetry, and after some casting about for ideas on how to get going, I decided I would begin by studying the ghazal for at least two years. This was just shy of twelve years ago now.

And what have I learned about poetry since then, in all this time? Well, for one thing I’ve learned that it is hard—very hard—to write what could objectively be considered “good” poetry. In fact, the more I learned about this art, the higher I raised my own standards, and the harder it got. Once in awhile I find myself reflecting on where I was 12 years ago and where I am today. I find myself wondering just what poetry is and how it could be defined, and what it is to me specifically. The specifics change on this regard, hopefully evolving, but there is a sort of vague and abstract definition of poetry that floats through my mind like an ever shifting cloud. One that dissipates into nothing whenever I try to use words to express it. That’s alright; this unsettled definition is for my own uses anyway.

But, I have at least developed a sense of what a poem is not, and for the first time in a while I found myself revisiting this notion.

Wordplay

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

This is my 6th Petrarchan sonnet.

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Stumble

This is written for someone who stumbled some years ago. The fall was severe enough that there was the very real possibility of never being able to recover and live a normal life. This is not the sort of fall that involves scraped hands and knees, but the kind that involves a severe lapse in judgment—A psycho-spiritual fall. But, over time, this person has shown everyone a willingness to grow that is beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. A new chapter now begins for this being, and we are all filled with hope and wish the absolute best.

Stumble

For someone with potential

A shadow stirred within the hollows of your heart
  and writhed amid the shallows of your mind;
  it fell across your visage—left you blind
to choices that would raise you up from out the dark
and set you on a course to apprehend rewards
  reserved for those whose spirits are aligned
  with empathy and wisdom intertwined—
And blinded thus you faltered, fell, and landed hard.

    But it takes light to cast the blackest shadow,
  and this is light that you have learned to see.
You’ve gotten up again despite the grief and shame
    and found you have a bright new path to follow.
  You’re wiser now and touched with empathy,
so you should never fail and fall so hard again.

This is my 5th Petrarchan sonnet.

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Falter

When I play with a poetic form that I want get to know for its own sake and hopefully gain some insights from, I’ll often first explore the form in its strictest expression, following its “rules” exactly. Then after I’ve done this a few times, I’ll begin to deviate and explore variations on its structural theme. The ten Shakespearean, or English, sonnets I’ve written are all in strict iambic pentameters, but now that I’m moving through the ten Petrarchan, or Italian, sonnets that I want to write, I’m experimenting much more broadly. I have for a long time not considered rhyme essential to a form’s success, often opting instead to explore various alternatives. Instead of rhyme, this poem uses partial reverse rhyme, assonance, and alliteration in place of the end-line rhyme pattern used by the Petrarchan sonnet.

Falter

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

This is my 4th Petrarchan sonnet.

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Refraction

Hermenegilda Cabrera, lovingly called Tiya Emmy by nearly everyone who knew her, passed away during the first week of March this year. She is my wife’s aunt, her mother’s sister. As she fell ill, I would find my wife crying uncontrollably as she read updates on her condition. And after she got the news that her suffering was over, she cried on and off for weeks. Even now I’ll sometimes find her crying.

Refraction

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

I know that Tiya Emmy’s passing has affected my wife at the deepest levels. But I also know there is more to it than this. Her mother and father are around the same age, and she feels that growing sense of dread all children must endure as their parents age. They are in good health, however, and we are thankful for this.

This is my 3rd Petrarchan sonnet. Still a bit challenging for me.

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Spark

This, my 5th synthetic ode, has proven itself a difficult thing to write. I’m not really sure why. I think maybe it has to do with the insights behind the content being somewhat beyond the reach of words—Of language.

Spark

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

The metaphor I’ve attempted to explore here is the coalescence of being and the spark of beingness.

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Understanding

This somewhat tells the story of a poem I started in December of 2010, which may now be close to completion. I was only able to get moving forward with it when I finally accepted that I am not currently able to manifest its full potential, so I’m settling for the best I can manage instead. The idea is that hopefully, one day, I will be able to come back and revise it to its full potential. But, it is also possible also that the words simply don’t exist for what I wish to accomplish, hence this simple “understanding”.

Understanding

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.
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Coming Together

I have known Kayla for nearly ten years, since she was maybe 13. Now in about a week she’s getting married already. We met at a site centered on interactions around the subject of poetry. I don’t quite remember how we started talking, but it of course involved the subject of poetry. I do remember that for years she would ask me to task her with writing projects, which she would diligently work at and complete. Today she actually credits me with having taught her a lot.

A few months back, she asked me if I would commemorate her wedding with a poem, saying it would mean a lot to her. I’ve tried to accommodate her request. Hopefully she’ll like.

Coming Together

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

This poem is a synthetic ode, my 4th. Since the synthetic ode can contain other forms within it, so long as certain semantic and structural guidelines are met, and since I was playing with sonnets anyway, this poem also contains my 7th and 8th Shakespearean sonnets (parts I and II), and my 1st Petrarchan sonnet (part III).

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Companion

Maybe Time is more of a companion than she is—as many people feel—a tyrant. She is always with us, never leaves our side for a moment, and forever offers at least one consolation—that whatever our woes, these too will pass, one way or the other. This consolation has been perhaps the prime influence on my will to survive long, hard, bitter years in the face of an ever uncertain future.

Companion

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.
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The Empty Cubby

A perspective poem, written from the perspective of a child as she ponders the empty cubby by the wall in her classroom. I’ve only written a handful of perspective poems over the years, though I would like to write more.

   The Empty Cubby

   The cubby hole is empty
      where your lunchbox used to be,
and everyone seems quieter today.
   There is an eerie stillness,
      like the playground in between
our recess time when we go out to play.

   The Teacher tried to tell us,
      when we all came in for class,
that you were never coming back again.
   We asked a lot of questions,
      but it was hard to understand
the way she hid her face as if in pain.

   All morning long, your best friend
      Tommy turned to face the door
whenever anybody entered through.
   At recess in the play yard
      he sat out by the handball court
alone and staring up into the blue.

   We know that something’s happened.
      Somehow we know that something’s changed.
Nobody is the way they usually seem.
   We didn’t even play much
      when we had our classroom brakes.
The whole entire day is like a dream.

   Now class is almost over,
      but no-one seems to really care
the round clock on the wall is nearing three.
   I think they all are thinking
      of the cubby with your name.
The cubby where your lunchbox used to be.

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Contrast

My third synthetic ode. I would like to eventually find the time and energy to write more. The first two parts are structurally isometric while the last has a structure of its own. Parts I and II focus on opposites, in this case the female (yin) and male (yang) energies, respectively. Part III explores a synthesis of the two.

Thesis, antithesis, synthesis—Using purely depictive language. All synthetic odes are done this way. It’s a time consuming process.

Contrast

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general. However, the above player can still be used to listen to it.

I will at some point get around to writing an article on the synthetic ode, since I’m the only one who can explain it. It is my creation, after all. But first I want to write more such poems, so as to become completely clear about what elements of language and prosody must be present for a poem to be called by this name.