Dead River

I drifted downriver
Till the river ran dry.

Chased those dark flashes

Washed out when they cried.

Walked a too far road

Way past where it died.

Now that death

       it still moans
Yes that death
       feels like home.

Smiles Pass

She waits
in the lot
a crossover
that carries kids
to school, to soccer.
A black sedan
slides beside,
breath quick in
ambivalent anticipation.
She slides onto
black leather.
Nervous smiles pass

She answers his

call, working late.
Again, and
child to bed,
and dinner away
while he watches
the other
waiting. He walks,
slipping their promise
from his finger,
into the bar.
Familiar smiles pass.

She knocks shy

on the door,
glancing left to
right in a
dim anonymous hall. 
Inside he takes
another sip of
courage and moves
and a door opens
to her scent,
her eyes wanting.
Surrendered smiles pass

for comfort
for love
for truth.

Firing Line

Smoke and fire jump out,

            sparks spit, dissipate to 
            sharp cracks, rude bangs,
            farther down spread a buffeting
                        BOOM. 
Oiled steel concussion meets,
            match the beat
                        within.
Overloaded senses seek instruments
            that deal danger,
Comfort and sometimes
            something more
                        dark
            sure and unsettling,
            spread behind a sharp line.
Move, reach,
            caress polished potential. 
Wander beyond that line
            drift downrange
            toward dark silhouettes,
                        armless men
            two dimension dancers. 
Walk transparent
            through invisible flow,
            copper coated soft centered,
True through
            beyond from dark death
            to light
                        life.
A poke a pull a heat
            ripple outward,
            finally free finding
                         flight.

Gift of Róisín Dubh

This poem was given to me just today by someone who has grown to mean more to me than I ever imagined she might. I post it as just one way to express to her my gratitude. Thank you, my Róisín Dubh.

I shake the bottle

               of reason
   Bits fall
Heavy pieces of
        past lives
  drift
         Down
                 to gone
I shake the bottle
                  of reason
      Juicy bubbles of
    want
float
    Free
And burst
                again
    and
Again
    I breathe you.

Two Lives

SITUATION: Assume that two men are born on the same day, one in the United States and one in Great Britain. They come from equally happy homes and grow into equally successful men. Both enjoy good careers and long happy marriages. They both raise beautiful children that grow into content and responsible adults. They both die on the same day.

Now assume that one did all the right things because he lived according to the dictates of his conscience or his God. His concern was simply doing the right thing. Assume the other did all the right things because he wanted to insure that he was remembered fondly. His concern was his legacy.

QUESTION: Are their lives of equal worth?

ANSWER: I don’t know.

To say yes is to acknowledge the equal importance of the contributions made by these two imaginary men to their families, communities and the world in general. To say no is to deny the importance of intention.

One man’s intention was to provide the people in his world with the things that he, as a man, believed they needed. To him, the ends and the means were one in the same. The other man’s intention was to leave his mark- if in no other way than through his children. To him, the means were a function of the ends.    

I ask this question because I recently met a man that was in the process of starting a blog. I’ve no idea whether or not he ever carried through with his plan and it was a fairly brief encounter. But the conversation has stayed with me for quite some time.

He wanted to write about the issue of what it means to be a man in today’s world. I was immediately interested because I’ve often pondered a man’s changing role in a changing world. It’s a much bigger question than it seems at first glance. It covers the gamut from whether or not to hold doors for a lady, to friendships, to family responsibilities, to personal conduct and beyond. (Side Note: The best fictional exploration of this question I’ve ever found is in Jim Harrison’s novella Legends of the Fall. The movie is also quite good.)

I read one of his pieces, an essay really. It dealt with the issue of personal legacy. He stated that most people are forgotten within two generations of death. I’ve no idea where he got this statistic but it may well be true. I see no problem with this, but he seemed uncomfortable with the implacability of time. Hence, the idea of personal legacy.

You should know that his professed purpose for this concern with legacy was his two young sons. If they are to be his legacy, he reasons, he wants to make sure that it’s a good one. I gathered from our conversation that he is in the process of raising two fine young men. Sounds reasonable, does it not? Maybe even admirable.

But I was left with questions. I acknowledge that on the holistic level, all men’s lives are of equal value. Good balances evil, love balances hate and peace balances violence- often in the same life. But on an individual level? Is there not that gut response, that innate repugnance, at the idea that these two men are equal?

           Do we not know intuitively that intention matters? And perhaps the answer is right there. Perhaps these two men’s lives are equally valued while not of equal value.