Thursday, February 28, 2013

Renaissance Man

26 February 2013

Do you think da Vinci knew
he was The Renaissance Man?
Did he know, in his time, the lines he drew,
the connections he made between disciplines were genius
far beyond his personal interest? Did he have a sense
of the greatness, the significance of his daily tasks?
Perhaps they struck him as mundane.
Personally, I think he lacked focus, constantly
flitting from one medium to another, attending
for moments to a discipline before rushing off
to discover a new facet of his work.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013


26 February 2013

I dusted off my sandals yesterday. It's early
but, I reasoned, I'm willing the warm weather out.
My sweater boots are on the floor, baiting
my bone-chilled feet. I was holding out,
putting them off, postponing the inescapable
until I realized I'm wearing three layers,
a scarf and leg warmers,
trying to retain the heat that's pouring out,
waning to luke-warmth through the soles of my feet,
weakly warming the cold, painted floor, 
the same concrete that will keep me cool
once summer finally comes.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Jack of All Trades

24 February 2013

I'd like to drop the sentimentality,
write something honest. I'd like to share the moment
when the baby was enjoying her bubble bath.
I was listening to Billy Joel, remembering
how it felt, years ago, to be a pianist--an amateur
as always, but a musician nonetheless.
It's very like being a carpenter,
a silversmith,
a seamstress for a moment,
though it's hard now to find a moment to decide
which point of interest to choose, where to excel.
I'm still a Jack of all the trades I encounter,
a master of none of them. Even this poem
comes haltingly, and I second guess the content,
the form,
the poet.

George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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