Wrote this last night...   UNFORCED ERRORS Oh, I’ve known love, and I’ve known joy, And I’ve been a little boy Cuddling his Tinkertoy, And happy in the night. And now I’m old, and all my fear Of death just seems to disappear Although my end is coming near, I’ve lost my fright. I’ll go,…

Here's a recently rediscovered poem that I wrote when I was about twenty.  I suspect that the "beatings" suggested in the text were emotional rather than physical: otherwise it seems surprisingly modern.  It didn't have a title, so I am calling it "The Palace."   In a dark, deserted palace Where the sun must never…

I had expected to return to this blog with a number of essays on politics, but so far, I'm having trouble finishing the ones I have started.  Stay tuned. Meanwhile, I am trying my hand at translation again, this time of Spanish poetry.  I began by reading through the Complete Works of Federico Garcia Lorca,…

It was only to be expected, I guess.  When I was young, I felt affronted by the prospect of death; as I age, death seems , while still frightening, increasingly natural. Death's Blue-Eyed Boy My father was certain What would happen."Like snuffing out a candle," he'd say. "Like turning out all the lights in the…

The following verse is from 1969.  As is the case with many of the pieces I wrote at that time, I have no memory of composing it.   It seemed to spring, fully-written, into my mind.   I think is is a reflection of my state of mind at that time, which was that the loneliness I…

I'm in the mood for a short poem today: The Next Phase of my Life a haiku My body feels like a sponge; Void of all content, Alert, and primed to absorb.

A short while ago,  I promised deeper poems.  What follows is a second poem about my mother and what it was like when alcohol took over her life.   It is also about my relationship with my father, but more on that later...   Why I Love Darkness Memories Are not backlit; Like fretful flies, They…

In the past, I have posted about double dactyls here and here. In 1966, or 1967, When Hecht and Hollander published their book of Double Dactyls, Esquire magazine held a competition where readers could submit their own double dactyls.   I wrote the three that follow, but I didn't have the courage to submit them. Jiggery-Pokery!…

Not long ago, I posted about the influence that poetic form has on the effect of a poem.   At that time I said that I intended to do further experiments with translation of a poem from one form to another.   Here is my next attempt. The starting point is a light verse I posted almost…

In 1952, my family moved to the upper floor of a house at 1412 North St in Beaumont, Texas. As was common in Gulf Coast homes of the period, the house had ceiling fans in every room (except the bathroom), and a screened-in sleeping porch at the front. My four-year-old sister and I were given…