Category Archives: Poems

A new poem for when it’s cold and rainy

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It’s cold and rainy up in Cape Cod and I’m sticking close to home, working on a long-haul project. Feels good to be near the Atlantic, with a hot water bottle at my feet and a pile of thick blankets. I want to meet a few writing goals today, then treat myself to a slab of fresh salmon from Cape Fish & Lobster— the best of the best.

It’s always a good idea to treat yourself to a nice slab of salmon, no matter what’s going on in your life. I hope things are going well, and that the things that might not be going so well turn around again soon. I believe in you.

It was great fun to receive a writer’s package in the mail from Mumbai, India the other day– the latest from Poet’s Choice (dig that postage!) It’s always nice to be included in things, if it’s an anthology or a birthday party or whatever. People want to be included, not excluded, from that which is soul-affirming in this world. Even I know that, and I was recently informed that I “lack all people skills” by someone who has “exceptional people skills” so I’m excited to confirm this hard-fought wedgeling of insight. Take it with a grain of salt. Chase with tequila.

Below is my latest poem, out now from Poet’s Choice: “Free Range” (2023).

Proof of life!

Cold and Planetary

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In the Poet’s Corner of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City, pause to find Plath’s stone laid bare. Carved upon it is the opening line from her poem, “The Moon and the Yew Tree”:

This is the light of the mind,
Cold and planetary

There will never be a greater statement made in this or any language, for here is an intergalactic declaration of independence.

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Poetry: The Inchworm’s Marathon

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29389301_10155177235596960_1475582911288705024_nSo many poems have been falling out of the sky lately and landing on my head/page/lap/grocery list/tire repair receipt– everywhere. I love this gift of life and learning, the hard work that goes into it, but also the inevitability. The roll of it. Honoring this means stopping to get against a solid service to get the line down, and it also means granting permission to do so rather than denigrating my talent with bullshit like “Oh, that’s stupid” or “Who even reads poems anyway?” or “I can’t do this.”

Answers: “No it’s not.” “Everyone, whether they realize it or not.” “Yes you can.” Good, glad that’s clear now.
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At the Summer Palace, May 2000

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Beijing_summer-palaceSeventeen years ago I published this poem in the British magazine TANK. I still recognize the lost and wandering soldier who wrote it, who poked around Beijing’s Summer Palace at the height of the season. Today I feel compelled to give China a leave of absence of indeterminate length, repelled as I am by its murder of human rights giants like Liu Xiaobo (say his name). But still in my head I hear the lowing of Beijing Wanbao! and I recall my friends and students, my landlord Yang, my neighbors. They remain and work, I believe, to make the country better even as I disappeared into an aisle seat on a long-ago United flight. Here’s to those twin poles: courage and cowardice.

Owl Lamp

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lampIf you take stock and notice– really breathe deep and notice— the world offers up a million poems a second. It is extraordinary to realize we are traveling at such a light speed and you will stop and say no! Slow down! I can’t capture it all when you move that quick! But the world will throw its head back and laugh and speed up again. That is the moment in which you come into direct contact with your own mortality. You cannot catch it all. Your time is finite. You will only reel in a handful of poems at best. Here is one.

Work, Poem

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busWe’re mere inches and millimeters away from the start of the public school year here in NYC, and the District 7 high school where I work is abuzz, I mean abuzz, with go-get-it-ness and get-it-done-ness and other forms of generalized optimism before the students arrive and deflate these many tires. Ohhh man, what it is to teach. What it is.

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