Softening

I
The orange claw of moon
Slowly retracts into the event horizon
Of the black-hole mountain.
Evening feathers fill the air
Over the valley.

II
Pallid spume tosses
A white barque
Among jetsam stars
That jettisoned
After the mast cracked
And plummeted,
Weighted down with splinters
Of ice and frost.
So much for the sweetly spoken
“Bon Voyage.”

III
Celestial utterances enter the void:
The stark light of day has passed
But the dark shadow of earth
Swallows the lunar light,
Allowing Ursa Major and Minor
To roam as they please.
The meddling stars perpetuate
Their mystery;
Their lullabies sprinkle
The heavens with serene slumber.

Bringer of Light

My six-year-old body chained to the chair,
Vulture mother circles, dryly observes
Writhing energy that cannot convert
Into further discovery for now.
Dark juice stains my chin, evidence enough
To suggest: the neighbor’s blackberry bush
Will be found lacking forty berries.
Noting the unwaning zeal within me
Mother wheels away into the kitchen;
Silently I seek the nearest diversion:
Encyclopedias waiting to be plucked
And gleaned of all they have to offer.
My child hands inspect one textured cover,
Bumpy and red as the liver I smell
That mother prepares for father’s delight.
It is within those pages that I learn
Whether a snake is poisonous or not
Based on its markings; how to distinguish
An elm from an oak; anatomical
Differences between men and women.
Savior father comes home and looses me
Upon the condition that I behave,
But that first sip of knowledge leaves me dry:
Resolved to rekindle the fire I’ve found,
Tomorrow more berries will be sacrificed
To again receive the sentence, “The Chair!”

Munich to Vienna

Ah, the night train! I don’t fall asleep because the clickety-clack and the rhythmic burst of light through the gap in the curtains (that will not come together) are more restful to my brain, like a hypnotic spell being cast over me. The hard shelf (the Germans call it a bed) that I lie upon, is two feet away from my wife, Haley’s, shelf. I can’t hug her or cuddle with her or else I fall through the chasm between us. I can’t sing her a song to help her sleep (I can hear the sniffle that portends the tears) because there are two other passengers riding with us in the same cabin.
As the mesmerizing light flashes become farther and farther apart, and the light clickety-clack becomes a heavy clunk-clunk, clunk-clunk, I realize that the next stop is where Haley and I need to disembark. She has cried herself to sleep by now and the other passengers are both snoring. It must be like 3AM. I peek out the window. No hint of sunlight approaching.
I shake Haley and tell her in a whisper to get her things ready to get out. I can already feel the chill air that is waiting to greet us when we step onto the platform. Haley opens the cabin door and light from the train’s hallway spills in and I suddenly realize that there are more items in the cabin than I originally thought. Besides our luggage we need to take the tall lamp standing in the corner, the clothes hanging near my shelf, the small T.V. and two nightstands (why the heck did we bring nightstands with us to Europe?) at the edge of Haley’s shelf, random boxes with even more random things within them, the desk under the window (the gap between the beds is suddenly six feet wide), and the computer (monitor, tower, keyboard, mouse and mousepad, and printer), oh, and I almost forgot the desk chair. I don’t question how all the stuff got in our cabin, rather how I’m going to get it all out before the train departs again.
I grab the lamp and some of the clothes and move them out into the hallway. Stepping into the light for the first time, I am quickly aware that I am wearing nothing but my skivvies. Jumping back into the room, I contemplate waking our fellow cabin mates for help but then I remember how they reeked of Oktoberfest when they first walked into the cabin. They could be out for days. I wonder if they’ll pass their stop. I begin pushing small boxes out into the hallway and feel the wave of futility wash over me as the train comes to a complete stop.
Grabbing what I can and still in my underwear, I head for the doors intent on getting what I can out. The desk might have to stay, maybe the nightstands and some of the bigger boxes, too. The thought occurs to me that I haven’t seen Haley running around frantically like I have, so I check the cabin. There she is! In bed!
She sits up and asks, “Gabe, what are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? What are you doing? I’m trying to get us off this train with all of our stuff!” I answer in a harsh whisper.
“Gabie, we’re not on a train, honey,” she points out in a groggy voice. “Why is the lamp in the hall and why are all my clothes from my closet laying in a pile on the floor?” Haley wonders out loud.
After close scrutiny of the room we are in, I decide we are, in fact, not on a train, rather in our apartment bedroom that does not travel from Munich to Vienna at night.
I look at the nightstand clock. It’s 3AM.

Afghan Downpour

The horizontal rain of mercury
Spatters the dry rocks, gouges the desert.
A sharp clap!
The air animates with arcing flashes.
A sudden shift of the ground surface
As striking shafts of light explode.
And then the wind, the furious, confused wind,
Starts up, whipping earth, whipping faces.
All is slick with life, thumping
From the sputtering, drowning soil.

Red-Light Lamp

Soft glow on the blank wall, subdued
Mood blankets my five-year-old face
Along with all the toys, rocks, sticks, pennies:
Items carefully placed into the pocket,
Then carelessly removed at the end of the day.

Red:
Makes me sleepy.
I sometimes wear red shirts to work.
I answer the phone and say quite
Politely, “Visitor Parking. This is Gabe.
How may I help you?” in my fancy
Red shirt.

I am
Eye-searing
Mind-blinding
Tongue-twisting
Eardrum-beating
Yellow.

Lake Scissors

Inspired by “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” by W. B. Yeats

An image of a lake slices my thoughts,
Halving my inner psyche.
Pristine coolness pours, permeates deep, deeper,
Longing to be freed.

Thirsting after the lake wedged within my mind,
A gritty feel between my toes.
My spirit separates from corporeal cares,
Floats on a liquid breeze.

Suddenly wake up drowning in tidbits of ripples;
The biting edge of want snipsnipsnipping away.
My body fights the flooding flow of pure yearning;
My brain gasping

The Meaning of Meaninglessness

The whitish gleam off the birdie
As it flies over the badminton net:
A quick wink from the sun.
Today is the day for nothing.
Whatever.

The net is quickly gathered up,
No fish today, so we head for
The city-center which is busy, busy
But I have no part in it.
No obligations.

We haphazardly stumble upon lunch
As we stroll past the Nord-See,
But fish is not on my menu
So I grab a doener kebap
And fill up on nothing.

Enjoying the sun-set on the veranda,
The next day’s plans cross my mind,
And I rue the thought of ending the day’s ennui.
The phone rings, shattering my placid thoughts.
It’s never for me.

The phone call sends me running
To the apartment across the river
To help a friend in need.
What greets me is a gun in the face.
And suddenly,
My life is full of meaning.