Saturday, April 18, 2009

Desire, A Solitary Man

Every main religious impulse in the world comes to terms in some way with a past that is lost and a present that is a poor shadow. It is no accident that so many people who reach the spiritual high ground will claim it is wierdly like remembering what always was, not like discovering some new place, some place never been. No. It is always going home. The Judaeo-Christian-Islam complex speaks of expulsion from the garden. Hindus (and Buddhists) speak of the cycle of the ages and we near the nadir, the Kali yuga. Aboriginal visions speak of an age before this one when things were very different. It is this stream that impressed Jung into asserting that there is an instinctive mental life of image and symbol that must be taken into account in any fully wholesome healed life. To recall the deep places is to recall the pain of loss.


If I were warlock
Enough, I would reach into
The heart of the world
And heal the old pain.
Then I would spread warmth and peace
Like a velvet cloth
Of rich royal red
In a river at flood tide
To soothe our tired lives.

December 26, 2008 4:21 PM

I want you. But not you. I can't reconcile with your otherness. I miss you. I hate missing you. You are too different, not worth it. I will die without you. I hate that too. Not you. I don't hate you. I love you. I hate my need. I hate my shortness of breath. I hate my loss of balance. I eat too much, drink too much, play too hard, obsess too easily, show my panic to clearly, pull into solitude to simplify. I take all this to my guru, saying I wish to climb to heaven. He sends me back to you.

A Solitary Man

So solitary
In the mist, the snow, empty
Space, cold, cold, lonely.
I stand upright, still,
With my thorns out and waiting.
Who will dare touch me?
I've had quite enough.
I've withdrawn to this one spot,
This cold lonely spot,
Hoping I'll be safe.

If you come, be smooth, serene.
Don't startle me now.
No place left to go.
But I miss you, I miss you,
Brittle without you.

December 27, 2008 8:20 AM


  1. I came to your blog through a comment you left on Karen's gleaners poem. I thought the piece you left tied into hers in an eerie tangential way that I liked. I like what I'm seeing here too.

  2. This is beautifully sad, Christopher.
    Lines I especially like:

    "With my thorns out and waiting.
    Who will dare touch me?"


    "If you come, be smooth, serene.
    Don't startle me now."

  3. Christopher, that second one, you could have climbed inside my head and written that. Touched a nerve.

  4. Mairi - Thank you for your comment. Eerie tangential way...I have written of my lover, the lady of the moon. When we formed our relationship, which was to be an overtly lived fantasy, we both agreed her name was to be Maire.

    Karen - I am always happy to hear that certain phrases stand out, however, I am sure the "perfect" poem would have no standout phrases.

    Rachel, I often feel that way about your poetry too. I have already taken to accepting you as sister to my soul.

  5. "......If you come, be smooth, serene.
    Don't startle me now.
    No place left to go.
    But I miss you, I miss you,
    Brittle without you." ♥♥♥♥

  6. I wonder if we're all looking to each other for healing. Your poetry makes me think so, if not god, then each other. Or is it all the same?

    Thanks for your interesting perspective at my place today.

  7. The images are strong and dark in this one. It truly puts me in a mood...that's powerful stuff. All the best. LL

  8. Ghost, if you were Jacqueline Bouvier and I were Jack Kennedy then I would marry you if you said yes, but I guarantee you I absolutely will not run for president ever anywhere even if I were Jack.

    Erin, It is what I do, look at the world from different eyes if I can. Of course I got help by reading in this case many VietNam novels as well as being of the age to know the stories. I was once five miles from the war, straight up. It is one of the wierd things about VietNam, flying from Taipei to Hong Kong to Bangkok, you fly guide on Danang. That never stopped even at the height of the war. I am sometimes criticized for taking my views even though they are not my only views, in this case - when the prostitutes landed a man who loved them, even for a time, then they thrived for that time even if it was a fantasy long term. And sometimes those men went nuts discovering they couldn't make it work that the military and VietNam made it really hard to get exit visas for their lovers.

    Lorenzo, nice to have you here.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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