Cacciatorepoetry.net » Philosophy

Chaos in Order

I saw a man balancing rocks on the beach one day. Each sculpture was about 10 rocks high. I asked him what they represented. He said, “chaos in order, man.” Just for kicks, I shaped the poem so it looks like it’s balancing, too.

Whipping, the wind snaps his frock,
The beach his canvas, the earth his chalk.

Acts of balance he concocts,
Of jagged stones by th’ old cliff rocks.

At these statues, first I balked,
Yet here I stand in full gawk —

   With wide wonder how they lock —
   Cragged posts of misshaped blocks.

Marvels each of slant and jot,
Settling into time-worn slots,

   Balanced on the perfect spot;
   Suspect to the slightest knock.

Dismantel

Displaying mementos from one’s past can be a little dangerous. Best to pack them away and move on. Love the line, “A man’s past exceeds the coarse objects he files.”

[My aim’s not to rid every reminder,
But to clear tomorrow so I might aspire.]

With dampened cloth I wipe the mantel clean,
Where my childhood’s end for years hath been —
A circular motion in squares of sunlight,
Upon a-packing mementos archived.

See,
A pocketwatch passed down can comfort a child,
But still measures time counter-clockwise.
And photographs can freeze figures in frames,
But still black-and-whites yellow with age.

Lo,
Today I declare what long I decried:
A man’s past exceeds the coarse objects he files;
On a shelf of ash, in a box corrugated —
Yesterday’s kept best in the mind of the curator.

Ice Fishing

You can diffuse so much tension with just a smile. For some reason I chose a rift between ice fishermen as the backdrop. All kinds of fun wordplays here.

Standing on this pond of ice,
I think I’m going to crack —
Fencing with a friend o’er the line
That divides our rickety shacks.

Each man demanding his fair share,
Of where the catfish congregate;
Stout-bodied, scaleless, fish a-schoolin’
(Yet each other we did bait).

Then like a rusted anchor’s flukes,
I hooked his eye with a smile,
And rid the matter that encircled,
This well of pleasure undefiled.

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On My Midnight Walk

It’s so much easier to sort out your problems at night, under the stars. Everything just seems much clearer.

On my midnight walk,
Through a field of bended reeds,
The sound of the sopping ground,
Kept me company.

Amid a muddied clear,
I stopped to rest on a thatch,
And did hear with straining ears,
A pheasant’s playful splash.

On my midnight walk,
With the wind I conferred, yea,
How to define God’s design,
To us it did occur.

For deep into the night,
The answers lay at our feet,
Waiting there for all to bear,
As the marmot curls in sleep.

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Optimism

A poem about the triumphant human spirit. Basically, the silver lining is always there if you look hard enough. This and “Swimmed” are as close to personal credos as I’ve written.

Someone drank my half-filled cup of water,
But look at what I’ve gained in the barter —
For this cup where hope sat once,
Now stands full brimming with none!

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Respite

Calgonite, take me away! When all else fails, close your eyes and dream of someplace far away.

When I nod my eyes, ‘tis just o’er yon:
A faraway land engulfed by calm.

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Swimmed

Not a single wasted word in this poem. About a person (me) assessing their life at the midway point … and approving of the report.

As I tread this life’s midstream,
Something blue occurred to me:
All my lavish boyhood dreams,
Hath faded to perfunctory.
And though a strict retrospect,
May deem my days part misspent,
Awash, I’m not, in regret;
For when I think of how I’ve lived, —
Lo, the less I’ve sank,
And the more I’ve swimmed!

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Taking Inventory

I’ve always said that if they sold peace of mind in the grocery store, it would fly off the shelves.

If peace of mind sat square on a shelf,
I’d buy an entire loaf for myself,
So the next time I was running low,
I’d take stock in knowing where to go,
For another healthy slice of life.

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The Writing’s on the Crawl

Seems like you just can’t escape the bad news these days. My goal was to construct a poem using a fast-paced, stream of consciousness format. Had Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire” in mind when I wrote this.

Terrorism, communism, tsunami floods,
Wall Street bailout, economy in doubt,
Babies snatched, conspiracies hatched,
Steroids, asteroids, looters at the scene,
Carbon emissions, political divisions,
She said, he said, flu vaccines.
Tent cities, what a pity, America the Obese,
Fortune, fame, birds attacking planes,
     Flippin’ channels but I still can’t get away.

Helter-skelter, Greenland’s melting,
‘Tis the season for non-stop shelling,
Tabloid scandals, Haiti’s in shambles,
Twenty-nine trapped in mine collapse.
Coffee cups, GPS, phones behind the wheel,
Teenage drivers texting friends —
Highway fatality, now hit send.
Individually smart, collectively doomed,
     A world of hurt inside my living room.

Online sex, tattoos up to our necks,
Where the hell is Bangladesh?
Healthcare debates, pirates with grenades,
Get rich, die quick, apologize later.
Over hill, over dale, multiple deployments,
Welfare queens, Ponzi schemes,
     All crawling at the bottom of my TV screen.

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