they
say that hell is crowded, yet,
when you’re in hell,
you always seem to be alone.
& you can’t tell anyone when you’re in hell
or they’ll think you’re crazy
& being crazy is being in hell
& being sane is hellish too.
those who escape hell, however,
never talk about it
& nothing much bothers them after that.
I mean, things like missing a meal,
going to jail, wrecking your car,
or even the idea of death itself.
when you ask them,
“how are things?”
they’ll always answer, “fine, just fine…”
once you’ve been to hell and back,
that’s enough
it’s the greatest satisfaction known to man.
once you’ve been to hell and back,
you don’t look behind you when the floor creaks
and the sun is always up at midnight
and things like the eyes of mice
or an abandoned tire in a vacant lot
can make you smile
once you’ve been to hell and back.
3/27/20
3/26/20
Traveling - Stephen Dunn
If
you travel alone, hitchhiking,
sleeping
in woods,
make
a cathedral of the moonlight
that
reaches you, and lie down in it.
Shake
a box of nails
at
the night sounds
for
there is comfort in your own noise.
And
say out loud:
somebody
at sunrise be distraught
for
love of me,
somebody
at sunset call my name.
There
will soon be company.
But
if the moon clouds over
you
have to live with disapproval.
You
are a traveler,
you
know the open, hostile smiles
of
those stuck in their lives.
Make
a fire.
If
the Devil sits down, offer companionship,
tell
her you’ve always admired
her
magnificent, false moves.
Then
recite the list
of
what you’ve learned to do without.
It
is stronger than prayer.
3/18/20
EXAGGERATION - Scarriet Editors
You
must know I’m not usually excitable,
But
how long must I be calm and pleasantly glad?
I
have read about love. It was sad.
The
man paced outside the window. The woman
Covered
her arms in folds of crimson and myrtle.
The
tradition arrived every night this year.
Every
woman attended. This is no exaggeration;
They
crowded, they pushed ahead—even the dearest woman.
I
affected learning. I thought this decision up in my own mind.
The
poetry readings, seminars; failures in oak,
Scratches,
graffiti, partly undressed tables, inside and outside the mind.
I
affected poetry. It did no good. I was too calm;
I
went on in hushed tones about my childhood;
Stood
near her by the window, even laughed.
It
wouldn’t do to repeat it now, even if I could.
There
is a need to exaggerate, even without drama or poems,
To
not flag, to make oneself happy; to pretend a woman’s figure
Will
make one happy, and this is all a man needs.
Life
is dull. We exaggerate. And so it proceeds.
2/23/20
Look for Me - Ted Kooser
Look
for me under the hood
of
that old Chevrolet settled in weeds
at
the end of the pasture.
I'm
the radiator that spent its years
bolted
in front of an engine
shoving
me forward into the wind.
Whatever
was in me in those days
has
mostly leaked away,
but
my cap's still screwed on tight
and
I know the names of all these
tattered
moths and broken grasshoppers
the
rest of you've forgotten.
1/26/20
THE MEN THAT DON'T FIT IN - Robert W. Service
There's
a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So
they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They
range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs
is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.
If
they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But
they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They
say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So
they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is
only a fresh mistake.
And
each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's
the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And
each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till
he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
He
has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's
been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha,
ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's
a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.
7/29/19
Amor Fati - Jane Hirshfield
Little
soul,
you
have wandered
lost
a long time.
The
woods all dark now,
birded
and eyed.
Then
a light, a cabin, a fire, a door standing open.
The
fairy tales warn you:
Do
not go in,
you
who would eat will be eaten.
You
go in. You quicken.
You
want to have feet.
You
want to have eyes.
You
want to have fears.
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