Here’s a short poem I wrote. I know it’s corny, but I like the sentiment it expresses. And I’m posting it today because of the Monday theme.
Wish on a Monday Morning
For the week ahead—
May kindness flourish.
May peace reign.
May the children
Have a reason to smile
When they greet
The morning sun.
I’ve been reading Jack Kerouac: Collected Poems, which includes the works Mexico City Blues, San Francisco Blues, The Scripture of the Golden Eternity and Book of Haikus. The Beat Generation novelist and author of On the Road inspired my writing of poetry many years ago. Kerouac, Langston Hughes and Charles Bukowski taught me that you didn’t need an MFA to write poetry, as their art sprang from life experiences. They showed me the power of raw and real voices and stories expressed in the form of free verse.
Kerouac’s collection has more than 600 pages of poetry, but I found much of it gibberish—stream-of-consciousness thoughts, rantings and Buddhist and Catholic references. Yet Kerouac also delivers heart-crushing beauty within the pages of this doorstop.
The poem “Hymn” appears in a section entitled Pomes All Sizes.
“Hymn”
And when you showed me the Brooklyn Bridge
in the morning,
Ah God,
And the people slipping on ice in the street,
twice,
twice,
two different people
came over, goin to work,
so earnest and tryful,
clutching their pitiful
morning Daily News
slip on the ice & fall
both inside 5 minutes
and I cried I cried
That’s when you taught me tears, Ah
God in the morning,
Ah Thee
And me leaning on the lamppost wiping
eyes,
eyes,
nobody’s know I’d cried
or woulda cared anyway
but O I saw my father
and my grandfather’s mother
and the long lines of chairs
and the tear-sitters and dead,
Ah me, I knew God You
had better plans than that
So whatever plan you have for me
Splitter of majesty
Make it short
brief
Make it snappy
Bring me home to the Eternal Mother
Today
At your service anyway,
(and until)
I also enjoyed many of the pieces in the section Book of Haikus. I believe Kerouac’s haikus do not follow the strict Japanese pattern of three lines of five, seven and five syllables.
Here are some autumn-related selections:
Late moon rising
—Frost
On the grass
Waiting for the leaves
to fall;—
There goes one!
First frost dropped
All leaves
Last night—leafsmoke
Crisp cold October morning
—the cats fighting
In the weeds
A yellow witch chewing
A cigarette,
Those Autumn leaves
Kerouac, Jack. Jack Kerouac: Collected Poems. New York: Library of America, 2012.
The book also served another purpose for me. Late last night I found a nail sticking out of the cheap wood paneling in the bedroom of my apartment. I was worried my son would catch himself on it, but I didn’t feel like going to the closet to grab my hammer. So I used the book to bang the nail back into place. Thanks Jack!
Two of my books, Dreaming of Lemon Trees: Selected Poems and Outward Arrangements: Poems are available in the Local Authors section in Parthenon Books, the new bookstore located on Salina Street in Syracuse. I stopped by Sunday morning and was excited to see the books lining the shelf, in company with works by other Central New York writers.
Books on display.
I am running a free Kindle promotion for my poetry book Outward Arrangements. It starts today and ends on September 6. Here is the direct link.
Outward Arrangements Cover
In celebration of National Poetry Month, I am running a free Kindle promotion for my poetry book Outward Arrangements. It starts today and ends on April 6. Here is the direct link.
Outward Arrangements Cover
I am celebrating my 52nd birthday today. And with each passing year, I feel the weight of mortality and the footsteps of death encroaching. It’s a presence I can’t escape, like Bergman’s grim reaper in The Seventh Seal.
In reality, though, you don’t need a birthday to be struck by that feeling. An impending sense of finality hits me every morning I awaken. But I also feel overwhelming gratitude when I am granted another morning, another day, another opportunity to create and share time and space and precious moments with loved ones.
A poem by the late poet Mark Strand seems fitting for this birthday and for this moment in time under COVID. To me it expresses the fleeting nature of existence.
Mark Strand, 1934-2014
The Coming of Light
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow’s dust flares into breath.
To Mr. Strand’s words, I add a few poems of my own, all focused on the unavoidable outcome of existence. They remind me to accept the inevitable while still trying to extract meaning out of a life that must cease one day.
Interment
I imagine the coffin lid closing,
the pine box being lowered into the pit,
shovels of dirt hitting the top,
and no one hearing me scream,
“Let me out. Let me out,”
as I realize I’ve run out of time
to make my life count.
What You Get
There is nothing you can do
to avoid becoming dust.
You can try to elongate your life,
but you will expire one day.
And whether cremated
or buried in the earth,
your body will not
survive this world.
Maybe your soul will
travel somewhere else,
but really, who knows for sure?
In this existence,
you are granted only two things:
Right Here. Right Now.
That’s all you get.
So make the most of it.
Awareness
How many people are dying
in emergency rooms
at this exact moment?
Right now, how many people are
exhaling their last breaths?
How many loved ones
arrive too late to say goodbye?
Each day ushers in death—
and while we sleep,
smashed brains, shattered bones,
plugged arteries, faulty hearts,
cancer and other diseases
claim their victims.
We try not to notice.
We try to avoid the truth.
We rush about our lives,
never knowing when
our time will come—
until one day it does.
I can’t live like that.
I can’t avoid the obvious.
I need to face death daily,
to recognize it lurking, prowling,
ready to pounce on me.
This knowledge of death
creeping nearby forces me
to examine my existence
and ascertain if I am useful—
wise with my time or wasteful.
I accept the finite offering
of a limited lifespan—
what little measure
of time God has granted.
It’s up to me to make it count.
Outward Arrangements: Poems by Francis DiClemente (2021).
I am running an end-of-summer ebook giveaway on Goodreads for my new poetry collection, Outward Arrangements: Poems. The giveaway begins on Aug. 1 and ends on Aug. 30. You can enter here.
Outward Arrangements Cover
I was the guest this week on the podcast Quintessential Listening: Poetry Online Radio hosted by Dr. Michael Anthony Ingram, a poet and retired university professor. You can find the audio here.
I just wanted to share that I have a new poem published on Osamase Ekhator’s Featured Poets blog. You can find out more about Osamase Ekhator on his personal website. And here’s a direct link to the Featured Poets page.
I just wanted to let people know that I am running a Kindle Countdown Deal on Amazon for the ebook version of my poetry collection Outward Arrangements. It runs until May 11 and the price is $.99.
Outward Arrangements Cover
And the Goodreads Giveaway ends on May 9. You can enter the giveaway here.
Francis DiClemente 