New poem: "Just a Penis with a Thesaurus"

 

Just A Penis with a Thesaurus

 

DFW, Boy Wonder and brilliant writer

in his own right, called John Hoyer Updike

“just a penis with a thesaurus,” which,

in that ironic way of every small writer,

caught the great author’s genius for ferreting

out the deepest meaning of the mundane human

experience— “The way! The way!” Thomas

Wolfe described it in “You Can’t Go Home

Again”—through the creative art of writing

fiction, like Updike’s scandalous novel

Couples that broke the sexual barrier of fiction

and got his face on the cover of Time (the

first time), and DFW went out and hanged

himself on the back porch of his house

in Claremont, California.

 

Composed in Georgian Bay, Ontario

Saturday, April 13, 2024

New poem: "My Afterlife Perspective"

 

My Afterlife Perspective

 

I have an afterlife perspective on life

that gives me all the freedom I want

to walk through every system of human

thought and not get stuck in the mire

of inevitable doubt; and as happy as I

am in my afterlife perspective, it’s

not something that I can share without

being labelled “strange,” “weird,” or

“something else.” But not unlike the

mystic poet of Amherst, Massachusetts

who told her truth “slant,” I work my

afterlife perspective on life in the poems

I write, because that’s what I’ve been

called upon by life to do.

 

Composed in Georgian Bay, Ontario

Monday, April 8, 2024, on the day

of a total solar eclipse.

 

 

 

 

New poem: The Magic of "Doing"

 

 

The Magic of “Doing”

 

I was born with a hungry mind,

and I read and read and read to fill

an emptiness in my soul that could not

be filled no matter how much I read;

and I despaired. But in the depths

of my despair, Gurdjieff came into

my life like a gift from above, proving

yet again the ancient saying: when

the student is ready, a teacher appears;

and the wily old master taught me how

to satisfy the hunger of my insatiable

mind by nourishing my soul with

the magic of “doing.”

 

Composed in Georgian Bay, Ontario

Monday, April 8, 2024, on the day

of a total solar eclipse.

 

 

New poem: "The Greatest Deception"

 

The Greatest Deception

 

Self-deception is our greatest threat

to personal growth, happiness,

and wholeness; and there are many

kinds of deception in this crazy world:

mental, emotional, and spiritual. But

the greatest deception of all is biological,

when our soul betrays the body that we

chose to be born into, and we live a life

not meant to be; and all the pain and

suffering that ensues is the price

we pay for our betrayal.

 

Good Friday, March 29, 2024

Georgian Bay, Ontario

New poem: "A Certain Conceit"

 

A Certain Conceit

 

There’s a certain conceit

in this ancient belief system

that’s much more disturbing

than the proverbial apple gone

bad, spoiling all the good apples

in the barrel; and this conceit

of not being the self that we

are, an unreal self that lives life

and dies and is no more, fills

my nostrils with such a stench

of spiritual malevolence

that I could retch.

 

 Saturday, March 16, 2024

Georgian Bay, Ontario

New poem: "The Mathematics of Poetry"

 

 

The Mathematics of Poetry

 

A poet does not have to be dead to belong

to the dead poet’s society; in fact, many

living poets are members, like the dystopian

author of many genres, poetry being her

favorite. That’s why she was elected most

honored member and three times president.

“The desire to be loved is the last illusion,”

said she; “and when you give it up, you

will be free.” But what else can we expect

from the most honored member of the dead

poet’s society whose signature line is, “All

we have is hope, but what hope is there?”

Her wild hair is more alive than Medusa’s,

and her poetry can turn your soul to stone;

and every time I read her, a cold wind chills

my bones, and I have to put her poetry away

to keep the devil at bay; and I turn once more

to Wordsworth, Rumi, Jane Hirshfield, and

the divine poetry of the blessed poet’s society

whose signature line is: “Life is love in action,

and the more love you give, the more life you

have.” And that, the gods of literature say,

is the mathematics of poetry.

 

Composed in Georgian Bay, Ontario

Sunday, March 17, 2024

 

 

 

 

 

New poem: "The Dying Poet"

 

The Dying Poet

 

She’s dying, and reading her poetry

on social media is like watching a frog

cooking in a slow-boiling pot of water;

it’s agony. How I so wish for her to step

out of the paradigm of her life-long

patterns of thought that shaped her story;

it would do her poor soul a world of good

to let go of her smothering belief system

and try something dramatically different,

like the promising age-old idea that when

our body dies, we step through a door

into a whole new life that gives us another

opportunity to realize our true self. I’m

sorry to say, really, I am, that as much

as her sad little poems ache to move me,

my heart refuses to weep for her, because

I know that all of this is true, and I would

so love to see an essential shift in her frantic

verse before she takes her leave once more

from this beautiful, misunderstood world;

it would truly be a joyous miracle.

 

Composed in Georgian Bay, Ontario

Wednesday, March 5, 2024

New poem: "Not Facebook Folly"

 

Not Facebook Folly

 

“I am what I am not, and I am not what I am,”

concluded the “little ball of fur and ink” in his

great dialectical inquiry Being and Nothingness,

failing to resolve the paradoxical nature of soul’s

inner and outer self and the core mystery of life

that preoccupied the founding father of depth

psychology to the last draw on his pipe at the ripe

old age of 86, ferreting out the secret way with

the dream life of his patients and ancient Gnostic

texts; and the strait gate of the narrow way gave

the Wizard of Bollingen private entry into life’s

sacred mastery of soul’s individuation—and oh,

what a joy meeting him in my dreams to discuss

my book The Way of Soul that I had just written,

putting the biggest smile on his venerable face

with my disentanglement of the Gordian Knot

of the human condition that plagued the world

since Heraclitus: “I am what I am not, and I am

not what I am; I am both, but neither: I am Soul,

my true self.” That’s the mystery of the mystical

marriage that 99.9 percent of the world cannot

apprehend. But as merciless and cruel as life may

be, it is equally fair and sweet; and if we don’t

get it right in this lifetime, we will keep coming

back until we do; and that’s by Divine decree,

not Facebook folly.

 

Composed in Georgian Bay, Ontario

Tuesday, March 5, 2024

 

 

 

 

New poem: "The Golden Heart Pendant"

 

The Golden Heart Pendant

 

Fate kindly brought us together. She, hurting

badly from her teenage son’s accidental

drowning when his snowmobile went through

the ice, and her separation from her alcoholic

husband, and me from an emptiness within

that could only be filled with a mature woman’s

love; and she delighted taking a lithe young

man into her arms, and I an older woman’s

sweet comfort. But as time went by, the emptiness

within began to disappear, my hurt healing

faster than hers, and I knew that soon it would

be time for us to part; but I did not have the heart

to break up, and I asked my inner guide for help.

Then my lover had a dream, losing the golden

heart pendant that I had given her for a birthday

gift, and she panicked and woke up. Relieved

to know it was only a dream, all the same she wore

the pendant every single day; but her dream had

prepared her for what was to come, and when

she read the letter that I placed in her hand telling

her why we had to part, she cried, I cried, and we

hugged a tearful goodbye. We both hurt, she much

more than me; but the wrenching hurt of breaking

up was a good hurt, because in her broken heart

she knew our love was true but not meant

to be, and we parted with dignity.

 

Composed in Nipigon, Ontario

Date unknown: 1990-2000

 

 

 

 

 

 

New poem: "The Reifying Gift of Gnosis"

 

The Reifying Gift of Gnosis

 

It was a mystery the great psychologist

could not fathom, and it haunted his inquisitive

mind; but one day—it always happens this

way! —happenstance introduced C. G. Jung

to St. Brigitta of Sweden (1303-1373) who

had a vision of the devil’s insatiable greed

that solved his baffling mystery of soul’s

resistance to understanding—and my mystery

as well, as the deafening silence to my poetry

on the secret way of life revealed; and when

I read C. G. Jung’s letter to Dr. Hans Schmid,

his friend and pupil—no less coincidental

than his own discovery of St. Brigitta—I leapt

with joy at Jung’s realization that understanding

was a murderer of the soul; and it bothered

the great psychologist no more, as he allowed

every soul to be the keeper of its own secret

until life made it ready for the secret way

that dispelled their sacred mystery with

the reifying gift of gnosis.

 

Wednesday, February 7, 2024

Georgian Bay, Ontario

 

 

New poem: "The Puzzled Psychologist"

 

The Puzzled Psychologist

 

He came to me in a dream holding

a book in his right hand that I had just

written but not yet published (his pipe

was in his other hand), and we sat for

hours (time is not the same in dreams

as here) and talked about The Way

of Soul, which was the title of my new

book that had captured his interest enough

to visit me in my dream; and the first

thing he said to me, with a look of awe

and wonder in his awake, small eyes,

was, “How in God’s name did you figure

it out?” He was old in my dream, eighty

or more, and it confounded him how one

so young and unlettered in the ancient

texts could puzzle out the mystery of life

that he was still working out. “Simple,”

I said, “if you can believe it. I was tired

of being who I was not, and I came back

to live my same life over again to become

what I was meant to be; like an acorn seed

that one day must become an oak and not

a maple, apple, or any other tree.”

 

Tuesday, February 13, 2024

Georgian Bay, Ontario

 

New poem: "A Puzzle No More"

 

A Puzzle No More

 

Called to a path that’s next to impossible to leave

when it can do no more for soul, like Gurdjieff’s

teaching of “work on oneself” that he called

by various names—the Fourth Way, the Work,

the System, the “way of the sly man,” and “esoteric

Christianity,” or the pilfered age-old spiritual

teachings of “soul travel” with its guiding presence

of an “Inner Master,” or the comprehensively

brilliant secular way of “shadow work” and Jungian

“individuation,” it puzzled me why; but one day

it dawned on me that fear of change keeps soul there,

and it’s a puzzle no more why such great teachers

like Gurdjieff and Jung have this tenacious hold

on soul that’s crying in silence to be set free

from its waning, comforting security.

 

Friday, February 2, 2024

Georgian Bay, Ontario

New poem: "It's All In the Doing"

 

It’s All In the Doing

 

“It’s all in the doing,” he said to her;

“that’s how you accrue the meaning

that gives your life purpose.” Puzzled,

she stared; and not knowing what

to say, she beckoned him to explain.

Smiling, he answered, “It’s a mystery

that cannot be explained; that’s why

Lao Tzu said, “Those who know do

not speak.” But this only puzzled her

more, and she politely replied, “Let’s

make up the beds so I can get on with

my day.” With a smile on his face, he

repeated: “It’s all in the doing; that’s

how you accrue the meaning that

gives your life purpose.”

 

Saturday, January 27, 2024

Georgian Bay, Ontario

New poem: "What If It's All True?"

 

What If It’s All True?

 

What if it’s all true?

What if what I believe,

what you believe, what

he and she and they believe

is all true? What kind

of world would this be?

What kind of universe?

Multiverse? What would

we then do, if not what

we’re already doing?

 

Monday, January 22, 2024

Georgian Bay, Ontario

New poem: "The Movie Star"

 

The Movie Star

 

She reeks of an irreducible self-conceit

that`s toxic to my nerves, and I can’t stand

to watch her interviews, especially that smile

of hers when she enunciates her words giving

them more importance than their imagined

worth; and now that she’s “out,” thirty-five

years a flagrant open secret, she`s even more

noxious—so proud to be other, confirming

her ego-status as that special person she

believes herself to be. Oh, the pity!

 

Thursday, January 18, 2024

Georgian Bay, Ontario

New poem: "The Lady Is a Christian`"

 

The Lady Is a Christian

 

Tethered to the fence post of propriety,

her home, yard, and religion bound her freedom

from the open spaces of her soul. A kind lady

without, a cautious lady within, she speaks

her mind because she has earned the right; but

she can never admit that she may be wrong,

and stretches the hubris of her tether

to the snapping point.

 

She does not believe in the Virgin Birth, nor

in the stain of Original Sin; she cannot buy into

the resurrection of Jesus Christ, but maintains

that she is a Christian. She believes that the soul

is eternal, but cannot fathom how her soul can

pre-exist before its birth in Time, and this confuses

her Christian mind and stretches the hubris

of her tether to the snapping point.

 

She serves Jesus daily on the altar of her home,

yard, and gardens; and before she goes to bed at night,

she prays for strength to live another day because

her life is incomplete. She desperately wants the key

to spiritual freedom, which lies in her own heart;

but her mind keeps getting in the way, and stretches

the hubris of her tether to the snapping point.

 

A tireless widow of eighty, she is the envy of all

her peers, cleaning her immaculate home daily,

mowing her beautiful lawn, tending to her flower

and vegetable gardens, and walking three miles

every day; but she loves to smoke cigarettes

and justifies her harmful habit by calling it her

only vice, and stretches the hubris of her

tether to the snapping point.

 

She attends Bible classes weekly to learn the way,

the truth, and the life; but her pastor lost his faith

and wears his collar to pay the bills, and the evening

wears thin as she listens to his agnostic gruel. But

on behalf of her savior Jesus Christ, she stretches the

hubris of her tether to the snapping point, because

in her heart the lady is a Christian.

 

Composed in Nipigon, Ontario

Date unknown: 1990-2000

 

 

 

New poem: "Darwin's Dilemma"

 

Darwin’s Dilemma

 

The hunter stalks his prey like

an animal without conscience looking

for the weak, the vulnerable, the lonely,

the old, the relative-less, and a thoughtful

gesture, the time, patience, feigned

good-heartedness, and then comes the kill

with the execution of the will, and the hunter

walks away with the spoils: house, savings,

car, TV, grandfather clock, and many

useless personal things, praising Nature

and sneering at the moral order

of the world.

 

Composed in Nipigon, Ontario

Date unknown: 1990-2000

New poem: "The Way of the Sly Man"

 

The Way of the Sly Man

 

I had to put my Gurdjieff on last week

when an incident pushed me to the brink;

I did not want to go there, but it was

a vital matter of give and take.

 

Blinded by my habit, I gave of myself

too freely; but I did not see what this did

to me. It ripped a big hole in my energy field,

and I was leaking dangerously.

 

Little wonder I had so little energy to do what

I most love—to write; but when it happened

before my eyes, my “work” self kicked in,

and I had to put my Gurdjieff on.

 

In just two days of “work” on myself, the hole

in my energy field sealed, and my vital life

force stopped leaking; and as much as it pained

me to curtail the flow to those I love, it was

my love to give, and not be taken.

 

Friday, August 4, 2023

Georgian Bay, Ontario