A Poem for Trapped Things

By John Wieners

This morning with a blue flame burning

this thing wings its way in.

Wind shakes the edges of its yellow being.

Gasping for breath.

Living for the instant.

Climbing up the black border of the window.

Why do you want out.

I sit in pain.

A red robe amid debris.

You bend and climb, extending antennae.

I know the butterfly is my soul

grown weak from battle.

A Giant fan on the back of 

a beetle.

A caterpillar chrysalis that seeks

a new home apart from this room.

And will disappear from sight

at the pulling of invisible strings.

Yet so tenuous, so fine

this thing is, I am

sitting on the hard bed, we could

vanish from sight like the puff

of an invisible cigarette.

Furred chest, ragged silk under

wings beating against the glass

no one will open.

The blue diamonds on your back

are too beautiful to do

away with.

I watch you

all morning

long.

With my hand over my mouth.

All in the mind

The legal term forum internum has been, ironically, on my mind for the past few days.  It is usually used in the context of freedom of thought, conscience and religion; that it is not possible to restrict the forum internum, or inner mind, of an individual, even though their forum externum may be curtailed.  In other words, you cannot make someone believe what they don't believe, or make them not believe what they do believe, no matter how wrong you think their beliefs may be and no matter how hard you try.

It's like telling someone their feelings are wrong. Feelings cannot be right or wrong. They just are.  Actions, however, can be right or wrong. And that is the important thing.

The Stolen Branch

In the night we shall go in

to steal

a flowering branch.

We shall climb over the wall

in the darkness of the alien garden,

two shadows in the shadow.

Winter is not yet gone,

and the apple tree appears

suddenly changed

into a cascade of fragrant stars.

In the night we shall go in

up to its trembling firmament,

and your little hands and mine

will steal the stars.

And silently,

to our house,

in the night and the shadow,

with your steps will enter

perfume's silent step

and with starry feet

the clear body of spring.

-- Pablo Neruda

Comfort

When times are tough, there is nothing quite like the comfort of:

1. Hugs from my children.

2. Hot porridge with blueberries.

3. Music with meaning.

4. Love and support from my friends. You know who you are. Thank you.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

-- Mary Oliver

Decisions

I am chronically and tragically bad at making decisions. I cannot think of a single reason why I am so bad. It is what it is. I spend hours and hours weighing up all the alternatives, drawing up endless lists of pros and cons, trying to be fair to each side. I seek the advice of numerous friends, and sometimes even strangers. I listen carefully to everything that is said, in the hope that the one single true and correct course of action is in there somewhere and will speak to me loud and clear. It doesn't help that I am easily swayed and all it takes is a really convincing argument from one side to persuade me that option is the only choice. Of course, an equally convincing argument from the other side will persuade me that the opposite is also true.

So, what happens when the decision is so incredibly important that it is of life-altering proportions?  The decision-making process becomes even more fraught.  What if the decision affects others? The weight of its implications resting upon my shoulders is nothing short of agony. Particularly if one option is sticking with the (painful) familiar and the other involves a leap into the (unknown) unknown, then the fear can be crippling.

'Be true to yourself', some have said. 'Listen to your heart, your gut instinct'.  'Your own true voice will come when you listen in the small still place inside you'.  I am fond of proclaiming that I don't care what others think.  In fact I care deeply what others will think of me, afraid that the world will fall apart if I don't make the choice that will please everybody else.  When I do listen to what I think is my own true voice, I know, unfortunately, that it is not the choice that will please everybody else. And this is my difficulty. I want to make everyone happy and that is not going to be possible.

Odi et amo

'Odi et amo. Quare ed faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.'

Catullus