Somehow, it is fitting
that I have forgotten
that title of office
by which my peers and I
addressed him twice-weekly,
"Professor So-and-So,"
the name that,
to us,
summed him up.
For, in the moment that
hot brakes squealed
and God drew his soul
up through the atmosphere
like a rubber band being snapped,
he was Eric.
Eric, his widow no doubt whispered,
as she kissed his brow
for the last time
on this earth.
[Author's note: His departure from us was untimely and incredibly sad. I wish I could thank him for the things he taught me, not only those things he had to teach, but also the ones he chose to teach. I will always cherish the opportunity I had, to be one of his last students before he returned to doing what he loved. Those who can, do, and those who can't, teach. And those who are extraordinary, do both, as he did. Professor, I hope to see you on the other side.]
Monday, August 15, 2011
Friday, July 16, 2010
"The Parasites," 7/14/10
Who will they blame
when they have destroyed everything?
When there is nothing left
of our legacy
but the smoldering ashes of their evils?
Even then,
will they know what they have done?
No.
They will give thanks
that they are alive
to create another generation
in their unholy image.
Even then,
the Earth will be
making preparations
to purge itself
once and for all
of its filthy,
human
PARASITE.
when they have destroyed everything?
When there is nothing left
of our legacy
but the smoldering ashes of their evils?
Even then,
will they know what they have done?
No.
They will give thanks
that they are alive
to create another generation
in their unholy image.
Even then,
the Earth will be
making preparations
to purge itself
once and for all
of its filthy,
human
PARASITE.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
"Change," 9/7/09
I find myself increasingly
alone among the crowd, of late,
who once comprised my happy state
and now share not their lives with me.
I dwell on sweetest days that never
will return, and silently I
ask these darkened halls if they know why
familiar ties must sever.
And when I find society
these days, it lies among the small,
who share with me their thoughts and all
their toys, and all the things they saw
that my eyes couldn't see.
Children are unique in that
they aren't always preoccupied
with leaving all the past behind--
because they have no past.
But everything that grown-ups do,
and all the selves that they create,
they must destroy and then remake,
and never do they think that Fate
suggests them what they choose.
I stand atop a tiny island,
watching all my past rush past;
those to whom I clung so fast
slip by and never look toward land.
Oh Change! Nature's intricacy
that's wove like a strong silken thread
or painted in bold strokes of red
in patterns we can't see!
alone among the crowd, of late,
who once comprised my happy state
and now share not their lives with me.
I dwell on sweetest days that never
will return, and silently I
ask these darkened halls if they know why
familiar ties must sever.
And when I find society
these days, it lies among the small,
who share with me their thoughts and all
their toys, and all the things they saw
that my eyes couldn't see.
Children are unique in that
they aren't always preoccupied
with leaving all the past behind--
because they have no past.
But everything that grown-ups do,
and all the selves that they create,
they must destroy and then remake,
and never do they think that Fate
suggests them what they choose.
I stand atop a tiny island,
watching all my past rush past;
those to whom I clung so fast
slip by and never look toward land.
Oh Change! Nature's intricacy
that's wove like a strong silken thread
or painted in bold strokes of red
in patterns we can't see!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
"To Andrew," 11.5.08
I feel you touch my hand
in small moments that pass like
dandelion seeds on a fall wind.
And I see the sun on your hair
and know that the world is outside
of our little sphere of peace.
Where did you tuck away
those dark words I threw at you
the other day by the park?
You were unable to
retrieve my coldnesses
from wherever it was you put them.
I hear a small warm laugh from you.
Why do you look at me
with eyes that cannot judge?
My eyes are black pools,
taking in no gold sunlight,
and giving none back.
But your love is warm light,
warm enough to melt
the years of frosty vigilance
rimming my icicle heart.
Oh, my gorgeous summer day!
Hold me tightly when clouds pass.
in small moments that pass like
dandelion seeds on a fall wind.
And I see the sun on your hair
and know that the world is outside
of our little sphere of peace.
Where did you tuck away
those dark words I threw at you
the other day by the park?
You were unable to
retrieve my coldnesses
from wherever it was you put them.
I hear a small warm laugh from you.
Why do you look at me
with eyes that cannot judge?
My eyes are black pools,
taking in no gold sunlight,
and giving none back.
But your love is warm light,
warm enough to melt
the years of frosty vigilance
rimming my icicle heart.
Oh, my gorgeous summer day!
Hold me tightly when clouds pass.
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