Passing in Hallways

Passing in Hallways

I've heard it said, life is
a journey, not a destination.
Then mine must be all about
this passing in hallways:
It is where I find myself,
where I learn so much I need
to know about.

I was not well for a long time.
I felt the pressure.
I felt the world was all too much.
The pressure stopped and suddenly
I was better, but I was not happy.
This seems like it may always be
a problem for me —
Will I find myself always poor,
always lacking if
when the going gets tough
I get stuck?

I'm asked, is this what I have
in mind for my work,
for it all to be about poetry?
I'm asked, what are the
technical themes prominent
in my work? I say,
I tend to borrow a lot
from myself. I'm very much
a self-plagiarist, repeating
themes, regurgitating the same
ideas I had, over and over.
So where are we going with this?
I'm still standing on the
outside of the door, wondering
what's going on without me
on the inside of this place.
I'm still passing in the hallways.

I find some bread and take a bite
while I reflect on what has passed.
I chew the seeds of flowers
that will never bloom.
I feel troubled; I stop dreaming.

I wake to the sense that
I am always passing through places
and never belonging. My life as such
is a process of moving on, but
never arriving. Am I enjoying the
scenery as I move along, always
passing in hallways?


(3/22/2011)

Clocks

Clocks

On a day when all the clocks are wrong

and the soaking rain and rough wind gusts

will not be tamed,

our road is littered with tossed branches,

our travels push into choppy currents,

the roaring wind's music issues changes

as soft as the thunder's crack.

Then, as quickly, change is a bird song.

The trees present their pink hopes,

and sudden memory of love rushes in,

beautiful dreams.

(3/13 & 3/14/2011)