Winds of Change

poetry

There is a place between where I was—
Geographically straddling home (and where home will be)
Intellectually flailing at what I know (petrified of what I don’t)
Emotionally committed this cause (a compelling enigma)
Romantically ready, so ready (so far from prepared—but ready)
Spiritually tender and ready to be transformed (more than I can imagine)
And where I am going—

Like a flag buffeting in the wind
Declaring an identity which has been attached to another foundation
For as long as memory recalls

Flings loose

Willingly—terrified.
A movement begins.
This house grows wheels, bears the weather—no apologies, howling.
Purpose served, shingles tear up, await replacement.
A new roof—trappings intact.
The old precedes, but now concedes.
One is silver, the other gold.

The summer storms usurps a leaf from his stagnant perch
And for a moment—though turbulent and unknowing—
Deposits him to transformation of life yet untold.
Greatest mystery with only the promise of a seed intact.

Change and I have never seemed to get along,
But if it’s like they say and, “opposites attract”—
Then I suppose I’m right where I should be.

on rabbits and hats

poetry

i always
viewed myself
as
a
borderline ascetic
needing nothing
but books
scoffing at those
with
two houses
two cars
two pairs of pants
smug in my
anti-materialistic
superiority.

but then i started packing in preparation
for a move and shit appeared out of thin air filling boxes and bags
crowding the corners of every room like surly cubic dwarfs taunting and daunting
us with their immutability increasing in number until i feared a coup de box so finally i called
and upgraded to a larger moving truck all the time wondering how it was i’ve acquired so much shit
and how the hell can i get rid of all of it?