Thursday, January 3, 2019

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.”