Posted on by EAT

regret

Regret is a powerful force of emotion, but it is not easy to depict in poetry. I once left someone I loved to be with someone I was infatuated with. Who knows why we do such things. Years later I found myself looking back on that decision with savage, ravaging pangs of regret.

regret

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.

You may have noticed that the subject is not approached in the usual manner here. Throughout the years, I have been admonished over and over to “just say what I feel” when writing poetry, as if just saying that I have regrets, that it hurts, and talking about what happened to cause them is somehow poetry. It’s not. No matter how I chopped up the lines, this could never create a poem; it could only create prose that’s been chopped into short lines.

Poetry is in part the art of expressing such feelings using only depiction so that he who reads will be overcome by a sense of empathy and relation without ever being asked to empathize or relate. A poem on a subject such as this should manage to completely avoid ever saying anything along the lines of, “I feel regret,” or “I regret XYZ.” This is the job of prose. The poem, if successful, should awaken that regret within the reader as an emotion he can own for himself without ever being told to do so.

In the case of this poem, I use the title to create the expectation of a normal gush of chopped prose on the subject of regret only to seemingly evade the expectation entirely, leaving the last stanza to bring the title home in an entirely jarring and unexpected manner—like the thrust of a dagger.

Posted on by EAT

Exhale

This, my 9th trisect poem, is inspired by my experience of learning to play the bansuri flute. I have a long way to go still, but people no longer run for the hills when I play, which I hope means I’m getting better.

Segment one depicts the bansuri flute itself, by way of its origin and construction. Segment two depicts breath, without which the bansuri is just a piece of wood. Segment three depicts my process of learning to play.

      Exhale

            Reed

            Shoots reach forth and crack the earth
      with nodes that telescope into the air
until green blades dance out and sway against the sky

            A column falls before the saw
      drifting like a feather through its peers
    which lean and separate with rustle whisk and clack
until the parted clone lies cradled lightly in their midst

            Hollow sections lose their green
      hardened by the touch of open flame
until the thin walls cure to caramel colored hues

            Blemishes are smoothed away
      a plug is set with delicate precision
    bores probe and burn with care an empty space inside
until the slightest sigh sends echoes coursing through the wood
 

            Motion

            Ribs expand like gaping jaws
      and current rushes through a maze of tubes
to fuse with membranes hidden deep within the shell

            Rivers churn within their walls
      cycled through an all pervasive flow
    from channels of aeration through rapids fraught with force
to many-fingered deltas strewn across half-charted planes

            Bones contract a casual grip
      and moisture dissipates into the air
to mingle with a stream of circumscribing winds

            rained in far-flung alpine lakes
      absorbed by rolling seas of desert sand
    and perspired from the leaves of oaks and conifers
to drizzle dew on blades of grass half a world away
 

            Ambience

            Fingers dance on shades of brown
      as whispers vibrate down a narrow shaft
in waves that slowly learn their resonance and form

            Night after night uncertain sounds
      gather confidence beneath the moon
    phasing with the silhouettes of cherry trees
in movements half remembered from a long forgotten age

            Expression gradually finds its way
      to sagebrush valleys ponderosa peaks
in subtle overtones that grow in strength until

            timbres weave through redwood trees
      like whale song steeped in oceanic gloom
    resounding off sheer outcrops covered thick with moss
in undertones that settle like a mist among the ferns

Posted on by EAT

Little Bastards

As I walked with a friend through Low Gap Park yesterday, I felt a sudden, sharp pain on my left hand. And I looked down to note a yellow jacket biting and stinging all at once, just trying with all it’s infinitesimal might to take down the colossal human.

I snapped my wrist once, and it was still latched on tight. I felt the stinger pierce deeper. I snapped it a few frantic times in succession and managed to shake it loose, probably flinging it hard to the ground and knocking it woozy.

These little demons need no provocation. My hand still hurts. My whole left arm has been itching as if from poison oak, though that’s beginning to dissipate. What motivates these creatures???

Little Bastards

Black and yellow
  like hazard signs
    or street-side urgings
  they whiz past a
    compressed package of
      flying road rage

They masquerade as
  relatively gentle bees
    but instead of nectar
  they work at flesh
    armored scavengers
      of rotting meat

They fill their wings with
  wild sounds of wrath
    every sidewound motion
  a burst of vitriol
    twisted little words intent
      on intimidation

And when you fail to
  flail dance and run
    they find a quiet spot
  grip with six stout legs
    and send their hateful venom
      throughout your veins

Posted on by EAT

Cathedral

There is a redwood State Reserve about 30 miles west of Ukiah called Montgomery Woods. The woods are a series of groves which have been purchased and set aside for preservation by various parties, most of which have been involved in the logging industry one way or another, oddly enough. A friend and I used to visit this park on a regular basis, and we came to think of it as being much like a cathedral. In fact, we referred to the entry into the first large grove as “The Cathedral”. Thus my 8th trisect poem.

Cathedral

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.

As I wrote this poem, I read up on the history and architecture of European Cathedrals, dating back to the Roman Empire, and looked for visual relationships between them and various points of interest within the Montgomery Woods. As I did so this poem began to take form with the first segment, “nave”, which is to say, the main hall of a cathedral. This segment focuses on the redwoods themselves.

Then I tried to think of a more complex object of focus for the second segment and thought of the Catholic Liturgies, so “vespers”. But as I finished “vespers” it dawned on me that this was describing a process more so than an object, and as I struggled to find a process to focus on for the third segment, I eventually decided to make “vespers”—the prayerful sounds of nature—that process.

I decided to focus on the “understory” of the woods for the second segment, which can describe anything found beneath the crown of the redwood forest. Slowly but surely, when I closed my eyes and visualized my walks through Montgomery Woods, I began to see relations between the understory and cathedral designs, and so segment two took form.

Posted on by EAT

Sakura

My 6th trisect poem. The first segment depicts the cherry blossom, by means of impressions. The second segment depicts the environments into which the cherry blossoms manifest and disperse. The third segment depicts the ephemerality of life.

In Japan the cherry blossom has long been associated with the ephemerality of youth and life, sometimes even painted alongside scenes of samurai harakiri and other scenes of mortal transition. In this poem I’ve attempted to depict these associations using mostly Western imagery. I’ve also tried to lace a sense of ephemerality throughout the entire poem.

Sakura

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.

What’s interesting about the trisect is that I often come to see more in the poem when I read it than what was there when I wrote it. Already I can see associations and connections in this piece that I would have been sure were intentional if I hadn’t written it myself. I find myself wondering if this isn’t some kind of connection to the workings of the unconscious. Trisects are dreamlike in a lot of ways

Posted on by EAT

Oak Dream

This poem, my 15th hybridanelle, is the first of four poems that connect to a dream I had in 2001. The other three poems, in the order they were written, are “Three Ravens”, “markers”, and “oak touch”.

The poem “markers” does a decent job of describing the dream itself. Being a surreal dream, “markers” is a surreal poem. Some of the circumstances surrounding the dream are talked about in the intro to “oak touch”. This poem focuses on the oak tree that I encountered in “real life” about two weeks after I dreamed about it.

      Oak Dream

      random weaves of rugged bark
           writhe against the phasing skies
        that drift beyond capricious leaves

  roots extend throughout a dozen worlds
     winding deep into the plane of dreams
to brush the wayward mind like strokes of wind

     weathered plates of charcoal gray
           shift and slide into the air as
        random weaves of rugged bark

     tendrils cleave the mists from drought to draught
        driven to explore domains of light
winding deep into the plane of dreams

     vapors breathe against the moon
           raising plumes within the void
        that drift beyond capricious leaves

     solar cells fan out as emerald lobes
        along dynamic conduits of growth
driven to explore domains of light

     mosses clothe erratic limbs
         climbing toward inconstant heights up
        random weaves of rugged bark

     colors dance across elusive grains
        in gradual pilgrimage through subtle realms
along dynamic conduits of growth

     russet rustles greet the stars
           when cloud-breaks split the stormy nights
        that drift beyond capricious leaves

     like ripples cast by gentle drops of rain
        rings expand through time as branches reach
in gradual pilgrimage through subtle realms

     stardust rises from the earth
           to sing across the depths of space on
        random weaves of rugged bark
  that drift beyond capricious leaves

     beneath the spread of tangible mirage
        roots extend throughout a dozen worlds
rings expand through time as branches reach
  to brush the wayward mind like strokes of wind

Posted on by EAT

Halflight

The night; the wilderness; a stream. Here silence takes on new meaning, and it includes a movement of sound. Here stillness absorbs new significance, and it involves touch and motion.

Halflight

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.

Publication History:

The Alchemy Post (web-based) — November 2005

Posted on by EAT

ocean song

This was written to demonstrate to an acquaintance how a strong poem could be written that closely emulates the style and approach of another strong poem, using entirely different subject matter. The poem this is modeled after is “desert song,” also a tanka.

ocean song

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.

Publication History:

The Alchemy Post (web-based) — November 2005

Posted on by EAT

Niveous Cherry Blossoms

Cherry blossoms are everywhere in Portland. They are just everywhere. It seemed they deserved at the very least a tanka.

Niveous Cherry Blossoms

white catkin branches
sway beneath the light gray sky
rain drips from rooftops

each wind-burst fills the air
with flurries of dancing petals

Posted on by EAT

moonless night

The night sky will always inspire poems from me. Here is a tanka to that ribbon of stars called the Milky Way.

moonless night

a ribbon of stars
churns across the speckled night
revealing the way
failing to follow this path
will fold our dust in magma

Posted on by EAT

The Lotus Tree

I was inspired to write this poem after one of my full moon visits to a particular redwood tree that grows near a place called Usal Beach, north of Fort Bragg, California. It’s a remote beach, accessible only by six miles of dirt road, after driving at least 60 odd miles of remote highway. Most redwoods grow straight up, a single spire swaying up to the clouds. However something has inspired this tree to grow very differently. About fourteen feet from the ground it suddenly spreads out into about thirty individual spires, each of which have grown over the years into mature redwoods. When seen from a short distance, the effect is that of looking upon an enormous chandelier. I call her “The Lotus Tree” because of the whorl-like pattern of her individual spires.

This tree has a strong presence about her. And judging by the path that winds up to her knees through a grove of similarly twisted redwoods—though none so spectacular as herself—it would seem that she has connected with quite a few people over the years. Knowing her has been one of the great blessings of my life.

The Lotus Tree

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 was incorporated into my villanelle/terzanelle project, so “the grove” and “full moon visit” are my 15th and 16th villanelles, respectively, and “the sagess” and “astral visit” are my 14th and 15th terzanelles, respectively.