Mindfulness is happiness, but too simple.

Joy and suffering.                                            A balanced relationship.

Inability to let go tears me.

         My problem is nothings ever finis-

I guess the Buddha was right.

]]> http://poetryinpoem.wordpress.com/2011/06/06/you-in-six-words/feed/ 0 asongofmyself http://poetryinpoem.wordpress.com/2011/06/06/113/ http://poetryinpoem.wordpress.com/2011/06/06/113/#comments Tue, 07 Jun 2011 01:20:54 +0000 asongofmyself http://poetryinpoem.wordpress.com/?p=113 Continue reading →]]> all            Around

in Just                                    the Bend

The time it                                    there Lies a

takes, to read This                                    round, Round circle in

poem –                                                            all of our Little Brains

                                     Starting and Beginning, ending and finishing

]]> http://poetryinpoem.wordpress.com/2011/06/06/113/feed/ 0 asongofmyself http://poetryinpoem.wordpress.com/2011/05/04/a-request-for-forgiveness-george-bilgere/ http://poetryinpoem.wordpress.com/2011/05/04/a-request-for-forgiveness-george-bilgere/#comments Wed, 04 May 2011 05:18:36 +0000 asongofmyself http://poetryinpoem.wordpress.com/?p=102 Continue reading →]]> Dear Mr. Bilgere,

The most sincere of apologies: due to your location on my bedroom floor, and slight indigestion,

my cat threw up on your face.

I admit, surely a crime of the highest offense, but really, it was only your chin and

most of your left cheek.

Unfortunately,

your friendly, respectable, yet intellectual look has been slightly marred -

but not to worry, I’m sure it happens to the best of us.

Let me explain.

I printed out the first page of your website and several poems, then laid them out on my carpet (but thats not what I’m apologizing for).  (I’m apologizing

for letting the cat in my room.)

I don’t mean to devalue your biography, it is really very professional:

www.georgebilgere.com.

Classy, George, classy.

“Bilgere has shown that imaginative wonders and deep emotional tru- catshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshi-

plain, American speech,” says former U.S. Poet Lauerate Billy Catshitcatshit

catshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcatshitcats.

On the paper it says, “Buy from Amazon.com.”  There is a particularly bright yellow chunk just above.

No hard feelings, of course?

She just dipped her paw into my glass of water, then licked it.

Do not fear, George, I’ve been punished justly. This,

and a glob of cat spit, festering on my pillow.

I admit, she’s been fixed, I cannot blame her for being broken; try again.  Is it me?

It appears your forgiveness must be earned through my suffering.

She’s gone again, pursuing some feline desire on little cat feet

leaving me

to think, while watery paw-prints dry on my desk.

Love,

Jesse

the warm, silky bands of love stirring between us, within us,

- a crimson tinge -

She let the words dance a ballet on the wind

and I let them slowly begin to strain, flutter, gasping for —

then

crash like lead bricks to the ground.

Is the grass as sweet?

Tell me, how fair is my rosy skin when the wrinkles emerge, their raspy screams, an echo?

Will the squirrel’s gallop always be so quaint?

How soft is my hand now, darling, enclosed with yours for

a hundred years?

Ask the birds if they will always sing so sweetly, or if their throats will grow old

keeled over, in death.

Not for us.

- putting my arm around her, this time, one thousand and one

the same sleek sigh, but how different is the air I breath in each casually placed hand?

It isn’t at all.

“As do I,” I said calmly,

the grass brown, but the sky still the same shade -

Forever is a long time, my dear.

I’ve pulled no grass from innocent pastures,

I haven’t laughed obnoxiously where humor is pure

(or in a place where it was silent

just before)

Nor have I been marauding lately, I have broken no horns from unicorns.

The black market has increased their prices, though.  The walls of my room are full of them -

This week you’ll notice, Adam walks freely, hands laced with Eve.

she said, stroking the kittens

soft back

tail rising slowly, then

smacking the carpet,

when the feline’s dark green eyes pierce my own.

Bring forth the wicked ingredients

so furious are the wrath of lilacs, how they pierce the unblemished air.

Surely! they are spies

-all of these flowers-

to hide underground all winter

then flash their fiery petals and watch as my allergies turn to ash

- reaching for a tissue

my mom says to me,

a large white pill in her palm,

ice water

in the other, I take it, swig and swallow

she smiles gracefully

and walks away,

while tiny, opaque assassins pull out their knives

and begin to saw at my veins.

Wrapped as culture, rice, Japan

Eat, American.

Shit.