Poetry: "all that matters"

(a poem about the future)

our love is like a flower
 for awhile
there is only dirt
 until one day a shower
and only after so much water
 does a sprout emerge
at first, the days are hard
 and the sprout may falter
frost may chill and nearly topple
 the young plant to the verge
of disaster

yes our love is like a flower
 deep within
this fragile exterior
 lives the power
to over-come when things are dire
 then one day it is summer
we wake up one morning
 and our love has a blossom
for a time
 it is the most beautiful thing possible
until pollination comes ---
 seeds scattered ---
next year new flowers will be born
 and that is all that matters

...m.e.s. .april.24.2014...

Poetry: "rewrite the future"

(a poem about the past)

all of the secret spaces of my childhood
have all been found
===paved over===========================
we couldn't find the creek
with the tiny waterfall
where we used to get high
and drink beer
they had built an asphalt path
right up to it
and a bench
where you could sit down

wouldn't it be nice
if they could instead build paths
to those memories
where i could walk right up to them
and sit down
but instead
things change
and i cannot relive the past
nor can i rewrite the future

...m.e.s. .april.20.2014...

poetry: "let's eat and get fatter"

toiling away on a cash register
to make money to make a miracle
where my pennies saved might be valuable
enough for my life to be more enjoyable
not that money will make life more tenable
we have all learned the parable:
wealth is the root of all evil
but it might afford me the time for meter
or the resources to complete my lieder
if only i could be a believer
the way you believe in God after meeting the reaper
but instead my soul gets weaker
the hole i'm digging: deeper
my worth ever cheaper
i don't trust me either
unless the goal is to falter;
i let down my favorite people
i curse man then cry in his steeple
but will try and help, no matter how feeble
to fix any tear all you need is thread and a needle
the hope is in sight; don't give up for so little
we all knew it would be hard to fight this battle
we all know it's not easy when you don't blend in with the cattle
we also all know what matters:
we've seen it in all kinds of patterns
each day, another wrung in the ladder
each step up closer to heaven
each step down closer to disaster/
my head on a platter
let's eat and get fatter

...m.e.s. .feb.16.2014...

Pictures and Poetry: The Bio-Domes


the sea and the sun

and the wind which shapes this world

cannot change your soul

God cannot tell you

who you are or what to do

flowers breathe and bloom

we are strong as rocks

no matter the size, each stone

is part of a whole


   I'd like to present to you some new work which I've been working on. Expect to see large prints of these pictures and other images dealing with the cohabitation of man and earth in the coming weeks, as well as show announcements for the Spring and Summer. The three photographs I've highlighted here were all taken in Milwaukee this February at the Mitchell Park Conservatory Bio-Domes. The domes are always an other-worldly experience - stark geometry contrasted by exotic natural beauty. This was made plain for us immediately upon entering. In flaming scarlet, a male Cardinal danced desperately with a female, the two separated by the glass and steel of the domes, doomed, yet determined, the sound of wings batting fruitlessly against the barrier sounding a subtle echo through the hum of the ventilation system.

Poetry: "electric."

I was going through a notebook that I''ve nearly finished up and came across this poem from just about a year ago exactly. It is exactly what I look for in a poem: it's concise, yet comfortably charismatic. It's important for even a short poem to have some kind of dynamic range. So, here, in all it's glory, is "electric."





is there anything more beautiful

than a woman reading?


the drapes softly undulating

with the room's respiration.


she turns a page --- 

lips pursed in thoughtful anticipation ---


undresses her arms

bringing the open book to eye level


the air still,



and electric.



...m.e.s. .jan.30.2012...

Poetry: "your love is the meaning."

looking for meaning in
meaningless poetry
or 140 character statements of intent.
if meaning could be distilled like spirits
into something more valuable
than the combination of electricity and matter
would it (matter)?

do our symbols have some value
beyond their inherent vessel?
that if we arrange them in some secret manner
they will become incantations
of some ancient order --- so great and powerful
history itself forgot to remember ---
except lover, sister, father, mother,
they're all just words, like any other:
meaning made to fit our patterns
which we ourselves control and inhabit
with our tears and our laughter

life begets itself - and don't you forget it -
even when we take our own broken lives as fragments
and try to rearrange them, looking for magic,
magnets of time place everything in order;
the miracle of existence asserts its physics
and we are witness,
we see, yet deny it
blind before battle.

father tries to fix his spirit
while mother mixes the batter
sister reads and dreams with merit
learning to understand why and how life matters
the words she reads excites her soul
are in the bible and coyote calls of the wild
and mild air of the Mediterranean horizon
"open sesame" says  Ali Baba in writing
 Hallelujah, Hare Krishna, I love you, the sheep and the lion,
what does it mean our guttural implying?
consonants to vowels, phrases for rhyming
the chiming of our words like bird song in the evening,
beautiful as itself, elemental and needed,
if communication is existence, your love is the meaning.

...m.e.s. .jan.23.2012... 

Poetry for the New Year: Benjamin Franklin's "XII Mon. February (1746) hath xxviii days."

I stumbled upon this at the Poetry Foundation's website. They publish Chicago's very own Poetry Magazine and are truly one of the most important groups bringing poetry into the new millennium.

While this poem was penned over 250 years ago, it still holds true today. Debt is as pertinent in this age as it was in Benjamin Franklin's. He's the author of this poem "XII Mon. February [1746] hath xxviii days."Our forefather Benjamin Franklin about debt and living more frugally. A nice motivational poem for those of us so resolutionally inclined:


Man’s rich with little, were his Judgment true,
Nature is frugal, and her Wants are few;
Those few Wants answer’d, bring sincere Delights,
But Fools create themselves new Appetites.
Fancy and Pride seek Things at vast Expence,
Which relish not to Reason nor to Sense
Like Cats in Airpumps, to subsist we strive
On Joys too thin to keep the Soul alive.



Poetry: "the front door"

the song of wind chimes
color the background,
conversations detail the fore
while December winds
whisper their chills, settling down on the floor

then the stillness returns
only for a moment, before
phonecalls and laughter
resume their chorus
i add my lines:
what is this weight that troubles me?
why is life such a bore?
trees claw at the breeze
that is opening and slamming
the front door

m.e.s. .dec.21.2012...