A Poem Wants a Poem
Nearly forty years ago, I had dream. In the dream, I was leafing
through Jung's Memories, Dreams, Reflections. A piece of paper
fell out and on it was written, poem-like
A poem wants a poem
A dream wants a dream
This little dream has become the animating spirit of my work
ever since.
It is always a deep pleasure to me when someone responds to
one of my dreams or poems with a dream or poem of their own.
In response to my recent poem, "How the War on Reality Ended,"
my long-time friend Tony Albino sent me this poem.
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There once was a girl named Alice,
A comely thing who befriended birds
And trees and once, a rabbit without malice.
For she knew what needed to be known,
That plumbing life’s depths was a challenge
To understand, to grasp, to measure one’s soul,
Not in terms of success or failure or even balance
But against the one whose blood was carried in a chalice.
Content with silence, she spoke to none.
A wave and a smile but nothing more.
At a hilltop she’d stare wide-eyed at the sun.
Letting it pour a spreading kindness,
a warmth she hoped would keep her from being shunned
by all those who thought they knew her ways, her thoughts,
but if they really found a way to know her they’d be stunned
to discover how easy their knowledge could be undone.
She spoke water to rivers, wind to trees
and once while whispering to a flower
she gave directions to a troop of passing fleas,
who danced and twirled at being acknowledged
by this girl whose voice floated like a midsummer’s breeze
full of spice and song and hints of saffron
that could make any who were ill at ease and hard to please
smile at nothing and laugh at anything, even their knees.
But deep within was a discontent
that slid as if lying loose on a ship
unbound and unmoored, a shadowy vagrant
whose sudden shift would throw her off course
and into a fog-bank of torment,
her soul close-hauling a buffeting wild sea
whose dark intent threatened to consume and disorient
her every attempt to stay unencumbered and silent.
What a wonderful poem … thank you for sharing.
The City or the Deep Blue Sea
In a thicket of Jungian quotes
Of every imaginal color there is
I found just one that matters in votes.
When all the women are feeling their oats.
There must be a quote that animates Ms.
In a thicket of Jungian quotes.
Telephone poles are troublesome motes
In this quarrelsome biannual biz.
I found just one that matters in votes.
When all the women are putting on coats
Looking for wisdom that can only be his
In a thicket of Jungian quotes,
Just one will do to float all their boats
Just the right balance of sober and fizz.
I found just one that matters in votes.
Not too much logic for horny old goats
Nor too many tears prove he was a wiz.
In a thicket of Jungian quotes
I found just one that matters in votes.
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P.S. I haven’t written a villanelle in 20 years, but it’s nice to know I can still ride that bike while typing.