Hopeless romantic, grounded realist, eternal optimist, brooding pessimist. All these are me. I am all of them. When I referenced my diaries for poems written decades (1985-99) ago, I was surprised to find that most related to either Love or Death. I was even more surprised to discover that, with a quick change here and there, many of them could be interchanged to reflect either. It was in this way that I discovered in myself the obsession that Sigmund Freud labelled as Eros and Thanatos, a theme that has fascinated thinkers, poets and writers for centuries. Here you will find Eros and Thanatos and a bit of Philos in between.
Shall we go like innocents with heavy breathing in the pool of blood to find the inner-connectivity of a boldly beautiful death? In the open pit of an ancient gold mine? There was a loss of hidden dance, in the
I remember the day that they stopped the clock, The day they told me your time had been bought, “We’ll make him comfortable”…those dreaded words, If there’s a “comfortable” way to die it’s absurd! I’d armed myself with so many
An old boar squirrel has made a home in the tall skinny house across the street. he must think himself lucky to have the space. I watch him build his treasury on the jade kitchen linoleum dark nuts arranged like