Diabetes Tells Us We're Machines

Diabetes tells us we're machines,
Intended to exist but for a time.
All that brought us pleasure in our prime
Breaks down to prove the metal of our means.
Eventually, all of us must die,
Though, perhaps, not quite so bit-by-bit.
Each soul must see of life the whole of it,
So as to know of death the reason why.
Death Rides with Us on Our Ecstasy
Death rides with us on our ecstasy,
Unwanted fellow traveler of joy,
Wanderer within our will to be,
Finding in our promiscuity
Multiple partners to pillage and destroy.
Death rides with us on our ecstasy,
Seed within our seed sown carelessly
By dupes who would the enemy deploy,
Wanderer within our will to be,
Foiled alone by a society
Whose common strength of will does each will buoy.
Death rides with us on our ecstasy,
Less threatening the more fidelity
Fences off the flesh with which we toy.
Wanderer within our will to be,
AIDS, if nothing else, has helped us see
That we must love if we would lust enjoy.
Death rides with us on our ecstasy,
Wanderer within our will to be.
Debbie
Debbie has donated her right kidney,*
Ever generous, even with her life.
Being is a gift to be passed on
Before one's private miracle is done,
Image of a grace not grace enough
Except when given to another gladly.
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What a Puzzle Nick's Poems Are

What a puzzle Nick's poems are!
I cannot grasp what he is after.
Marx is easier by far!
Why write, if one is out to bar
All comprehension? Does he hafta?
Marx is easier by far.
If only some new thought would jar
Bourgeois perception, as in Kafka!
But Nick's poems empty puzzles are.
I think I would put him on par
With Cage or Pollack: Which is dafter?
Marx is easier by far.
Under what sectarian star
Was he begat? What gnomic laughter
Twists those poems which puzzles are?
Ah me! I'll never know. A for-
Eign joke, a filial disaster!
God! Such puzzles Nick's poems are!
Marx is easier--by far!
When You Were Just a Lad of Twenty
When you were just a lad of twenty,
Wet behind the ears,
You bet me that you wouldn't marry
At least a full ten years.
Well, that was but eight years ago,
And here you are today:
The partner of a lovely bride,
A groom in full array!
A thousand dollars is my prize
Now you've been proven wrong.
The moral is: it's never wise
To think you are too strong
To be touched by the beauty of
An unrestrained affection.
You lost your bet, but won your love:
Now here's to your selection!

Young and Lovely, Strong and Sane
Young and lovely, strong and sane,
Life's a lot of fun.
We snowmobile and laugh and hang
And don't hurt anyone.
You love my blue eyes and blonde hair,
I love your mischievous smile.
We drift a lot among the stars,
Then walk home single file.
Although we're just now starting out,
Only months together,
We'll settle down in Waikiki
And be in love forever!
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Wacky Carols

Evil knight, wholly night,
Vests his dough in a young nerd bright.
Even so, the malevolent childe
Loses his shirt in a downturn mild,
Yielding sword and piece.
Now we will never have peace.
Angels often herd on high,
Nodding nimbly all the day.
God says little in reply,
Echoing what actors say:
Less is more-o-o-o-o-or-o-o-o-o-or-o-o-o-o-oria,
As one seeks the way-o.
There is no well, the angels did say,
In search of a hot tub in which they might lay,
Nor more than one shepherd to manage the sheep,
A lover of Oprah, demented but deep.
Praise be the shoppers, toyful and triumphant,
And the package tourists bound for Bethlehem.
Underneath their passions, they remain but angels,
Living to adore Him
As they serve other lords.
Give us what we're asking for, or we will you dismay.
In Heaven God may reign, but we want toys on Christmas Day!
Unless you do, some things you cherish well might go astray,
Like that Longines watch that long has been your joy, long your joy,
If you don't give in, you just might lose your joy!
We Met upon the Internet
We met upon the Internet,
A friendship electronic,
Expressed alone in words and thoughts,
Inevitably platonic.
We live too far apart for us
To mingle in the flesh,
But much more close than family,
Our hearts and feelings mesh.
Your dear, dear self reveals itself
Without a voice or face.
We have our own sweet home within
Our precious cyberspace.
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From a Secret Admirer

Whose gift this is you cannot know.
My heart is in your keeping though.
You will not mind my writing here
To tell you that I love you so.
I know that you must think it queer
For me to love and not come near
But linger by some frozen lake
This most romantic time of year.
I sometimes give my head a shake
And ask if there is some mistake.
It's lonely out here 'mid the sweep
Of bitter wind and icy flake.
My love for you is dark and deep,
But it's a promise I will keep
As from afar I watch and weep,
As from afar I watch and weep.
Gisela
Gisela would all essences rescind,
Inviting entities to go their way.
So would we all decide what we would be,
Each moment giving way to mystery,
Leaves becoming leopards for the day
As worms are stripped of wombats by the wind.
Graduation Is a Time
Graduation is a time
When our thoughts turn naturally
To vandalism, sex, and crime,
Now that we at last are free.
Our teachers think we're well prepared
To make decisions on our own;
But now, perhaps, they're running scared
As they listen to this poem.
Don't worry, folks, we aren't crazy,
Though sometimes we look that way;
Just annoyed, bored, and lazy
As we make it through the day.
So just like birds out of a cage
Or slaves set free from toil and pain,
We aim to try to act our age
And be for now a bit insane.
For life too soon will close its doors,
And then as we grow old in years
We'll teach our own kids to be bores,
But hopefully they'll stuff their ears
And do as we dream, not as we do,
Facing life a tad askew.
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Old and Good Friends Share a Piece

Old and good friends share a piece
Of passion, pain, and pleasure
That no one else, no family can
Begin to know or treasure.
It's as if a secret room
Held their private store,
And every time they met, they could
Go through some special door.
It doesn't matter if they see
Each other every day,
Or years and years go by before
They come and go away:
The moment that they meet it all
Is there--the memories of
Fierce loyalty and times of need
And gratitude and love.
Our Friendship Is as Close as Closest Sisters
Our friendship is as close as closest sisters,
Two flutes with a single melody,
Interchanging runs through changing vistas,
Notes like birds alighting on a tree.
To some, friends are like books upon a shelf;
Yet you to me are like another self.
This music will not stop for other misters,
Nor will it pause for princes, real or elf.
However life may wend, we will be we.

Thank You for You: For Who You Are
Thank you for you: for who you are,
However far away;
And for the words you send to me,
Near mad for what you say.
Knowing simply that you're there,
Yet thinking much of me,
Opens up my happiness,
Undone for all to see.
Thank You for Your Friendship and Your Love
Thank you for your friendship and your love.
However life may turn, this gift will be
A mountain that has made my river bend,
Nor will it flow the same way to the sea.
Knowing you is something I'm made of.
Years will not this part of me remove.
One lives for just a brief eternity,
Understanding truths that never end.
There Is in Friendship Just a Bit of Eden
There is in friendship just a bit of Eden,
Harboring our early innocence,
Acting out of pleasure in our pleasure,
Not calculating cost or recompense,
Knowing the abundance that we breed in.
Your friendship is a book that I may read in,
Opening a truth I cannot measure
Unless it be with signs or sacraments.
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Thirty-Six

Thirty-six sets out on her career
Halftime, with her baby on her mind.
If women are emancipated, still,
Remaining issues wait upon the will,
That tends to track the turmoil of its kind,
Yearnings that can sing and soar and sear.
So must she balance melodies with skill,
Interior harmonies, by love designed,
X-rays of a heart that one can hear.
To the Heroines Still Not Well Known
To the heroines still not well known,
Those who would be famous were they men,
And those whose sunlight never fully shone,
Veiled for life behind men's fear of sin:
Now it's time your tales were well told,
Well past time you got your bit of glory!
We need to rescue you so that the old
Slant no longer skews our common story.
Those who love the truth and know the past
Is never past, that stories steer one's choices,
Will want to look for heroines in the vast
Store of women's lives and hear their voices.
For All That You Have Given Me
For all that you have given me,
I can return but love. For you
Bound up the wounds I did not see
And gave me hopes and passions new.
I can return but love for you,
Whose unmoved faith my heart did move,
And gave me hopes and passions new,
And loved me till I turned to love.
Whose unmoved faith did my heart move?
The mother of my heart, not blood,
Who loved me till I turned to love.
And I became the soul I would.
The mother of my heart, not blood,
Bound up the wounds I did not see.
And I became the soul I would
For all that you have given me.
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To the Father of My Children

To the father of my children:
Open up your willing heart!
Take what music I can give you,
Hearing, too, my silent song.
Even as, arrayed in passion,
Finding love, I play my part,
A wonder like a wind whips through me,
Truth unknown for which I long.
How beautiful, this unspent yearning,
Ever for the darkness burning,
Rising like a summer storm!
To My Man on Father's Day
To my man on Father's Day,
On whom my life depends,
My children's cheerful champion:
You are where yearning ends.
My paramour and harlequin,
All I want, and all I can
Not want and be OK.
To My Dads on Father's Day
To my dads on Father's Day,
On both of whom we both depend:
My daughter reinvents my themes.
Years pass, and well-wrought love remains.
Dads are saviors, straight or gay,
Always where our oceans end,
Deliverers of desperate dreams,
Solid land where sunshine reigns.
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I Hate You, Dad, for What You Did

I hate you, Dad, for what you did
To me when I was just a child,
A helpless thing whom you could beat
Until the excess bile was drained.
To me, when I was just a child,
You were God unmerciful
Until the excess bile was drained
And you were once again my friend.
You were God unmerciful,
And I was Satan, Lord of Hell,
Until you were again my friend
And curdled my last drops of love.
And I was Satan, Lord of Hell,
A helpless thing whom you could beat
Until you curdled all my love.
I hate you, Dad, for what you did.
I Miss You, but I Cannot Make You Miss Me
I miss you, but I cannot make you miss me.
I need you, but you do not know my need.
I want you, but I cannot make you kiss me.
I suffer, but I cannot make you bleed.
I beseech you, but you will not be beguiled.
The door's locked, and you will not let me in.
You're my mother*, but I cannot be your child.
I've lost you, and I can't take back my sin.
Like an earth no longer with its sun,
Shooting towards eternity alone,
I no longer circle anyone,
An aimless, mindless, wandering piece of stone.
Ah, Mother*! It would be so sad if we
Would journey through to darkness separately.
I Wait upon the Love That Waits for Me
I wait upon the love that waits for me
Unknowing as I grow within the womb,
The creature of an unheard harmony
Between the voices of my dawn and doom.
Half of me is you: how strange! Yet more
Uncanny is the fact that we are two.
I live within a room whose only door
For good or ill must open onto you.
Be there for me, father*, in your heart,
As I for you will be the child you will.
Play with all your love the father's* part,
And I will with my love your dreams fulfill.
I will rebel, of course, but pay no mind:
Years of love will stand against the wind.
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How Might a Sacrifice Seem like a Gift

How might a sacrifice seem like a gift?
Altruistic pleasure comes from love,
Plumbing depths within which monsters move,
Piercing hearts within which demons drift.
Yet love comes naturally, as one might shift
From darkened fields one's gaze to lights above,
Astounded by a wonder that will prove
The bridge across one's first, most wrenching rift.
How might one live insatiably with joy,
Each moment filled with grace one knows is true,
Reasoning from premises that were,
'Ere life on Earth, deep-rooted in the soul?
So like the sea will love one's spirits buoy,
Doing what no self alone can do,
As monsters still the ancient waters stir,
Yearning, yearning ever to be whole.
How Can I Touch You when You're Far Away
How can I touch you when you're far away?
A poem is not as salient as a kiss.
Poems but poorly presences convey,
Perhaps because of all that words must miss.
Yet write I must because you are not here,
Father farther from my eyes than heart,
A face more frequent than it might appear,
Tempered by the tyrannies of art.
How might I be with you in ways that are
Equal to the passion of my yearning,
Reaching for a grace beyond the bar
'Ere there's any word of your returning.
So may the time between us quickly pass,
Days of longing that long cannot last,
A time when but through words we may embrace,
Yet know that soon we will be face to face.
How Much I Love You I Can't Say
How much I love you I can't say:
It's more than words can hold.
You're all at once my rich, red clay,
My potter and my mold.
Yours the words that shaped my voice,
The spirit within mine.
Yours the will that shaped my choice,
My fortune, and my sign.
How lucky I was to have had you
At the core of me!
Wise and good, you always knew
Just what I could be.
And so I came to be someone
Whom I could be proud of.
For this I give my swollen sum
Of gratitude and love.
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Fathers Need Not Fathers Be

Fathers need not fathers be.
All one needs to do is choose
To love for life, and that embrace,
Held long and hard, bestows the grace
Each craves. For all in time must lose,
Restored alone by memory.
So now it is with you and me.
Father's Day Without You Is like Music
Father's Day without you is like music
Muted by a distance undisturbed.
It is so faint I cannot tell the feeling,
Though I myself am gripped with pensive sorrow.
I listen all the more for what I cannot
Hear, and you are somewhere close beside me.
"It's joy!" you say, and then I nod, unbending,
Listening still while weeping like fine rain.
Yes, it's joy, and you again are with me.
I turn to you, and I am in your arms.
The music is a rhapsody around me,
And I am safe again and free to cry.
It is so beautiful, I cannot stand it,
I am a torrent, shaking in my gladness,
And you recede, as distant as the music,
Smiling dimly far across the plain.
"Please, please!" I say, yet know that what I'm asking
No longer is. Your day will come and go,
And I will crave and fear its restless turning
Because my happiness must be my pain.
Fear Is the First Cause of Hesitation
Fear is the first cause of hesitation.
Actions are irrevocable; dreams fade.
There are, of course, good reasons, like a scrim
Hung across the darkness. Behind, within,
Each scene unseen directs the one that's played,
Rich stew of fear, desire, expectation.
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I Miss Your Laughter, Fun, and Gentleness

I Miss Your Laughter, Fun, and Gentleness
I miss your laughter, fun, and gentleness.
I miss the things I used to do for you.
I miss the time, now filled with emptiness,
When each day was a stage for something new.
I miss your love, though mine for you remains,
A passion with no outlet to the sea,
A teardrop in a desert, that contains
What's left of my maternal ecstasy.
I miss your presence, like a silent chord
That anchored even solitude in grace.
I miss, for my love's labor, the reward
Of seeing some small pleasure in your face.
All these I miss, and yet they are all here
Within my heart, far more than I can bear.
I Need to Say Goodbye Although You're with Me
I need to say goodbye although you're with me.
I stand beside your grave, yet you are here.
I miss you terribly and hope you miss me,
But when I turn to you, you're always near.
I talk to you as though you lived within me,
Not changed but simply moved in from outside.
I know each day you must a little leave me,
But here, as always, you must be my guide.
You were and are and will be, just as ever,
In many minds and hearts, not only mine.
No physical event can such love sever;
Death is a dimension, not a line.
And so goodbye does not mean you are gone:
So long as I still love you, you live on.
I Want You to Be Happy When I'm Gone
I want you to be happy when I'm gone.
When you mourn me, make your mourning bright,
Adjusting what you long for to the light.
Nor need you love the less what has passed on.
The art of memory is celebration,
Yearning that turns sorrow into song,
Opening a heart forever young
Upon the unmade bed of its creation.
Then celebrate my life, and also death,
On which I, like a mendicant, depend,
Begging that my suffering might end
Even as I fight for every breath.
Hold onto me with unresentful tears,
A testament to what we've learned of love,
Pleased again to move as your heart moves,
Partaking with no loss in passion of
Years as rich and full as were our years.
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Although a Daughter, I Write This as a Mother

Although a daughter, I write this as a mother.
We're both mothers now, of child-daughters:
You, a grandmother forced to be a mother,
And I, a widow, alone with my fatherless daughter.
Death has thus shaped both our lives in ways
We would not have chosen. Yet life is still the bright,
Painfully lovely thing it was always:
Our children like dancers on a dark, splendid night,
Needing our loves as I needed yours; your love
The same song as ever, a lullaby I remember
So well from my time in your arms. We move
In slow spirals towards the stars. September
Has weeks like June, yet is closer to the fall.
Love has no answers, yet its beauty answers all.
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