Only those who died young

watercolor and graphite on paper. 5" x 7". 2006.

excerpt from Duino Elegies: The Tenth Elegy
By Rainier Maria Rilke

"Only those who died young, in their first state of
timeless serenity, while they are being weaned,
follow her lovingly. She waits for girls
and befriends them. Gently she shows them
what she is wearing. Pearls of grief
and the fine-spun veils of patience.-
With youths she walks in silence."

saturday november morning

this morning came with the soft thud-thud and pop-pop of hesitant raindrops on the roof. they were soft but enough to awaken me, more so than the grey damp light sneaking through my shutters. still hazy and lazy, i flipped the covers away and got up and dressed to go make a pot of morning tea. while the water was heating, i listened to a voice mail from a dear old friend whom i've not spoken to in a couple of months. he had a disturbing week. he has never called me because of any sort of distress or frustration in the 16 years i've known him. i've not called back yet because i'm not ready to be a support yet – not just yet. once this tea has kicked in, i shall be ready. i shall be ready to set aside the quiet turmoil of my frail universe to be a friend...

all and nothing

inside, outside,
real, imagined;
are they the same?

it is here, today.
it is here
as most other days.

i want to comment
but it feels
that the words

have already
been said,
or have they?

it is as if
the things i imagine
become real.

they feel real.
real enough
through someone

else’s context.
but it is me who is here
so how could it be another's?

all i have to work
with are those
luscious, lovely piercing

eyes asking
for nothing.
how could it be

that such
open eyes could
ask any soul

for all
and
nothing?

Spin

He endures the phalanx of tests,
the sort of prodding he has been
avoiding all his life.

He finds no discomfort
in dying for another
yet the chore of cleaning
up his own corpse
he finds so completely distasteful.

He finds it ironic and humorous,
lost of all its patina of greenish foam,
the classical age long gone.

He stares into the mirror
and looks at the sleeping pills.
such powerful little pistils they are,
the gift or humankind's work.

With a violent crack
the mirror shatters and falls
into isosceles triangles in the sink.

Even without his consent
the balance of this universe
holds him in his spin.

(November 5, 2006)

Dhalias

They expect a certain kind of ending
who am I to disappoint? A child of Confucious;

"Make sure to buy the paper from the right vendor;
Make sure the incense is not broken.

Don't bother with the box, linen will do.
Don't use dahlias, he will come back for those."

They expect a certain kind of ending;
branded in life, the scars will hold, I'm sure.

(November 5, 2006)