“Marriage of Many Years” by Dana Gioia

I read this wonderful poem recently and decided to post it here. “Marriage of Many Years” is from Dana Gioia’s book 99 Poems. I got married last year so I have a new perspective on some of the lines. Enjoy!

http://writersalmanac.org/episodes/20160223/

Crossroads

Sometimes I don’t see the crossroads in my life
I’m driving, and the radio is playing
And I’m on the open road
Then suddenly I’m in the forest
And I don’t know how long I’ve been driving in the forest
I made the turn somewhere back in the past

“This Year’s Valentine” by Philip Appleman

Here is a link to “This Year’s Valentine” by Philip Appleman. Yes, it’s a Valentine’s poem, but it’s different from any I’ve read before. (I think even you cynics will like it.)

http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2003/02/13

The poem has a dark and apocalyptic feel. It’s like, “This is the end of the world but our love endures.” Pretty intense.

“To My Son’s Girlfriend” by Michael Milburn

I don’t usually do this, but I wanted to post a link to a cool poem I read recently. It’s “To My Son’s Girlfriend” by Michael Milburn. Enjoy.

http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2010/03/29

You might also be interested in my post about love and relationships called Lacuna.

Death is a Door

Death is a door all mortals are bound to enter

It is wide enough for all mankind

Empty bodies lie beside the door, cold and still

Death shreds the mortal form and leaves a husk of meat and bone

A quick cut to separate body and soul

And the spirit steps through the door and into glorious light

The Sons

Tell the man that his sons are coming home.

They carry swords and scars and walk alone on lonely paths.

Tell him they have slain men and monsters.

They are not the sons he sent out on that bright morning.

I am a Man

I am more than pixels in a photo
I am not defined by a set of hobbies
I am more than words on a computer screen
I am not defined by music, books, or movies
I am more than flesh and blood
I am a man

The Song of the Madman (poetic version)

I have spent the last of my honesty, and I am left with chaos. Truth is a blazing torch that dispels darkness, but it can burn your eyes. And I can’t reveal the truth now. I hide behind walls and cling to my rags. I am ruled by modesty and shame. I spin words like a spider, making a thick and tangled web. Who can understand the song of a madman?

A scream in outer space is soundless. So why open your mouth? Perhaps a scream is unstoppable even when you know it will be noiseless. Or maybe it’s a last act of defiance. I think I would scream even if no human heard me. For a voice shouting in the desert might be answered. “Who am I? Where am I going?” Sing, sing to the heavens and strike the earth for you will be heard. Sing in the tongue of angels and pray for understanding.

The darkness is at the door, and the darkness is in the house, and the darkness is in the mirror. And I fear the darkness. So I scream. I throw back my head and shred my vocal cords. Sing the song of the madman and beg for understanding. Scream.

Song of a Madman

Honesty is a currency that I lack as I write this. Truth is a blazing torch that dispels darkness, but it can also burn your eyes. The poet can pour out his soul and expose his nakedness because he can hide behind the wall of fiction. But the essayist bares his soul without any protection. A good essay is a dangerous glimpse into the writer’s mind. And I cannot write the truth now. It pains me, but I can’t. I hide behind walls and cling to my rags. I am ruled by modesty and shame. I spin words like a spider, making a thick and tangled web. Who can understand the song of a madman?

A scream in outer space is soundless. So what’s the point? Perhaps a scream is uncontrollable and natural even when you know it will be noiseless. Or maybe it’s an act of defiance. I think I would scream even if no human heard me. A voice shouting in the desert might be answered. “Who am I? Where am I going?” Sing, sing to the heavens and strike the earth for you will be heard. Sing in the tongue of angels and pray for understanding.

The darkness is at the door, and the darkness is in the house, and the darkness is in the mirror. And I fear the darkness. So I scream. I throw back my head and shred my vocal cords. Sing the song of the madman and beg for understanding. Scream.

What am I trying to say? If I wanted to be clear then I would be clear. But I don’t. I’ve chosen ambiguity because it is safer and kinder. I have a sacred trust to my readers so I want to say that I am in good mental and spiritual health. Do not let my rambling trouble you. Writing like this helps me deal with life. My strength and joy is (and forever will be) in Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior.

Bleeding Away

Time is running away

Like sand slipping through my fingers

Like blood pumping out of a dying man

Like a candle’s flame in a dark room

Time is bleeding past my bloodshot eyes

But where does it go?