The Lesson of the Butterfly

She came to me softly
On butterfly wings
Alighting on my soul
Hesitantly.

I pressed her to my heart
Absorbing her delicate
Beauty
Her tender grace.

I was uncertain
Who was more needy
Me, in my hollowness
Or her, in her hope.

When the palm
Finds the butterfly
The amazement of one
Mingles with the trust of the other.

I hoped it would endure
Last forever
But the hard truth is
Lovers leave.

She flew one morning
As I watched
In the glare of fore-noon
My heart fading by the beat.

Years later, with the perspective
Of time and age
I would learn
Love’s benevolence.

The passing of years
Offer the revelation
That mercy lies
Between the gasp and the sighs.

Thoughts for the Soul

Dear Readers,
Lately I have been inspired, moved, and challenged by the thoughts of giants who have gone before. Of those I'm sharing with you, only Rita Dove, an award winning African-American poet, continues to write. I'm sharing some of those words with you, as I recharge my creative batteries. I hope they are as meaningful to you as they are to me. -- james

A poet must leave traces of his passage, not proof. ~ Rene Char

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth. ~ Jean Cocteau

Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful. ~ Rita Dove

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood. ~ T.S. Eliot

A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom. ~ Robert Frost

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. ~ Robert Frost

To be a poet is a condition, not a profession. ~ Robert Frost

Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.
~ Dennis Gabor

Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.
~ Kahlil Gabran

A poet is a bird of unearthly excellence, who escapes from his celestial realm arrives in this world warbling. If we do not cherish him, he spreads his wings and flies back into his homeland. ~ Kahlil Gabran


That's plenty to feed upon for now. Enjoy the feast! ~ james

The Trinity of the Poet

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
~~ William Shakespeare

Definition of Poetry

Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words ~~ Edgar Allen Poe

Time Fire

Darkness mocks me
Stares back into my
Wide open eyes.

The hell with digital clocks
Is they
Flash time precisely
Unlike the grace of
Sweep second hands.

So I dance
With my demons
Wondering endlessly
Wondering
At the whys
And whereofs
Of this too-brief
Life.

Had I stood
A half inch to the left
Those bullets
Would have killed me.

Had I have been a bit more
Kind
She would have stayed.

Had I stopped
For coffee
Or had I not
Taken that call
Pivotal elements of my life
Would not have
Happened.

Life is the construct
Of the choices made
In a single second.

I tease
At my life’s frayed edges
Unraveling the moments
In the dark.

It must be an ordained review.
Even sleeping pills are
Useless.

So I stare into the void
Knowing sleep is paper
Memory fuel
And time fire.

Taking the Exam

I have learned hard things
And come to understand
What I wish I never knew.

I cannot enjoy a meal
Or have a conversation
With my back to the door.

Upon entering a room
I look for anything available
To take as a weapon.

I cannot rest or sleep
Without my sidearm
Close at hand.

I awake to full alert
At the sound
Of a cricket.

Before I enter a store
I check through the glass
To avoid a robbery in progress.

I check the eyes of strangers
And walk with a purpose
Playing poker with fate.

I see the entire world
Through the filter
Of lights and sirens.

This is both
My weakness and strength
The price paid for the path I’ve walked.

Homicide and suicide
Larceny and fraud
Are hard teachers

And I am still taking the exam.

What I hear

Barn swallows
High in the rafters
Of a leaning
Prairie castle.

Puffs of promise
In budding grain
Bending to the will
Of Illinois winds.

A mournful wail
From the Burlington
Laden with coal
Northbound to Chicago.

Clattering cans
And the stuttering horn
Of a limo
Outside a wedding chapel.

Rain steadily splash
Into widening pools
Weeping sorrowfully
Into darkening fields.

Lovers whisper
Promising forever
In exchange
For a moment’s bliss.

My own heart beating
Knee bone crackling
As I move inexorably
Toward the grave.

Sweet life passing
In shouts and sighs
And muttered prayers
Of sinner and saint.

Auditory history
Accoustic life
Sweeping beyond
The moment’s horizon.

I hear all this.

Simple

A sweat-stained cap
A summer day
And a dog to push
The blues away

Keeps life simple
Free and easy
With morning air
Light and breezy.

A cup of coffee
Scrambled eggs
A sturdy back
And able legs

What more could I ask
But these
‘cept a faithful heart
And prayerful knees?

That’s all I need
Or hope to keep
My soul content
Before I sleep.

It Comes Down To Now

Sometime there’s no next time.
The air closes around you
And you know
This is your shot.

It doesn’t matter what you think
About second chances.
“Next Time” is as useless
As a fortune cookie promise.

Sometime your future
Comes down to
Now.
This moment.

Every proverb and platitude
Lesson and lie
Is swallowed
And you act.

Sometime you take a chance.
With your heart in your mouth
And grit in your stomach
You do what must be done.

Then…
Step back and let it happen.
Because sometime
That is all there is to do.