Does it pay to fly
by the seat of your pants?
Or is reckless abandon
the mark of a fool?

Does aimless wandering
lead to wisdom?
Or is it the sign
of a rube of the stars?

What is the mark of wisdom?
To be latched as a barnacle,
or free as a wind-borne seed?

What is the sign of mastery?
Competence and precision,
or wild abandon?

Is the very act of seeking marks--
outward signs of inward condition--
the sign of one chasing fate,
or the scarlet letter of one
chasing folly?

Good golly-lolly.
Poetry digs...
deep.
To places maybe
best left unplumbed.

Clutching Calm

The day began with vague fear
quacking fear
shady, gray fear
unnamable
old, fear.

The day unfolded with misfortune
not personal
not dire
but tinged with fuel
for fear

I clutched calm.
That is there, always
in the center
waiting for me
to remember it
dive into it.

Rhythm of Walking

My commute is wonderful
Rhythmic
Every step a little drop of sanity
I leave small stresses like gum on pavement.

The rhythm of my steps
is the theme song of coming
and going

The stretch of Tioga Avenue
becoming so familiar
I tune out my worries,
tune into the world

until, the rhythm of my heart
meets that of my feet

Loosening Up

What I heard
was quite absure
"Free form, Baby!
Let fly your pen!
Don't look back to begin again.

Shun tempo and pace
Pitfalls all
Forced curbs on your paper road.

Get comfortable with discomfort
and resist the stanza's siren call."
Feel it? Yes'm.
Not at home in this body
of work.

Perhaps because
my own self is finally, finally, finally home
a proper home
for my Self.

This homebase provides
cover
and comfort
for the literary adventurer.

Lame As Lame Can Be

A poem a day
is a really lame way
to try to keep the demons
at bay.

But I mean what I say
and write anyway.
I promised the Muse
a poem a day.

A Poem A Day Keeps the Muse at Bay

She wakes me with words
in the wee early hours
Slaps me with simile
I respond with a glower

"Don't make me write
not now, when you'd like"
I put up a fight
And head for the shower.

We wrestle for space
in a brain that's chock full
"No more!" I implore
My to-do list has pull

"Your ideas are great
and your words I should make
Don't make the mistake
of heeding my bull."

Each step in my life
makes metaphores fall
Some wish for this gift
and I cherish it all

Truely I do
When deign to take cues
and let the words through
I feel one with all.

She pushed me to blog
a poem a day
a weak link, me thinks,
But the Muse has her say

So I sit, and I type
I feel weak. I feel trite.
this poem ain't quite right
But I'm done for today.