Love 2009

My son is struggling with love. He's 15 years old and suffering deeply. I tried to get him to write poetry, but he wouldn't, so I wrote three poems about his situation. I'd love some feedback. I sort of like them. They seem to fit my son's suffering.

Lewis

Autumn Rain Storm

Outside, the rain tumbles down. The leaves
Wash away in its tribulations.
On the far side of the creek, woodchucks shiver
In dream dens – afraid of their homes being flooded
By the deep rain.
On the news, three houses float away on the river,
Disappearing in its raging, but,
Sitting beside my fireplace,
The falling, churning water seems so cozy.

The water tumbles -- submerging, rolling liquid. The rain’s
Great crushing noise is fearsome and powerful.
On the near side of the creek,
Rain is the wrinkled and dissonant tears of the aged,
The sky crying for the newly born,
The sadness of birth and death, the drum beat of the
Songs of death and terror – but in the end
It is just Rain.


Love is a Storm

I have been waiting for the calm in the storm, of
The hush in the pain and loneliness, when you sleep your
Wild dreams, one day closer to the cold graveyard of winter
While snow flakes drift down, circling the trees, in full view of indifferent
Ravens, preening their feathers, basking in the reds and oranges that
Hug the horizon. The sun has retired to its house in the West, the clouds
Appear to be burning; the vanishing tongues of flame, misty fog layers,
shredded pink
Clouds above the heavy glowing sky;
That peculiar smell of
Soon to be falling snow, the air pregnant with the potential of storm. Love
Is a storm waiting to be unleashed and a relentless quest for hate;
The clumsy and slow movements of the prey running out of options.


Ideas of Love

Our ideas of love
Slay us
In the blackness of night,
Like a procession of candles
In a moonless night
Or a single fire
On a moonless beach
Pretends to show us the Way

Instead we plunge into a dark void,
One candle in the darkness,
Perilous descent, along
A long sloping stone wall,
Searching for a name
For this place
That we called love

At the end is a massive silence,
A profound emptiness,
A circular darkness,
A cold and icy void
From which we must ascend
From which we must rescue ourselves
From which we must transform.