Poetic musing
© 2000 Philip E. Harding
Preface: I do not regularly write poems. The following lines were mostly written on scraps of paper or in small spiral note pads in the late 80's and early 90's. In the mid 90's I roughly sorted them in the order presented here but with very little editing. These are not intended as poems to be read out loud at a poety slam but are personal, quiet, internal reflections. Mostly dark and moody. The are probably the kind of poems many young men write in their 20s but most have the good sense to burn them. I do not not have that sense and thus have kept them and posted them where the whole world can see.
This is an open book. Open as books of any kind not left on the shelf.
This is an opening into minds -- yours and mine.
What can be added
or taken away
is up to poets a generation away.
My mind's eye scans the horizon
I see the whole earth at eye level
I sneeze, blow my nose and pour
another cup of coffee
It is trash collection day
I have a yard to mow and some bushes to prune
I need a haircut and some passport photos
There is a call I've been putting off
There is photographic work to complete
A frame to order
A language to study
It is reasonably cool outside
Summer is past its peak
I sit on the edge of civilization hanging
my feet in the future. Unsure of myself.
Unsure if this is where I want to be.
Not sure I have a choice.
The muses hold a gun to my head.
Airplane on the runway.
A more focused point of my life.
An hour of transition
now in other hands.
Seat up, tray up, head pressed back with acceleration.
Bumps and vibrations and then up.
Rising at perhaps ten degrees it feels like thirty.
The city drops away.
Buildings, cars, and roadways lose their reality.
Models on a planner's board.
I feel lifted to an elite realm. I have the god's eye view.
Head back on a small blue pillow.
A whistling noise over my head.
My little box on the planner's board is part of someone else's life now.
Ahead is change and a world I've never seen before.
Views for a hundred miles
cut up and sold by the square foot.
The dreams of an old man
trying to put something together.
A nice place to die.
I felt the wind blowing today.
I saw the sun for hours.
I remembered the first walk I took on
the rocky land,
and how well I slept when I was done.
I don't know.
Never have.
A clock ticking in an empty room.
I may never see her again.
I do have windows.
I can see other people living their lives.
I watch flying creatures in the yard.
She stood in her yard combing out long black hair.
I wish my eyes could make out a face or expression.
The first time in the three years since I
lost my glasses that I've really wanted new ones.
I sit at my table and see the street.
I can also see down the street.
I see children riding bicycles.
When I lie in bed at night
I can look out my window
and see the north star through the trees.
It is the most beautiful view in my life and
I see it almost every night.
snow
an open sky
and there is work to be done.
There, on the table,
half a dozen things to do.
Here, at my feet,
four bags of dirty laundry.
The wind is blowing.
My nose is running.
I am very hungry
but I am out of basic groceries.
I need a shave and a shower
before I can go shopping.
I'm low on money.
If I write a check I'll have to run around
to cover it.
I am feeling tired and depressed
Not inclined to do anything.
there it is
unexpected in its directness
what I want and what I feel
what I do and what inconsistently
dreams of youth that I have not
attained but have not yet released.
a sacrifice. What I want to make
and what I wonder if I can.
I journey on a high wire
with sirens singing all the way
all around me.
I modify my behavior and they
change their tune.
What other drugs.
Coffee. If feel the damage.
I want coffee and sugar. 8 cups a day with sweats.
This late night. 2:00 a.m., Feb 22, 1989
a fork in the road
hard to swallow. doubting myself. needing treatment.
will my head cave in?
Construct these things?
I am trying to build a computer with baling wire.
Where do I start this morning?
Have I still not given up hope?
Perhaps I am running on blind desire
I want to be that excited once again.
There are few options open to me.
Fewer still that I know about.
I stop and try to remember something.
What was that dream trying to tell me?
This is something that goes on unfinished.
I can't finish it alone.
I can't make you show me your face.
The last chapter is dark.
How this must seem
I can't imagine
There is no satisfaction.
There is no resolution.
There is turmoil and pacing.
What or how do you write
when you sense the entire universe.
The sound of fall reddening the leaves at 1:00 AM.
The clarity of the stars above the village.
I feel urged to sing but don't know the song.
The words and melody are in my flesh
but can't make it out of my mouth.
So what use can be made of it on earth.
The beauty of the Russian thistle with orange
and violet veins will soon be piles
of brown weeds trapped in fences.