April 18, 2014
poem
the obvious end
death
and the mystery of it.
love is a chemical thing,
there is only mystery for the uninformed.
but
still I love
and soon will die;
the poetry of death is inexhaustible.
the poetry of flowers and birds is equally inexhaustible.
and when it rains everyone writes poetry about the rains.
but
we still think of a rising sun
a setting sun
in ignorance that it is the earth
that rotates on an invisible axis.
that we are always in motion,
balancing with the flat of out feet,
sometimes on our knees.
– Hoc Scripsi
February 20, 2013
writing about love
my son tells me that when I run out of ideas
to write about love –
and if I’ve written about love before
it should be easy –
I suppose it should –
but it rarely is.
some of the hardest poems I’ve written
were about love –
filial love, sexual love, bonded love,
platonic love, Greek love,
love of self or of youth, of beauty
of women or men
woman or man.
all I ever write about is love
in one form or another
and sometimes, I guess,
it is easy.
though you would never know it.
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 