to home (wherever that may be)

we shall be as a city upon a hill

the phone rang that cold november morning

and mother took her apron off,

leaving us alone in the kitchen.

my brother ate his gerber strapped in his high chair,

i stared at the porridge i couldn’t bring myself to eat,

a spatchula stuck in the frying pan on the stovetop.

the pontiac engine turned-over in the garage and,

in the gear carefully painted R in white,

mother backed down the pebble driveway.

father had been ill that winter,

but he went to work anyway –

mother said he didn’t love her, didn’t love us,

i covered charlie’s ears as they fought at night.

They said he died a peaceful death,

mother said it was suicide

(he didn’t love us, in gin-soaked breath).

i didn’t listen to mother when she said father was a –

a coward.

they took us away that winter.

they said she couldn’t raise us anymore.

i was young, but i knew that that place was never home.

10 Sept 2010 C.D.S.

dreamscape manifesto

i dream of russia,

yet you speak to me

in clumsy italian

& this puzzles me

as black smoke

slowly suffocates us

through defected

gas masks –



i hold your hand

as we fall through

crevasses in the

dry ground

& onto a boat in the

mediterranean/

the air is clean here,


your asthma will


not bother you



you tied a blue

bandana to my

forehead, laughing

at my long face

& pointing out my

small ears

you are such a


silly boy, andrius!

you call my name

in lithuanian,

reminding me that

it means warrior /



i’m not a warrior


but i’d gladly fight


if you were in danger


because i care about you

& you just stared at

me and then you

turned away with a

frown



i notice we are in a

new place, you calling it

home –

& i ask you where

home is and you

just giggle saying

where one starts from

as if you were

eliot himself



you wore my

sandles down the

beach in your sunday

dress with your hat

& i was not ashamed

to be with you with

my pants legs rolled

like the elderly men

who stroll the shore

checking their

crab traps



you told me to

close my eyes

for just a moment

& then we were in

the old house you

grew up in.

your babushka sat there

in her rocker

telling us of the war and

her byelorussian childhood –

we are partisans


who have shot at


german soldiers

said the sign

that hung about the

body of her brother

in that grim image

she tried to forget



i fear for our lives, andrius,

as if we are in danger

here among the olive trees

& you sit trying to

convince me that rasputin

was a holy man/

your father puts those lies


into your head.


ask babushka,


he was an evil man

but you turn away,

disinterested in my

opinions on the past



you seem so innocent

as you sit on the grass

& weave flower crowns/

lidyja,


do you remember when


we were young?



i awake to the sound

of a ceiling fan

& you aren’t there

C.D.S. 2 September 2010

je l'ai vue rire

"Your deeds are famous,so stay resolute, my lord,
defend your life now with the whole of your strength. 
I shall stand by you." - from Beowolf

a year more,
only a year more,
that is all

you are not 
that much older
than me


are you
listening?


no,
you never do -
i forget you are busy

you want children
but you worry 
about your figure

i say you don't
need to worry 
about that


you are so 
beautiful
and i
just...

i need to breathe.

you dress in
basketball shorts,
very unlady-like
if you ask me -
i don't mind though


you wear your 
hair down - 
it is messy,
tangled by 
the wind

life goes on, 
life goes on,
this i have learned

and one day
you may be
mine

C.D.S. 1 September 2010

to the lady ornate

Take this "I will always love you" waltz

In Vienna I will dance with you
in a costume with
a river's head.
                            - from "Little Viennese Waltz" by F.G. Lorca
                 



you are a
true poet...
unlike me.
i will gladly
give up
everything
to understand
you.
you are...
beautiful,
but in an
unconventional way,
and i admit
i am obsessed with
you.

you aren't like
other girls...
long skirts,
no make-up,
quiet,
polite,
softly-spoken,
and...
lonesome,
for lack of
a better word.
you are
unusual,
to say the least.

you write on
your hands -
who would ever
write on their hands?
mother says it is
unlady-like -
curlicues
and antiquities
flourish in
your penmanship.
you write frantically,
not letting the idea
slip away...
how i wish to know
what you are writing!

i put my head down,
keep it there.
my tea is getting cold.
we haven't spoken
since i first sat down.
you stand,
smile,
take up your
belongings,
good-day, sir,
and you walk
away.

C.D.S. 29 Aug 2010

Nyctophobia

birds were bathing in the gutter,
something i have never seen
(my, the copper has turned green!)
they chirp and shake,
splashing water to the ground.
mommy,
what is it like to be
blind?
people go blind in our family.
it's hereditary -

i close my eyes,
imagine eternal darkness:
macular degenteration runs in my family.
i don't like the dark.

the clouds go away swiftly,
grey and white races across the sky
revealing a pastel blue
and a pink in the distance -
nightfall is coming,
it will be dark soon.
i'm scared of the dark.

C.D.S. 30 August 2010

Autumn Comin'

For Mrs. Christie Elkins

Lord,
It's been a long summer -
The heat done took
Some crops, a cow,
And a little bit of all of us,
But, Lord,
We gonna be just fine.
I's been watchin',
And that harvest moon,
All big and orange,
Is coming,
Oh, Lord,
Don't you know!
And, honey,
The weathers been
Mighty pretty
For August in Mississippi.
Won't be long till
We's out on the field
Harvestin' and watchin'
Them green leaves turn brown.
Oh, the Lord doth provide,
Oh, yes He do!
Lord,
There's good times a-comin' -
Someone hold my mule:
I gotta shout!

C.D.S. 25 Aug 2010

just a quick thought after a glance

you sit in the back –
wearing your
pink sweater
and putting on
chapstick.
you take off
your sunglasses
and that smile
of yours makes
me forget that
i am not dreaming.
you run your
fingers through
your long brown
hair and turn the
dial to the station
we like the best.
i watch your lips
move to the words
that we have sung
in your room a
thousand times –
such sweet memories.
your perfume
and my cologne
compliment each
other as the wind
mingles them
together.
we are almost
home but i’ll
see you
tomorrow.

C.D.S. 22 August 2010

a lover's musings

let your hair fall

down on your back –

long nights of

cigarettes and

coffee-stains on

our clothes

(bring them by

my place tomorrow

you say

i will clean them

for you.)

you need to rest

now though.

put your

slim, soft, young

bare body

between the sheets

and i’ll go sleep
on the couch.

you need to sleep.

rest up now,

love.

you wake up.

(coffee and fruit

on the counter,

the toast and

marmalade are

on the table,

i love you.

i write in on

a note for you.)

you notice i’m

asleep on the couch

and you come over

to kiss my head,

 but i don’t budge.

i’m sorry for that

but i know you

understand.

let us go then

and have a

good day –

dance about in

oxfords and

my boxers to

our indie rock

albums,

go have gelato

at the parlour,

stroll the park

downtown.

(i look in your

eyes and

know that someday

i want to marry

you,

but when i say so

you just smile

and look down –

i smile and do

the same.)

the night comes

again:

a pack of camels

and some twinning’s

will get us

through the night.

i watch you

after you fall

asleep and

i realise how

lucky i am.

i don’t mind

that you take

my bed and i

take the sofa.

it’s okay with me

as long as i have

you.

C.D.S. 21 August 2010

unfinished, untitled

the feel of your hands
running down my arm
to grab my own hand –
for just a moment
(what feels as though forever)
i worry you are upset –
but then –
looking at your smile,
my own smile –
so long in hiding –
is given birth,
a thousand thoughts
sent trickling,
trickling
through my mind.

C.D.S. May 2010

Peccavi

I have cast myself to the wolves,

By my own accord have I been condemned,

I have procured my punishment,

Upon the consequences did I meditate,

Your Love, O God, I did deny.

Cast me not into aside into the flames, I beg!

Though I deserve worse,

Send chastisements and plague,

But have mercy on my soul,

I beg you, Lord.

A thousand times have You forgiven me,

And in return I betrayed you,

I am more at fault than any man,

And I do deserve damnation,

For my free will has purchased Hell.

But You, O Lord, art merciful,

And with the Centurion I cry:

Domine, non sum dignus, ut intres sub tecum meum,

Sed tantum dic verbo,

Et sanabitur anima mea.

C.D.S. June 2010

to a girl

It’s been so long since I saw you last.
Pull out all your girly magazines,
I’ll look at them with you tonight.
Then we can go burn a tank of gasoline,
Or perhaps I could serenade you out under the stars,
Or we could reenact old movie scenes.

It actually occurred to me last night that I might love you,
I should have realized this long ago,
I’m sure all the heartaches you put me through,
Were just to show me how you love me so,
But now I want to tell you I feel the same,
Yes, Yes, I’ll tell you, but you already know.

C.D.S. April 2010

an unfinished ode to home

Oh, that we were there again,

The old black men on their porches,

The barfooted youthes in the yard,

And old women in their kitchens.

Sometimes it seems we’re only wasting time –

You used to be so nice and all,

What happened to you?

That we were there again!

Back in those hot Delta days,

Back when we were young and daring.

Times were hard, but better then.

You know? 

C.D.S. Summer 2010

friends

kneeling here, plucking blades of grass from the earth,
it occurs to me that i don’t really know you well.
yes, our smiles and laughter might suggest otherwise,
but all i really know is your name.
we play together everyday.
every day since we were three!
but have we ever really talked?
do you even know my favourite colour?
i certainly don’t know your.
let’s run back to my home now,
and get a mason jar
so we can catch fireflies tonight,
then we can sit and talk –
and i mean really talk –
because i’d like to get to know you.
oh, by the way, you can stay tonight,
mom said it was okay.

C.D.S. May 2010

[delinquents]

the silence was
too much to bear
i had to get away

i stole my
brother's girlfriend
and we hit the road

that big black buick
took us all the
way to kansas

the money ran out
no time for jobs
so we turned to crime

she slept in my arms
every night as we
lay under the moonlight

her sweet lips and
gentle arms were
all I needed

we were young
we were daring
we were beautiful

we never missed
that old town
we had each other

C.D.S. February 2010

Sonnet I

The thought of you fills my heart with love,
But I with you could never be.
O, radiant star, are you of the heavens above?
How my heart yearns to be with thee!
What is a fiddler without his song?
A poet without his verse?
O, for thee my soul doth long,
Every moment without thee I curse.
And should I find thee, O Maiden Fair,
Could thou to me ere be wed?
Or would you leave me out in winter air,
To my grave to be led?
     For thee I shall search ‘til I die,
     Or ‘til in my arms thou dost lie.

C.D.S. February 2010

Kyrie, eleison.

I welcome you, Midnight,

You hour of death and doom,

Once again in this life we meet.

I think this night shall,

As the others,

Be one of adventure.

The woods lack all light,

The moon shielding its eyes with clouds

So that it might not see me die.

Do not worry about me, dear Moon,

No, I know these woods.

You yourself have watched me pass this way,

Coming through here countless other nights.

This is no different.

The cold air still blows through the lifeless trees

That hang like corpses on display,

Put there to heed warning to passersby.

I can see the creatures watching,

Like demons awaiting a weary soul

They stand at vigil

As if observing a funeral march,

For they know they have my wretched soul,

No need for fuss or temptation.

I am a weak man.

The branches reach up to clinch my legs,

Like the hands of those I have wronged

Trying to drag me back to Hades with them.

But, no, not I.

I stand my ground.

Here.

Now.

This is the place I belong,

Not with those wretched souls of the damned.

I know I am a sinner,

I know I have faults as countless as the sands,

I know I am in debt to my Creator,

I know I owe forgiveness:

But my selfishness forbids.

I am a stubborn old man,

And I’ll die one, most likely.

Kyrie, eleison.

Christe, eleison.

Kyrie, eleison.

 C.D.S. February 2010

A Brave Young Man (The Ballad of Will Townshend)

Come all you children and I will tell,
A story I know all too well,
‘Twas on a night in Oxford town,
When that great house came burning down,
When that great house came burning down.

They all came out, all but a few,
They were the best friends he ever knew,
He knew in his heart he has to save his friends,
So he ran on back in,
Oh Lord, so he ran back in.

He plunged into that flaming pit,
And he saved his friends from it,
But when they looked he was not by their side,
Oh Lord, they fell down on their knees and cried,
Well, they fell to their knees and they cried.

What now will they tell his mother dear?
Who will dry her tears?
For tonight her son lies deep in his grave,
A Southern soul young and brave,
Yes, a Southern soul young and brave.

C.D.S. April 2010

The Clock

A clock upon a mantle:

This is my sacred post,
A sentinel at the gates of time,
A remnant of bygone days.

Oh, those glorious olden days,
When these brass gears shone,
And my hands in unison,
Kept a perfect time.

Now I’m just a sentiment,
A hand-me-down,
An heirloom kept in this place honour,
An antiquated, outdated piece.

I’ve watched children come and go,
Watched their parents grow grey and old,
As I marked their time on earth,
With faithful metre and chime.

Those mementos who have shared this space,
Upon this mantle I cannot forget.
Throughout the years,
They shared this family with me.

Sarah’s bird,
A pretty glass thing,
Fell and broke this spring.
Sarah is older now,
She has children of her own,
She swept up the glass, and moved on.

Mr. Johnson’s pocket watch,
A gift from his dear mother,
Hung beside me in a glass case,
For many, many years,
But he left a little while back,
A gift for young Master Will.

Oh, the sadness of the single candle,
That lay by me my first year.
It came from Mary’s Christening,
An event that took place that spring.
Winter came, the babe grew ill,
Death stole her away from here.

Mother Camille’s pearls,
Stately things,
Laid beside me for a while.
How I loved to gaze upon them,
And think of all the days gone by.
New days are coming,
I can feel them coming near.

In a box there now sits a tiny ring,
A golden band,
Diamond in the center,
Waiting there for Emily,
Jimmy’s hid it there.
One day they shall be married,
And children shall again liven all here.

C.D.S. 13 Aug 2010

The Birth of a Poem

i watch as you write -
a craft of mine.
i understand your method,
i use it as well.

i observe as
one word become two
two, three,
three four.

the night goes on -

in no time:
a flood of words upon a page.
words like sands,
yet stable.

there is no time to fret.
you'll get better with time.
writing is not easy,
read this and you'll see.

one word became an
army of 9,000 words.
you didn't marvel at first,
but now i know you will.

C.D.S. 6 Aug 2010

11.49 pm

the last train just passed through.
my seventh floor room is quiet.
the air running like a crop-duster engine
whilst my flatmate crumples up paper.
the click of pens
are ringing through my ears -
my old biology teacher
comes to mind:
she hated that sound.
the night time is my favourite,
but lately it has been too sad.
i'm not sure why,
it's been that way for nearly two years.
i just wish i had
someone to share it with.
someone to hold in my sleep,
and wake up next to at dawn's break.
but i am alone,
it is 11.49,
i'm going to bed now.
the rat-tat-tat of my flatmate's typing
will put me to sleep -
if not,
it will drive me crazy.
it is 11.49,
and i am alone.

C.D.S. 14 Aug 2010

a short study of physical expressions in a school cafeteria

you watch her walk away
blow it off like it's nothing
she means nothing to you
or at least
that's what you tell yourself
silently
you whisper her words
back to yourself

she doesn't need you anymore
you need her though
go on and admit it
maybe she does need me
no
don't fool yourself
she doesn't want you
anymore

C.D.S. 15 Aug 2010

Cry Out!

De profunis clamavi ad te Domine; Domine, exaudi vocem meam.

Cry out!
Cry out!
This is no way to die,
captive under these stones!

Cry out!
Out of the depths,
Cry out!
You shall not accept this cavernous grave!

Cry out!
Rocks may crunch,
Bones may shatter,
But this is no way to die!

Cry out!
From the depths, cry!
This is no way to die,
not in this cavernous natural crypt!

Cry out!
Cry out!

C.D.S. 16 May 2010

On the thought of the Massey Energy Company's

April 2010 Mine Collapse in West Virginia

that took 29 lives.

The Phontistery

A thinking-place -
this I need!
Some where to
empty my head.
Some flee the world,
choosing the wild,
but like these hermits,
I could not be.
And some leave by
their own hand,
a coward's way to go.
Others run to the profane,
but soon this "freedom"
becomes a chain.
A ball and chain
I'll have not,
but only freedom.
Freedom to think
and feel.
Peace and quiet.

Stillness.
I need a thinking-place.

C.D.S. 5 Aug 2010

And Did They Come, or Did They Go

and did they come,
or did they go?
these questions bother me.
i ponder them over
in my head
but without any relief -

and did they come,
or did they go?
the question returns again.
for heads or tails
i cannot make,
but simply i must ask -

and did they come,
or did they go?
the question looms at bay.
but if at light of morning break
their cannons fire at shore,
we shall fight back more.

but in this night
i shall worry not
for such things
shan't trouble my mind.
for if they came
or if they went,
they came with me in mind.

     C.D.S. 18 Aug 2010

Reflection on the Crucifixion

In those Hands
which grasp the nails
which hold them
to the Cross,
lay peace and mercy
outpoured
on a strayed flock.
That bitter Wood,
now turned sweet,
holds the God-Man,
the Christ,
on its arms.
And on a plaque
the sentence reads,
"Jesus of Nazareth,
Jewish King!"
Priest and Rabbi,
Soldier and thief,
mock the one
whom once they did
marvel.
But in a spirit of charity,
the God-Man did
forgive them.

A Sword of Sorrow,
pierced the Mother's Heart,
as Blood on Blood
did pour,
But at Her Son's
dying Feet,
She does not object,
for She knows
the Flesh She bore
three and thirty years ago
shall arise
in three days.

C.D.S. 16 Aug 2010

0100, 21 juli 1944 - the last thoughts of Col. Graf von Stauffenberg

0100, 21 juli 1944

"Es lebe unser heiliges Deutschland!"

 - Oberst Claus Schenk Graf von Stauffenberg

 
headlights
illumine the courtyard –

muzzles
point at my face –

the rifle to the right
would fail my inspection.
the squadmen tremble
and stare at
my one eye,
my one hand,
the medals on my chest.
my top buttons are undone –

four will die tonight,
two-thousand tomorrow
[for we have not
betrayed our oath].
fromm will see
that we are given burial
tonight –

tomorrow
is not his.
i know these people.
in the morning
they will strip me
of my medals
and rip me
from my grave,
then cremate my body
like they burn
those they hate
in the ovens
just a few
hours away.
i pray nina
and the children
will remember me
as a good father, 
a good husband,
a good german –

fromm gives the order.
it has been a long day,
time for a long rest.
the ride of the walküre
is over for me –

my body is already cold.
sleep sweetly,
fatherland,
God be with you –