Mood: bright
Topic: Hello world!
This is the initial entry for my blog. I hope to share poetry, song lyrics, sayings or aphorisms, political commentary on this blog.
Below, you will find a comprehensive selection of my poetic work...Patrick'
Things That Matter
A Selection of Free Verse, Haiku, and Prose-Poetry
by Patrick Frank
The truth is such a rare thing. It is delightful to tell it.
Emily Dickinson
Table of Contents
Introduction, 3
Three nontraditional haiku sequences, 1992-2004, 4-42
A selection of free verse, 2004-2007, 43-87
Acknowledgments, 88-89
Introduction
I am a poet-songwriter and essayist from Middletown, CT, USA. I have served as a counselor and advocate for the poor in New England, the South, and on the Zuni Indian reservation in New Mexico. I am now working with mental health clients in Connecticut. I have been influenced by international poetry, Taoism, and Zen Buddhism. I published a periodical of Eastern forms of poetry, and aesthetic philosophy, Point Judith Light, during the 1990s.
In my work, I strive for clarity, depth, a microcosmic aspect, and a kaleidoscopic effect. I focus on the sense of mystery that is embodied in ordinary experience and reality. I would like my poetry to be accessible, while avoiding superficiality. My creativity is stimulated by dream material, music, great cinema, physical activity, and exposure to nature. I express myself poetically through nontraditional haiku sequencing, free verse, and country-folk lyrics, frequently touching upon social justice themes, the personal experience of poverty, homelessness, and emotional trauma, sport, and my work with the disabled. Poetry-writing has, I believe, has had a therapeutic impact on my psyche.
I hope that my work may stimulate the readers own creative reflection and growth-process.
Your Hard Life Shadows of Green
Excerpt from a nontraditional, narrative sequence of haiku, depicting the struggle to preserve love, hope, and personal integrity in a tough urban environment, 1992-1997
A note regarding aesthetic considerations in this work:
Experimentation is common in modern haiku published in English. My haiku fall between 10 and 17 syllables, and do not adhere to the 5-7-5 syllable, three line tradition. Further, in these narrative sequences I interweave perceptions of nature with aspects of human reality. In Touched by Zuni, I have included some examples of the form known as tanka, which comprises about 31 syllables and allows for greater lyrical expression; again, I am working from a nontraditional perspective.
back to the ghetto the old court is littered with glass
behind the school, a tattered tennis shoe tattered dreams
behind the tenement, unseen, the river flowing
basketball game by moonlight and starlight
before dawn, I listen to a love song
before me, the expressway behind me, the great trees
behind the church, wedding announcements litter the ground
behind the curtain, the Wizard of Oz a good man
burying the past in her womb, new life
candle flickering on the alter my spirit waits
car broken down heavily in debt escape
caught in a lie evil walks in
childhood night baseball insects attracted to light
Christmas driving through the long night forgiveness
city dusk boys chase a screaming girl on her bike
crimson sky the skeleton of a tree an eagles feast
dark circle within gray circle lost child
dark before dawn a quiet snowfall evenly spaced
dawn blizzard three crows in the road your tears
dads army boots deserted stretch of track
derelicts face a vulnerable child
diner, two AM must I abandon this woman
dishes piled up in the sink rejected again
dogwood petals burnt at each tip the imperfect self
driving home the twilight lasts forever
dream of evil in the form of a voracious child
each time I say goodbye I love you more
desert storm cap Tennessee drawl
distant city silence from the woman in my life
discarded plaque Civil War on the bridge, I pause
dogs calling, each to each, before dawn white bones
dream a college mall overcome with street people
end of child-bearing years you feel old
every door closes I turn and simply walk away
exposing the hermit crabs shell to light
everywhere I look, birds fleeing city dusk
facing a tyrant stating the whole truth
faintly from the dorm window, blues
failing to meet company demands
eyes hurry over the haiku late to church
far from home prison of my own making
feel the shadow of a dove, flicker of a darker wing, descend
flying back to you tears at the airport
glow of dawn penetrates the black forest
going through the pain, the writer continues to write
growing closer, mystery vanishes, re-appears
graffiti scrawled on a broken green fence
first sign of geese rising into the air Northern life
gradually, my wife has become my friend
flat tire, no spare in the boonies with my girl stars
flock of crows resettle waving branches
forsythia blooms just as my life turns chaotic
from the balcony of my sons dorm, stars
from the upstairs tenement, frightened voice of a boy
geese on the wing, high above, their alien cries
free of pills, I wake up. my body cool, relaxed
gathering of ghetto kids, in the last ray of light
gentle, crazy Robert returns my forty cents
Georgia bus of the past flicker of light flickers on and on
ghetto Burger King desperate man brandishes a chair
haiku friends I have never met, galaxies apart
halfway cross the bridge, thousands of strangers pause tonight
hanging in the air, an orange wasp hanging, my hopes
haphazard beating white wings storm-tossed gull
heading out for work gray dawn my tie, half-buried in mud
head gasket blown we nurse the car to the bazaar
hiding from bikers in the graveyard bad trip
his anger rises the unceasing rain
home from work late at night I curl up to your body
homeless man sitting on his cot with no privacy
I am addicted to caffeine I need you to come
hospital-bound child watches a skyscraper go up
I am sorry you married a wanderer like me
I drive you out of the city stars blazing above
if you consider me an enemy, we are lost
I give her my last forty cents her kiss on my mouth
I love you too much to leave you hug my neck
I call the cops drunks wake everybody up
in debt up to my eyeballs, my head still in the clouds
I mistake rats for squirrels the ghetto scene
in the hood, snowfall cars move slow no danger
in the dark sky a mysterious blue flash of light
inn the twilight, basketball with ex-cons
in deep snow my first poetry lecture
in the dusk, a womans upturned face, near the fountain
in the night, reading Basho winter again
in the lot, wind whipping cold plastic flags
in the rust belt cafe, country music is playing
in the uncut yellow grass, discarded coffee cup
is there a scientist-Nazi in me?
JFK shot some people cheered
just sitting, waiting for you to heal
it is sometimes wise to flee in the face of evil
I watch three birds, in formation, slowly disappear
jukebox in a Northern diner cold rain
late fall voice of a multitude invisible geese
I walk into a quiet snowfall evenly spaced
late night, my son and I have a good talk
lights blaze across the river working-class town
laid off suddenly fighting for our lives
life at work threatening memos tossed in the ash can
like a mountain before me, a wall of blue-black cloud
leaves, pieces of scrap paper, spin together
loose forgiving rim shots sucked up into the black hole
lichen on the trunk of a fallen tree life goes on
letting you see my blackened hands closer
man searching for cans in the parking lot
love song over the intercom static the grocery aisle
lying in bed boxcars banging somewhere in the night
making love I look into your childlike face
man in a Red Sox cap, comfortable
men in ties stream from offices at noon early spring
middle class family encounters Bigfoot
mismatched clothes at dawn preparing to greet the homeless
MIT students gathered for Star Trek
March day starlings dive-bomb a mud-puddle
my boss was kind and cruel without warning
moth returns, transfixed by my light soft wings
my guitar one string missing trunk of the car
my life changed by a careless accident
my mother accused of begging for food, door-to-door
my perfectly round basketball my imperfect self
my wife and I fighting poetry and survival
my wish to dig ditches in winter
naked branches reach for the sky
a withered hand near the railroad tracks drunks lie in the weeds
Nazi ovens the Jew in me, transfixed
near homelessness, I become a shelter counselor
my need to extinguish all forty-seven candles
no organ music of simple voices
no screens on windows of the tenement
not fearing aloneness immersed in haiku
nothing left but to smile in poverty
not wanting to bruise a vulnerable heart
old red jacket with deep pockets winter again
now that we are home, you see your faults and I see mine
old school yard leaves fall slowly one-by-one
on a clear day, absence of the warning bell at dusk
one crumpled dollar bill for collection
on the court, turning-shooting, one motion
on the face of the mountain, distant lights
on the monastery grounds, a basketball, no basket
on the ridge, tracks of a deer jet sound above
on the other side of the glass partition, her eyes
on the road back with my poetry and basketball
on the wild side of town, searching for your friend elevator shaft
one cricket, unseen, in the unkempt garden
our mill town flat neon flowing through the tubes
outdoor basketball in the dusk the slant of pure light
Well Past Midnight (Depicting the poets gradual side into homelessness, 1988-1997)
1
birds suddenly take flight spirit of a man lifted
calm spirit in the shelter ripples of peace expand
feeling my love fade away fade away
hard to face the truth I really am sick
head down standing in line a homeless man
heart empty no quarter to call my girl
homeless, alone but the snow falls gently
homeless man scared by his mirror image
homeless shelter my head is in my hands
soup kitchen homeless woman feeds pigeons
the planets shining brighter, closer, closer
this time really locked in, really homeless
walking on the shoulder of the road, lost
walking, walking, walking alone, alone
2
at dusk riding the bus back to nowhere.
at the diner I mingle with truckers
I find baseball cards on the shoulder of the highway
my tie is askew and my shoes are covered in mud
my woman is far away dimly in mind
state police search the bags of this vagrant
when will he find a way to settle down
3
a big semi rushes past, blinding me
calming his spirit, the dark trees at dusk
cradling a wounded bird in his shirt
dawn walking downtown homeless, but at peace
eagles silent flight, on a distant shore
father long gone he loved the sea like me
finally, I used my one-way ticket back to the South
flashing in winter light, unseen below, silent wings
ghetto dog weakly rises when I pass
greeting other homeless and travelers
head down, standing in line, a homeless man
homeless, alone, but the snow falls gently
in a storage bin, sorting through my life
in Motel 6, a woman parts much too soon
in spite of debt, there must be an answer
in the shelter, Ken plays his Irish music for me
I walk miles down the highway, my bag stuffed with poems
jailed kid alone his grandfather dies
late winter snow an old mans shot true in sunlight
making a space in my single room, and in my heart
light slowly fades at dusk strumming guitar
man punished for admitting he needs help
miles distant woman in my life let her be free
my body releasing last night, alone
my companion, a parolee, handcuffed
my old friend George Fair goat behind his shack
no word from my girl and no job today
on the street, faint fluttering of a bird
parking on the street, I face the unknown
planet closer to a sliver of the moon
poet and dishwasher cross the railroad tracks at dawn
razor wire all over town In prison and out
romantic song lifts the spirit of a rootless man
some part of me has the desire to disappear
spring dawn birds cry unceasing
standing in the mist, beside the empty road, a train
Excerpt from The Spirit of Zuni (Depicting the poets two-year experience living and working on the Zuni Indian
reservation), 2002-2004
1
a boy strikes out at me and stops one inch from my face
a broken down shack is part of the earth
a couple of toddlers playing in the bone-dry gulch
a couple passes the man cries out leave me alone
a crowd of people walk one way I walk the other
afraid at night with no lock on my door
after many years a candle burning in my room
a nice dog mingles with the kids at school
an old woman waves from her pick-up truck
a simple man on the bus says hi to everyone
a small herd of goats a family and some dogs
a song bird, finally in yellow spring dawn
a strange Zuni man hangs out near a stack of tires
a village elder tells me about Coronado
a young man forgives me silently through his presence
a Zuni artist offers to teach the kids patience
a Zuni boy obsessed with the lyrics by Slipknot
a Zuni woman says the word Zuni with real warmth
bingo hall a child calls me grandfather in Zuni
broken-down dwelling on the lot touched by pure white snow
cow in the yard near the sacred mountain
dawn light through black limbs and birds cry for spring
distant cry of a dog in the pueblo
doing laundry all night long everyone else asleep
faint country music on the radio
flaming sky at dusk on the Zuni bus
forgetting all the pain of yesterday
fourteen Zuni kids zooms by in a pickup
green, green sweet crabgrass finally in Zuni
guitar silent propped up against the wall
happy to watch a little basketball on TV
I buy another gold watch maybe Ill keep this one
I close my eyes and revolve in bed without moving
I dont approach the Zuni drum sound at 2 AM
I dream I tow a junk car across the USA
I feel out of place in the Social Service meeting
if you climb the old mesa watch for snakes
if you kill a spider in Zuni the world will end
I head down the road with no need to shave
I learn a Zuni concept the light just before dawn
in the Mustang a wall of second-class videos
in the ruins of the pueblo a half-wolf at dawn
one night I could not sleep I stayed awake in my office
only songbirds break the stillness at dawn
outside the bingo hall a child screams
placing ice cream on the window ledge
smiling kids pretend to beg for a dollar
still with no idea what the future holds
the dogs bark forever at the edge of the pueblo
the kids say a medicine man can heal your spirit
the moon sets in an unexpected place
the priest in his robe just listens to me
the roosters cry when I awake and head for Mustang
three separate games flow and crisscross in the Zuni gym
the small purple flowers low to the ground have survived
the voice of a crow at daybreak beckons
the wind has finally eased off in Zuni
thoughts of traveling back to nowhere
to understand conflict you must understand the clan
upstairs alone someone parties downstairs
wishing for a woman I can share everyone with and she loves me
Zuni kids play in the old gym surrounded by stars
last night three AM still alone but not afraid
alone poetry and music for twenty-four hours
an eternity passes and I drift off to sleep
a wild spring storm in Gallup alone
a woman drunk asks if I am God
cows in the yard near the sacred mountain
discarding the past on Sunday in the last pew
forgetting all the pain of yesterday
I begin to fast and embrace silence
I walk down a mystery road and get lost
I will photograph the Zuni ruins in pure light
my new watch shines like silver it feels right
no longer afraid of the Zuni dogs
I want to bring all the Zunis back to Tennessee
I want to walk alone this day to the red mesa
my body feels clean and my soul feels clean
my room gradually transformed into me
my son calls asks me to be his best man
not too disturbed by a rumor I may be fired
the priest says to just do my best right now
the voice of a crow at daybreak beckons
the wind blows through my eyes and lips and hair someone new
telling you exactly whats on my mind
the way I like to play country music is real low
Zuni child plays with my eagle puppet
Zuni child tracing Chinese symbols
Zuni four-year-old draws a flower and a butterfly
a dream of fire and redemption recalled in prayer
everything slows down in spring twilight I walk back home
in the dream my car caught fire I walk back home
the birds beautiful song again at dusk
the sound of a Zuni man chopping wood as I pass
2
a great storm behind D-Y Mountain
open faces friendly faces and yes everywhere Zuni dogs
a poster for another Christian church arrives in town
as soon as I get back to Zuni my heart at rest
the Zunis win another battle for their Salt Lake
I walk with my mug again dodging dogs
a Zuni lady talks about the nice rain last night
a new Abductor Invasion talking video game at Mustang
another midnight before dawn lights appear outside my window
baking in the sun the Zuni parade
bright parade smiling faces of the Zuni people
endless field of sunflowers on the edge of Zuni
drum beats sounding at the Zuni parade
from the field of sunflowers you can see the mystic Zuni mesa
proud smiling faces of the Zuni people their Labor Day parade
slowly, slowly the Zuni parade wends its way around the pueblo
Zuni child whispers in my ear I will bring flowers to hota (grandmother)
Zuni lady brings me roasted corn from her oven
a Gallup Indian leads me to the tower the road to Zuni
gradually bringing everything to light
learning too much about the drugs and gangs
my car radiator finally boils over on the desert road
outside my window Zuni children chant I have stepped into their world
playing radical music for a bunch of cowboys in the cold rain
strangely the video game at Mustang comforts me
threatened privately by a bureaucrat
west of Zuni the sunflowers have faded and died
winter closes in now I feel cold rain
a young man cuts me off and will not speak
I test the alarm at school on purpose
I know without love there is no purpose
over and over one night I dream of a child alone and weep
I walk out of my trailer and two birds fly into the blue-red dawn
intricate passage to the sacred Zuni plaza
I share a laugh with the workers at the Zuni dump
the Zunis deep laugh as they share food with the poor
I ignore a strange intrusion good senses evil
shamed in public like I was as a child
3
attacked and threatened by a bureaucrat who wields power
I care for a boy I gave him a ride back to Black Rock he has no dad
in Mustang I read the Dalai Lama
in yesterdays dawn my spirit opened
the cold wind blows hard outside my trailer
I think I see a hint of light over the mesa
this night and every night in New Mexico has lasted forever
winter light reveals a pinion tree on the mesa
alone on Turkey Day I drive away from Zuni to Santa Fe
far from Tennessee far from Springfield far from Boca Raton
far from everyplace I ever called home
behind my trailer twilight is falling everything is dark green
and a pickup truck is part of the mesa I play music
on the way from Mustang at twilight children stand close together
with their dog in a small yard they are crying out to friends across the road
I call my shelter back in New England from five years ago to talk about my problems and share a song
a Zuni womans foot is run over by a trailer she is hopping around and the tourists think she is dancing
a Zuni girl who wants to be a poet slowly reads my book of haiku
all the way through she likes it she will show it to her mother
a Zuni lady hitchhiking on the Gallup Road her face is weathered but she smiles she is beautiful with ten years sober
I watch Hurricane Carter with an Indian girl and I cry in front of her and her distrust melts away with those tears shed
there will be no sleep tonight my life is changing again I think about packing alone and driving away the song inside me
I think about a kid who tried to warn me before three gang kids lure me outside I will find a way to thank him soon
I play Santa Claus again at St. Anthony School the kids secretly wave to me they know the real me under my suit
A Selection of Prose-poems and Free Verse, 2004-2007
(Written after recovery from homelessness, in Seneca, South Carolina and Middletown, Connecticut.
A Call from the Atlanta Airport
My son calls from the Atlanta airport while passing through but Linda and I are in bed and it is late and he hangs up fast. I think he called just to hear my voice or maybe he is feeling alone because his marriage is falling apart. He probably needs to talk to me about being afraid. Though he is thirty-two his voice still sounds like my childs
Now its early dawn and theres a train blast far away and Im the one alone. I wont be here forever. Still, there are the ones who need me and there is this life in the darkness before dawn. There are things to consider and Celtic music and cricket sounds in my head and poems to write
There is a call from the Atlanta airport. Now I am awake
Acceptance of Change
We throw the I Ching and come up with traveling. All day I feel tense
Now, at dusk, as darkness falls, I let go, welcome the new. There is a clatter in the kitchen of dishes, music, and talking in the bedroom. Now, the sound of the cicada, healing
Across the Sky
in the coffee shop in spring dawn seeking a new path wishing to
never raise my voice again you are in my mind back in the motel
now I see gulls outside i want to return to the ocean with you
back in a place i call home in new life now i see clouds moving
across the sky
A Dark Sign
Each freight train passing
through our small town, in the mist
scrawled with gang graffiti
Aftermath of a Car Wreck in Zuni
1
The night before my accident, I play Santa Claus again at St. Anthony School. The kids secretly wave to me. They know the real me under my suit
The next day, I do not see anything but the blinding
sun, and I feel a great crunch. Then a man runs up. I almost die. Everything changes
Another hospital. Staring up at the hospital lights, Unable to move, I struggle for breath and a nurse holds my hand. Snow falls outside in Zuni. I am trapped inside with my broken vertebrae, trapped at the Indian Health Service. My friend is gone and the bus is shut down. The lady at the desk does not seem to care. I explode in anger
No matter what, I will walk soon through the snow to the coffee shop. The fasting priest with children trailing behind him passes by Mustang. He seems to know that I need healing. Later, I watch a snowy pro game on TV. I am alone on Christmas Day. I feel indifference around me. This is me. I let my anger out
I dream of an older man I know. I always wished he were my father. I will call him, far away. The wind blows hard around my trailer. Other than that, I am alone with silence, the ones I love precious
As I walk through the snowstorm in Zuni, ravens are above, and huge dogs on the ground encircle me, but I come to no harm. Suddenly, I stop fighting the only thing that can heal me, this hateful brace. Finally, a Sioux man down at Mustang stops hating me just when I find out about the suffering that still exists at Pine Ridge
It is the end of the Zuni New Year and I walk into a changed pueblo with bonfires glowing at dawn, explosions and the pure joy of a peaceful greeting. My son and family finally call from Florida. Someone says I love you in the background. I tell them about the Zuni bonfires
On New Year¹s morn I greet my Zuni friends at Mustang. Everyone laughs at my encounter with the big dogs. I feel peace. There is pure yellow light at the top of the red mesa. I am very tired. I don¹t care what happens to me now. I am free
2
Awakened by Zuni fireworks at two AM. They make a quiet sound for what seems like forever. I see their glow. There is only light at the top of the red mesa. I am very tired and dont care what happens to me now. I am free
A teachers aide comes by. I give her a book Radiance Descending for her daughter and feel everything is changing. Sister Claire will help me with the laundry. The sun is glowing off the mesa and the birds cry calling me. Now the suns glow at dawn shows me the mesas many contours. Clouds come now. The mesa appears smooth and dark
Down at Mustang, a Zuni girl asks for a loan. She is trying to raise three kids. I know very well I am not her savior. Then a kid shows me all of his gang signs and tattoos. We are friends but he stays quiet while the other gang-bangers make fun of me
The other night a Zuni woman snuck into my trailer with fry bread because I was not afraid and did not lock my door
A Man Named Ken
I wish Ken were here and I could talk with him about everything. I met him while standing in line waiting in the dusk at the temporary shelter in Northampton back in 1998. He gave me an idea what to expect in homelessness and later taught me how to keep my feet dry so they would not freeze, in the depth of winter. I was a novice homeless person. He was a veteran, in more ways than one
Ken was tall and rangy on the thin side with a moustache and in his fifties like me. I remember seeing track marks on his arm
His girlfriend, Elizabeth, lived in a tent beside the railroad tracks. She looked like Madonna, was religious and a little crazy but had a gentle voice. She never would stay inside the shelter
Ken hung out with me in coffee shops, the library at Kinkos and at the soup kitchen. He told me how Celtic music calmed his spirit when he listened to it on his portable radio every Sunday night. He told me some things about Nam like how he was forced to shoot through a baby to kill a Viet Cong lady who was about to detonate a bomb. He told me about his adult son who lived in Worcester, the one he not seen in years
We transferred over to the rehab shelter about the same time in the spring. One day I found him dead in the upstairs bathroom during a community meeting sitting on the toilet. In his hand was a needle, poised in the air. I remember his eyes were blank and he seemed to be staring into space. He wanted to talk with me before the meeting about something but I said later. I still feel bad about putting him off
Many years have passed. I am no longer am homeless I have a job but need more hours at work. I listen to Celtic music with my wife and do peace work and stay close with my son. Yesterday I remembered to wear socks to ward off the advancing cold
A Man with the Virus
A man with the virus gets in my car. He needs a ride to his mommas. Hes been awake for three days. He weaves in my direction at the black convenience store. I throw my junk in the back so he can sit down
I head down a country road that runs past the high school. He directs me to stop in the middle of the road in front of a farm house and opens the passenger door. A car slows and folks watch what is going on. He asks for my number and I write it on a slip of paper. He says he may need someday to talk with me again
His face is blotchy and his eyes look bloodshot and I can barely understand his speech. But I am not afraid
Awakening
i think of my enemy
walk out into the night
the sound of a warplane
gradually fades i have awakened
from a dream
of one star wavering
Bad Day for a Sub
The teacher comes back way too soon and makes me turn down my Celtic CD. The kids are spread out on the floor playing. I have been debating the merits of black music with a girl from India. I joked with her, That hip-hop will make your brains fall out. She smiled back and said I like what I like, then tossed her head
Half the kids are out of the room, at the library or gym. The teacher averts her eyes as she counts the ones who dont have a pass. The kids now walk around like robots, pick up paper and discard it in the trash. Then I tell the teacher I froze her computer by mistake
Blazing Stars
at the agency
I do not belong
I want to hang out
with my crazy friends
and there is no deceit
behind their eyes
at the rec center
basketballs are flat
in the bitter cold
we play 21
my friends are addicted
to coffee and cigarettes
my friends do not covet
money, power and control
they do not pretend
to be cold or warm
my friends are haunted by voices
but do not complain
I now understand
they are not robots
they need love
but have no husbands or wives
they may or may not
remember my name
but they greet me
like a friend
they cherish simple things
their guitar does not possess
a standard tune
I share with them a corny joke
and am not ashamed
I am only good at being a friend
I am no good at making treatment plans
I wish I could escape with them
on a Greyhound bus
I wish we could discard all medicine
most of them do not have families
And I wish they did
I want to go outside with them at dusk
I want to feel with them the slanted light
I want to hang out
with my crazy friends
I want to hear with them the voice of a frog,
walk with them, discover a pond, share with them
an echoed sound, and in the end, blazing stars
Breaking the Silence
A preacher who is also janitor for the school firmly clasps my hand. I feel that he is searching my eyes for a flash of recognition: Am I born-again and saved? Will I respond in code? We are deep in the Bible Belt
Do I belong to Jesus? Am I one of them? Silence grows between us. I am not even tempted to mislead this man now in this age of torture, deceit, and rattling drums, the pyramid of bodies stacked, detainees confined to cages infested with insects and rats, baking in the sun, a terrorized Marine, elbowed by his DI, grabbed by the scruff of the neck, then drowned in a training pool
No, I will not play games I am interfaith, not born-again. My brother at school is a gentle and good man but we never speak about the war and these atrocities. Our silence disturbs me
Bus Ride Through Time
A college kid waiting all night is in the Jacksonville bus station remembers the benches divided so no one can lie down, the white and colored water cooler signs and being prodded awake by the stick of a security guard (1962)
A VISTA Volunteer working in Mt. Carmel, Illinois is draped across the seat, deep in the night, riding a Greyhound and transfixed by the moaning sound of the bus and flickering light, returning to help his mom who is still drinking and depressed and about to be evicted from her single room (1968)
A man alone, sick, and divorced, now in Springfield, MA and working as a counselor but on the edge of homelessness himself (though he does not know it) rides the city bus up State Street all the way to K-Mart, then hides in the woods beside the parking lot (1988)
A homeless man living in a rehab shelter hitches a ride on a college bus across the Connecticut River to work with kindergarten kids (1998)
A counselor of Zuni kids in New Mexico rides to their game.
They cross the desert at dusk as the kids chatter. The driver plays black music as the red sun touches the edge of the mesa (2003)
A counselor and poet, back in New England, Bipolar and recovering, hanging out with new friends. Afraid of losing his job. In love again. Meditating on the sound of crickets, in pure light (2007)
Change
On a journey to stand up for myself in a meeting with my boss, my thoughts turn to the inevitability of nonexistence
And when I speak the truth spacetime expands to its true dimension
***
When I head out before dawn from the motel room where my wife is sleeping
invisible rain falls from the dark sky
Courage
The boy is trapped in a meeting. When the social
worker suggests church for him, he says, I dont
believe in God
His mom works the night shift serving fast food and
his best friend is a gentle black man who rides his
bike around slowly until twilight comes to the
boy's neighborhood
Deeper Hurt
I guard him too close, and then this kid is double-teamed. Anger rises in him. I reach out to touch his arm too late. I sense, in him, a deeper hurt, from another place in time
Down the Dark Road
Our power gone, we gather possessions, travel to Georgia. We are uprooted, but free, transformed by great trees, darkness, and wind, beneath the white moon. We jumble things together in the back seat of the car. We travel swiftly, down the dark road, through time
Ghosts
In my dream, there is no past and future. I exist dimly, and no one knows me on the inside. I am like a ghost, nothing truly matters, and nothing exists anywhere in the beyond
In the dream, I both live and work at a residential school. Nothing I teach has any bearing on the outside world. In fact, nothing exists anywhere in the beyond
In my dream, no one is capable of conversing in any depth. Nothing ever changes in the world of this dream. No one ever questions why I have no home, beyond the residential school. We are all ghosts, I think
And nothing exists anywhere in the beyond
In the Dark Green of Dawn
Last night I awoke at four a.m. again thinking in the darkness beside Linda
She is invisible beside me. I take a closer look at the red hands of the digital clock then close my eyes. I try to recall my dream again. It slips away. I think of all who have transformed me in this life
Now I am adrift. An island rises out of the mist over and over again
I realize there is no way to turn back, and no continent exists in the beyond
Suddenly, I hear the faint cry of a bird and my eyes open to the dark green of dawn
In the Direction of Home
There is a boy at school who approaches me after class and tells me how kids push him around when no one is looking, throw paper at him and call him queer and gay, and this has been going on for a long time
This is second time he has confided in me though I am just a sub and not around very much
He says they call him gay because he is a dancer and has a high-pitched voice. He shows me some dance steps when everybody has gone to lunch
I talk with a teacher and she says he brings it on himself. I dont give up until I find someone who will listen to him. It is the principal
After school I turn the wrong way in the parking lot with my old red car and some parent flashes me a dirty look. Then the school cop follows me for miles down, twisting and turning country roads. I stay below the speed limit and he finally gives up
I turn into a convenience store to get an orange slush and then just sit in the parking lot for a while till my heart stops beating fast
Then I turn my car in the direction of home
In the Last Period Class
A needle enters the back of the neck of a boy in the last period class. While I am reading to these veterans of lock-up subtle messages of torment and abuse are passed from hand to hand
A boy tells me he has no fear of adults. Every day a kid asks me if I want to fight but I know its a bluff
Another boy talks about throwing a chair at his step-dad, who was
beating his mom. And there is a boy who I wish had been a high school teammate of mine in my past
There are papers and books and other odds and ends strewn all around the classroom. And there is a girl who pretends to have anger management problems and shows me her tongue ring
I remember one boy from the projects. I told him about the Big Bang just before the final bell on the last day of school
In the Growing Darkness
Yesterday Linda and I found our favorite Goodwill again in a little town on Route 20 heading back through Georgia. It was just about when the sun was going down. When we pulled into the parking lot, the sky softened the edges of this small town on New Years Day. Our tiredness faded
I was still thinking about poetry and protest, poverty and the war, walking up and down the aisles, rubbing shoulders with other folks in mismatched clothes like me. Linda and I met in the knick-knack section. I found a sweater and she was excited about some blouses and a curved vase she wanted to transform. I also found a blank journal for writing and she discovered a silver picture frame thats made of plastic but doesnt look tacky at all. We drove back to South Carolina in the growing dark. But Linda pointed to a shimmering light, somewhere above, in the limitless sky
In the North End
at dusk on the steps
of the shelter my homeless
friends and me
close our eyes and breathe no longer
stalked by chaos in the North End
I Wait for You
waking up in the middle
of the night you have not returned
from the late shift
headlights crisscrossing the sky
i wait for you
Meditation on Two Sounds
He wishes to comfort a child he has come to know, in the gathering dusk
The sound of the cicada heals, transcending time. In the distance, there is the sound of thunder, but it does not disturb
He wishes to leave anger and control behind
New Year
1
I am closer to you now, maybe because Toby is dying. We say your evening prayer, then throw the I Ching. Now there is a sound that does not end of an invisible train passing in the rain
Tomorrow is a new year
2
Toby never hurt anything. He always looked at us with Buddha eyes
3
Now you greet me in the hour before dawn light
Night Shift at the Group Home
Our shift is nearly to the end and we are giving out meds. A woman thanks us for just being human. We are all shifting slowly towards midnight. I must get back to my loved one. We are working in a group home and fear getting fired
There is deep darkness and I must leave. My friends are huddled together on the porch. They are together, sharing the sound of crickets. I wave goodbye
No longer Gripping the Wheel
I dreamed last night
about a fire out of control
Many houses
on the dark street
are burned
All these houses are ramshackle
and have the same shape
I call for help
but no one comes
many are homeless
I dreamed that everyone
on the street is a stranger
And today my brakes
suddenly failed
Wandering in and out
of strip malls
Creeping through the night
I barely survived
Now it is tomorrow
and I have made a new friend
It does not matter any more
if I fail at work
I no longer must conceal
who I am
I am now at home
and no longer gripping the wheel
One Day Teaching in a Tough Special Class
I am teaching life skills to kids in a tough special class. Chaos gradually builds. I doggedly read on, sentence by sentence a story about liberation from cages of the mind and heart
There is a new kid to quietly assault while my eyes are cast down. Gradually I move between him and the bullies
A football player joins me to help form a barrier. Some of these kids have a good heart and are my friends
Our special class is in one of the portables at the back of the school. The intercom is broken. There is no walkie-talkie to call for assistance
Paper wads fly across the room
On Main Street
On main street, where there is an empty church
On main street, where I have parked my old van, I greet Steve the unshaven mechanic
Homeless hang out on the sidewalk in front of the soup kitchen no harm
There is a cop. I tell him the truth. On a side street, he seeks a crack dealer
To the café, the waitress calls me Hon
I can forget the pain of work. Someone I was close to ignores me now
In the café I read the I Ching and write this poem, go inside
I know beauty will come back, touch me with her eyes
Reality and Dream
In so much pain
no energy to hate
In so much pain
no desire to put up my guard
In pain
but I have no desire
to lean on you
In pain
I am still trying
to create
In pain
no desire
to fabricate
***
I dreamed I made love
To a woman most familiar
I felt safe with her
and we shared pleasure and release
Still I desired
only the unknown
Though I felt safe with her
and we made love
Serenity
Let them do their background check. I will wait. Whatever they find, it is okay, because I will respond with only truth, whatever happens
I am free
The Cry of a Bird in the Quiet Rain
A quiet spring rain in the trees. A multitude of leaves but each leaf is touched in turn by a drop of rain and it makes a curved motion down, then comes back up, but in slow motion. Yesterday, in the same tree, there was a small red bird with a black crest. I caught a glimpse of its wings fluttering deep in the branches
I think of prisoners of the mind or heart, or anyone bound by physical chains. Faintly, I hear the cry of a bird in the quiet rain
The Search for Someone Who Cares
Tonight I hope to wake up in my dream, where everyone moves like a ghost and the scene is impossibly vague
I am searching for a school in the city that I remember from sometime in the past but dont know when. I am traveling through streets that are dark, though it is day
It is hazy and no sun appears ever in the dream
I am late always late and lost in the city where I am a stranger and no one remembers me
Everyone I used to know has died or moved away. I search in a phone book at a corner booth for the name of someone who I used to call my friend
Everyone in my family has left for somewhere down South
When I stumble on the school by chance the secretary is disturbed by my lateness and makes a note in her pad for the principal who is always attending a conference
When I enter my classroom the kids are in chaos and unsupervised. Their desks are falling apart and covered by graffiti. The bell rings suddenly, signaling something that I cannot understand
There is one child in the class whose eyes are clear, but that child is afraid. Her eyes are cast down and staring and blank. She has dark hair and a musicians hands
I escort her to the hallway, kneel down and tell her that I will not abandon her till we come to truly exist in the reality of light
Someone Asking for a Light
Bitter fight on the road consciousness fades. Graffiti in a rest room all coloreds sign below The car with blacked-out windows and a figure inside makes you afraid. Suddenly, the frame of this picture is broken and the world is softened in a gathering flame. You wish for anger to disappear. Now the man, a homeless alien, makes hand signals and asks for a light
The Party I Want
We were all friends, but we drifted away. One of us was fired. Another quit. Nothing more than temporary workers. More and more, we were staring at the computer screen. When the boss left, we spoke intimately I mean intimate in spirit, and close to the heart
I want to plan a going away party that will last forever
After I left, I called back, but felt tongue-tied. I saw one of you in the medical clinic but you barely spoke. There has been so much drifting away in my life. I want it to stop
***
Last night I dreamed I revealed my clutter, the myriad contents of my junk drawer. It lay in the grass in front of a man I have not seen in thirty years
***
I want to ask my new friends to a party that will last forever. I want to stop moving, someday, away from myself
Trilogy
1
In the check cashing and pay-day loan store, this is our last hope to get some money. We line up with
others who hide their desperation,
The clerk counts our money with a smile, the same clerk I remember
from years ago, behind a set of bars, We may still be forced to park on the street overnight
2
The old lady, smoking a cigarette on the stoop She, the motel clerk, welcomes us to town
The owners are away, so her homeless friend comes by
When the owners return, they will watch us like hawks, and may fire her.
Just one look at our old van is enough.
3
Stranded again, running out of money. This time I am not alone,
but have you And a mist of rain falls. Now we are in deep twilight.
We are strangers to the garage man, and we are broke. Our car has died and I must protect you.
Walking Up From the Worthington Street Shelter
I am walking up the hill from the shelter at 7 AM, headed to the donut shop where the locals hang out
I dont remember what happened to my car I used to drive there. I have my gym bag, with stuff to read and write. The folks ignore me and talk about their own thing. I write in my journal, searching within for a vision of hope, Some semblance of a plan
I will walk to the bus station locker soon to check on my things
We Will Be Okay
We sat in the church parking lot and the minister never showed up. We drove to a pancake house and on the way I told a lot of jokes. Then we drove around Eastern Connecticut looking for yard sales. When I stood up for you at work, you said, a coldness disappeared inside
Soon I will play basketball at twilight. You will practice walking meditation. Whatever happens on the job, we will be okay
What Matters
I drive up and the kid I work with is in the yard, walking around aimlessly speak to his dad as he leaves for first shift. Knock on the back door and mom appears. She is pale and weak. She passed out at the fast food joint when her bp went through the roof. She was the only one working again
I will come back later to play baseball with the kid. Walking back to the car, I am not afraid, because the one shaggy dog they have left is gentle
On the way home, my transmission begins to fail, but I dont care
Acknowledgments
Your Hard Life Shadows of Green (chapbook), Tiny Poems press, 1997
Well Past Midnight (excerpt), Eclectica, 2005
The Spirit of Zuni (excerpt), Haiku Reality, 2004
A Call from the Atlanta Airport, Dispatch, 2006
Acceptance of Change, Alba, 2006
A Dark Sign, Gray Borders, 2006
A Man with the Virus, Dispatch, 2006
Bad Day for a Sub, Subtletea, 2006
Down the Dark Road, Pens on Fire, 2006
In the Growing Darkness, Pegasus, 2005
Meditation on Two Sounds, Studio 1, 2006
The Cry of a Bird in the Quiet Rain, Light of Consciousness, pending, spring, 2007
The Search for Someone Who Cares, Dissident Editions, 2005
Someone Asking for a Light, Cerebration, 2006
Posted by poetry/patrickfrank
at 5:48 PM EDT
Updated: Saturday, 14 April 2007 10:28 PM EDT
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Updated: Saturday, 14 April 2007 10:28 PM EDT
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