My Mind Is Open
TABLE OF CONTENTS
When
The Relationship
Of Poems I've Read But Not Yet Written
Muddy Souls
The Music I Hear
It B's That Way Sometimes
What Kind of Woman Would Take A Man's Hard Drive
Gone Are Words
I Had A Broken Heart
A Stone Where Her Heart Once Was
The Wish
The Ebony Princess
The Onion Skin Lady
Sitting in a Chinese Restaurant
She Works Me
My Wife Died
Can You Hear
Janet Briscoe Fights Middle Age
I Have My Memories
Waiting
For the Love of You
Be The One
My Friend Diane
O The Blue Skies
We Were Ravens and Gulls
The Final Reinvention Was Dissolution
I Peer into the Shadows
Maybe It Was My Imagination
When S. Francis Was Invited To Dinner
The Underbellies of Geese
Two Poems Written Just Before Going to Divorce Court (April 30, 2002)
My Mind Is Open
My mind is open to exquisite sunsets to works in progress to foreign foods with names I cannot pronounce to the majesty of mountains how they humble and remind me of my own insignificance to the mysteries of a female and her slight of heart tricks But above everything else I do believe God is a practical joker a lover of irony Who speaks in light, wind, water, earth, music and silence, Who in the magic of laughter or the tragic of tears, reveals the poetry of a moment.
When When She sweats She Drips Honey, Pouring Sweetness From her soul.
The Relationship was intense durable like plastic too often a throw away item that refused to biodegrade. owes her ten years she says to me at times it gave itself like a virgin sacrifice at times like a beautiful whore but when it gave itself as itself I thought it mine but never claimed it -- a mistake she won't let me forget.
Of Poems I've Read But Not Yet Written These pages show their wear Like vague memories of despair Dreams like keepsake flowers Kept in the unconsciousness Of our waking hours Yet I remember The soft golden tones Of your voice How you carved yourself Like a cabinet maker Into my life, Then purposely attached Rusty hinges to the doors That they would squeak To remind me of your leaving.
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The Music I Hear The chants of Gregorian monks, Wind chimes in a Japanese garden; Do I dare move a stone? Will God pardon my indiscretion? Although African rhythms may stir my soul, Music is everywhere I listen -- But I'll always love my rock and roll. Let the rain cleanse the streets With steady song, the clamorous thunder Shakes these sturdy foundations; Suddenly, I am humbled, As all sound merges into a shrill silence, The harmony of discord urges me To listen to my own vibrations.
Back To Table of ContentsIt B's That Way Sometimes The bee drone lies dead, but smiling, having just fertilized his queen.
What Kind of Woman Would Take a Man's Hard Drive? I She took my teeth, my partial bridge, Accused me of taking something of hers she valued. So she stole into the bathroom that night And left me looking like a toothless junkie. Although I would plead with her, Lisping inarticulately that I did not know Where her missing jewelry was, She needed to teach me a liar's lesson. A condemned man will claim his innocence But makes peace with death outside his cell. She took her revenge and hid my teeth. And I saw my execution in her eyes. I thought about Hamlet telling Horatio About mysteries beyond the scope of our comprehension, Knowing the measure of my humiliation Would be as wide as the gap in my mouth. This woman, my wife, studied torture in North Korea. Once she took my glasses from the bedstand And twisted them into a pretzel shape, Then smashed the lens with a hammer. It was as if she had removed my eyes. Rendering me blind made her happy. She needed me to feel Powerless. Said this was the only way I would see. II She was training me, always training me. Refining me. Molding me into someone better. Like she was. A woman of imagined culture. I learned to carry her bags, And I learned to walk on the street side, To let her precede me in a restaurant, Unfold the napkin and correctly set the silverware; I became a perfectly unhappy gentleman. Who gives a shit about fire king or blue willow china? For godsake you eat off of it and scrape away leftovers, Like the crusty emotional scars she left on my heart. That I am now scrubbing away with brillo pads and poetry.
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I Had A Broken Heart I had a broken heart once when my heart was intact, but now it’s shattered like a mirror, and only reflects fragments of emptiness and a longing where it once beat for want of her unrequited love.
A Stone Where Her Heart Once Was There is a stone where her heart once was for me. A vast emptiness whose hollowed sounds remind me of Bedouin women mourning their dead. Her vengeance is Old Testament; it is The canon of our marriage, the angry god betrayed.
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The Ebony Princess The Ebony princess with her fineries and expensive perfumes always carried a switchblade and alibis. “This is my truth,” she said; “These are my white lies.”
The Onion Skin Lady My hour with the onion skin lady Is good therapy. We hug -- she's a hugger -- And we talk about me Mostly, but she talks about herself too, Growing up, trying to make sense Out of her world -- these stories Like the parables of Jesus Reveal, uncover, and enlighten. I talk about what brought me there. I am asking for help, Peel my layers away, I say. We will delve below the surface She warns me, but I am prepared To expose myself.
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She Works Me She works me like a sculptor chiseling away at my life molding me by cutting away all my "defects". O what vision does she have!
My Wife Died My wife died Her heart kept shrinking Until it became a pebble In the sand of our love Swept away by the tide Leaving behind nothing But emptiness.
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Janet Briscoe Fights Middle Age The beauty pageant held a strange fascination for her An affirmation of her magnetic attraction And like a bronze goddess she measured herself Against the idealized blond images of glamour. Weeks later she sat upon the rented gold Sebring convertible Sat upon her throne with sash and silver tiara and a title: Mrs. Amity – Illinois, her role-- beauty queen. And she waved like royalty to her people in her golden moment In the Bud Billigan Parade, her personal victory Against middle age was complete and televised. At times we all are impostors, acting out Our own scenes or those scripted by others We find ourselves cast in roles we did not choose Or writing scenes full of pathos and absurdities. But sometimes we get to play our magnificence upon life’s stage Which offers us ovation after ovation; And we possess a glorious moment Of fame before fading into memory, preserved only by glossy photos, And those other treasures – tiara and sash -- to remind us Of the beauty pageant and parade where we played a role That placed us in fame’s spotlight for a brief moment in time.
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Waiting In the Japanese stone garden I moved a tiny stone just because that's what you do in a Japanese stone garden -- gently proclaim your existence -- I affect the universe, an acknowledgement of my ambient self; So I nudge a stone as it should be, constant change and momentary motion. In the garden Permanence is illusory Winds of change urge me into and through the garden.
For the Love of You It was for the love of you I would dye my beard Hiding gray from the world, And for you I practiced Proper table manners, learned etiquette At your finishing school. “I’m in training,” I would say Hoping not to embarrass you. For the love of you I sacrificed family and friends, Everyone you believed intruded on our private world, And I let my bowling ball sit silently in the closet. “The bowling alley is for blue collar people,” You would say scornfully, an air of superiority Sitting on your head like an oversized hat. Such activities were distasteful and beneath you. For the love of you I often watched you try on clothes at Lord and Taylor And acknowledged the importance of accessorizing, That you can never have enough shoes, That big hats became you and classic colors last forever; Because shopping made you happy. And for the love of you We would drive hours to Kentland, Indiana Antiquing, flee marketing, searching for memories In second hand shops and roadside stands. Brought home treasures and musty old smells And things we would never use.
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My Friend Diane Says she would love to pick my brain sometime. I wonder whether she would use a toothpick, as if a piece of information was stuck in a brain crevice between synapses like food, or use hydraulic drill, to break the rigid pavement of my morality or perhaps sweat with shovel in hand, digging up dirt, secrets I keep even from myself. She might take a chisel to my marble block, perhaps remake me more perfect than David or with fingers sculpt me clawing at my mind with artistic passion, or probe me with Socratic questions, as my therapist does in pursuit of my memories, experiences, imagination: unlocking my truth from its deep, dark, hidden place. I would be honored, I tell her.
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We Were Ravens and Gulls We were ravens and gulls Ravishing the remains Of a bad marriage, Feeding on the dead flesh Of our marriage, Feasting on rotten remains And all the entrails of memory Spill out in poetry and pain. This is my cry: A shrill carrion call of sadness, My endless sorrow For how we cannibalized love, For how we picked at it, For how we prodded its lifeless form, And then abandoned it Like road kill.
The Final Reinvention Was Dissolution Maybe it was after she reinvented herself the last time That I no longer knew who she was. Even though she still wore the wedding band I gave my bride several years before. But even that became a prop She used on stage for laughs. And eventually discarded for another man's Gift of silver and blood red rubies. She was impressed by power and wealth That my teacher's salary could only afford A marriage certificate and a home And for that she hyphenated her name. But I supported her business ventures Her comedy and acting and modeling, Until the hyphen separated me from a stranger I would never know and did not like.
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Maybe It Was My Imagination (with help from Diane Dos Santos) Maybe it was my imagination but I thought I saw a robin Resting on my pine tree, even though it is now December. He flew into my imagination and perched there for an hour. When the light changed he only flew over to the next tree. An elm, I think. For what did he know about groves. Or warmed skies. Or hot apple pie on a cold winter night. He was only a bird and had never held you in protective wings Or kissed your cheery lips. The red bird was my heart reflected in a pool of blood. My sorrow is a broken wing. I've opened up to you, a flower, a door, a secret shared. Twice I heard the echo of your heart. Love returned for love given. This must be my only voice. A start. A new beginning. An offering. All others belong to someone else. Placed there as subterfuge. To confuse. Babel as we build, and Babel as we break the wall down. But never, never do we stick around for very long.
When S. Francis Was Invited to Dinner
"Make me a channel of your peace, where there is injury, your pardon, Lord, where there is darkness, only light, and where there's sadness, ever joy."When S. Francis was invited to dinner He declined the veal parmesan, Choosing a simple garden salad Garnished with sliced black olives. But when the veal was placed upon the table All he could think of was the innocent baby In the manger, who was destined to be crucified. And S. Francis was sick at heart.
The Underbellies of Geese The underbellies of geese in flight Like sailboats Inscribe upon the sky Purpose and destination And like the dreams you chased Driving to a stage In Lake Geneva, Flying from me To a runway in Orlando: What did your journey offer? Were the bright lights and applause Brighter and louder than the love I gave you?
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Getting Divorced Blogs on the whole mess!
Windows and Mirrors
The Ramblings of a Madman
My favorite search engine and IMHO the best is right below.
Use it to find other Poetry sites or anything else your little ol' heart desires!
Poetry Links Worth Checking Out
Poets.org
Here you can find many poems, listen to famous poets read their poetry, and after registering you can create a notebook
where you can save your favorite poems. American Poems
Wide selection of American poetry. Representative Poetry Online
Another site where you can find well-known poets and their work. Everypoet.com
Everypoet for everyman -- that's what the banner says. Modern American Poetry
A wide selection of modern American poets and representative poems Library of Congress: Poetry
A fine selection of poetry from the Library of Congress, includes present and past poet laureates as well as numerous other reknown poets Mr. William Shakespeare and the Internet
No one compares to Shakespeare's ability to paint pictures by using the English language as his brush and his plays and poetry as his canvas. He makes it all seem so lyrical and simple. His use of puns and double entendre make his words and phrases multi-layered. Reading his sonnets and plays, notice his fondness for iambic pentameter, as his preferred meter. Bartleby.com
Poetry anthology links from Bartleby Online Books, this site provides you with all the poetry you might need for research or for personal development.WritersWrite Poetry
MoonTown Cafe
Includes a number of resources for poets who want to publish
MoonTown Café.com is an online poetry and writing website designed to get your work read, critiqued, and published. Sonnet Central
The sonnet is a special poetic form, and this site has sonnets from some of the greatest poets. Clive Ambrose Miller
My mentor, Clive Miller, is part cyber-sorcerer and part poet. Check out his site and his poetry playground. Carolinanavy
A poetry portal worth exploring. Everypoet
Everypoet for everyman: another poetry portal. Watch out for the floating haiku! E-Poetry Network
A look at the overlap between performance poetry and music. There is Poetry Radio, as well as a calendar of local poetry readings. poetryfoundation.org
Offers podcasts featuring high-quality recordings of poems, interviews with poets, and documentaries. PoemsThatGo
Created to unite words, design, music and motion and to celebrate poetry through technology and the Internet; through mixed media and web technology, poetry reaches into another word dimension. Poetry.com
Publish your poetry, enter the poetry contest, search for your poems or others if they have submitted to this site. Island of Freedom
Art, philosophy, theology, and poetry, this site explores the vision of great thinkers. Ideas are universal.
My Back Pages Video Featuring Dylan, Harrison, Clapton, Petty, McGuin, Young and Others Performing - Presented by Veoh.comFanmail, criticisms, and questions should be sent to:
garylatman@yahoo.comThese poems are solely owned by (c) Gary Latman.
If there is any unauthorized use of these poems, your DNA will be permanently rearranged. Revised: August 21, 2005
Updated: December 9, 2006