On Intent

I abandoned the project I had chosen:

Copying the renaissance master drawings

From the illustrated book of renaissance master drawings.

I found that I could visualize them

One after another

But using pencil or charcoal or chalk and paper

To match one, let alone each, proved impossible.

Which was discouraging

Because these drawings replaced my intent

Being of a religious leaning

To read the Bible in six months,

Not beginning in six months, but over the immediate span of six months,

A plan frustrated by my decision to read at night

When sleep conquered the text, beginning with Genesis (In The Beginning).

I had counted reading a substitute

For my goal

Of regaining my former athleticism

(Which I never really had)

By swimming at least a mile each day

Only to find myself exhausted after eight pool lengths

Or the lanes too crowded or the facility closed 

So abandoning the water I returned to the land

Swimming was meant to be a countermeasure

For my poorly chosen plan 

To lose weight and stop smoking and refrain from alcohol 

In order to enter a monastic life pattern 

Of prayer, reflection, and meditation

Just to find those forbidden fruits 

Singing a siren song

Too hard to ignore

I had hoped for success in that effort 

Because of my previous inability 

To read beginning in January

Last year’s 20 best books

Which I purchased all at once but they remain

On the nightstand beside my bed

Awaiting the renewal of my interest

But now I will immerse myself

With the help of a writing group

To author a book of poetry over the coming months

Perhaps one or two poems a day

Of which this is the first

Even though composing it has bored me

January 2019

What We Asked You

We asked you where we were going

On buses at night with our backpacks

And when would we come back

To the homes that sheltered us

But you said nothing

And you let us out in a world of tents

And we found our beds

Along with a thousand other children

And we asked you how long we would stay

And you said nothing

And we told you we had heard about 

Huddled masses yearning to breath free

And we asked you who would care for us now

With no caretakers to turn to like before

And you said nothing

And we told you we heard that any immigrant

Could come into your country and seek asylum

And you said, Sorry. We are overwhelmed.”

And we said “We heard it was a law.”

And after you finished from roaming throughout the earth, 

Going back and forth on it, you said

“That’s not what it means.”