All posts by Steve Marsh

I somehow got to be a grandfather. It's a great gig. Then I got retired. That's a great gig too. Now I'm writing this. I hope it's a great gig.
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Tankas to ex-lovers

We were young, stupid,
but that thing nagged at us hard.
Your bits were younger,
Mine were virgin, insisting.
I have never forgotten.

[79]

Before you cheated
I was lost in your blue eyes
Liquid pools bouyed me
insulated me from storms
kept the tragedy at bay.

[80]

I see you naked
only in my memory
for these 40 years.
That does not stop me at all.
My fantasy is stubborn.

[81]

That season was hot.
I didn’t have a fan but
We chilled all summer,
rolling in the waterbed
laid out on the concrete floor.

[82]


Do I like tankas?
Well, not particularly.
They feel like haiku
That can not find their endings
like an old Bob Seger song.

[83]

Conditional? Yes!
My love comes with strings:
Puppy, no house poop!
Her love denies boundaries
But she drinks from the toilet.

[84]

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Verbless Poems

This started as an experiment on FaceBook.

From Ezra Pound:
The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough.

From me:
The dog’s bright eyes in stillness…
The rabbit in silhouette against the snow.

[76]

The owl’s eyes in moonlight
her wings in darkness
her talons in flesh.

[77]

Her illium in moonlight,
a dunescape of grays,
a long rill,
a graceful curve,
a valley in shadow,
my hand in silver.

[78]

Haiku, Poetry, Uncategorized

March of the Haiku

This spate of haikus comes from a prompt offered from the FaceBook page of friend and bard, Terry Wooten. That’s him in the photo performing at his unique venue, Stone Circle. He wrote:

Bi-polar April.
Peepers singing in snowflakes.
Change lawn mower oil.
(April 18, 2022)

I shared his poem on my FaceBook page with the following comment: “It is a nearly perfect example of the the American Haiku: 5-7-5, presents something funny and/or surprising, it contains nature and makes a comment on humanness. It goes above and beyond by banging two things together that don’t belong together (twice!!) for a little “contrapposto.” I took it as a challenge to write my own April poem. I thought I could take inspiration and match his genius. Not today! I’ll keep trying.”

The rest of the day I continued to put out haiku and some are better than others. I’m not certain any rose to Terry’s level above.

Oh no! I just drank
six gay beers and I liked it.
Please don’t tell my wife.
[68]

Heart doctor gave me
(prostate the size of a peach)
Mass diuretics.
[69]

What makes a haiku?
In America, mostly
Humor and surprise.
[70]

Ski masks make baseball
Look like bank robbing–
Another stolen base.
[71]

It’s hard to see things
If you don’t do anything.
Bad haiku! Bad ‘ku!
[72]

When the sun peeks through
on a snowy April day,
don’t believe the lie.
[73]

A Fox News headline
Is a lie that might happen
In Bizarroland.
[74]

Matter/energy
Cannot be made or destroyed.
Where’d the ice cream go?
[75]

Uncategorized

35 years ago I tried to paint



Why save those old canvases?
I guess I thought I might paint over them one day.
The brain that made those images
Was stiff.
No training. Little forethought.
I called them “studies.”
They were more like meditations
Without thought or intent.
The new, older brain becomes more plastic.
I see more potential.
In 35 years I haven’t ended my relationships
With them.

Today I tore them down
And resurfaced them with 400 grit.
I used the zazan frog block
And reprinted him in pthalo green
On 35 year old purple stripes.
He seems to like it there.
Travel well Zazen.
Go visit my grandchildren.

[52] and [53-67]

Uncategorized

The Trouble with Losing Old Poets…


They are starting to go now,
Like the rockstars;
A bunch checked out early,
Not exactly a poets’ 27 Club
But a spike on the graph, for sure.
And now, we are starting to drop.
Turds from an elephant’s ass
Is the only metaphor that comes to me.

This week, another one.
Last week too.
It doesn’t seem to matter,
The fire and the ice both end.
Wind has forgotten how to blow
In Chicago and everywhere.
I wonder at next.
I look at the actuaries’ lists.
I know I’m on there somewhere.
Probably pretty soon.

I love who is still in this tent
With me.
Let me say that deliberately.
But the sense of this era for me
seems to be a growing choice
Between mourning
Or being mourned.

If you are reading this
And you are a poet,
Let it serve as a cautionary tale.

If you are reading this
And you are not a poet,
I take this moment to bid you a conscious adieu.
Maybe read this poem again in a few years.

[51]


Uncategorized

Zazen 2023

woodblock print

This little (5″x5″) piece of art has a linear story. My friend Chris Cavanagh is Facebook friends with another friend of mine, Stefan Sencerz. Among other things, Chris and Stefan share a long-time interest in Buddhism and all manifestations of Zen. In following a Zen moment between them back to Stefan’s Facebook page, I encountered the image of Sengai Gibon’s (1751-1837) “a frog doing zazen.” It was, and is, brilliant. I asked Stefan if he thought the old master would mind my borrowing his image for a woodcut. We decided he would be pleased. Stefan offered the text of his haiku, so I have transcribed it here and on the back of the print.

just sitting
motionless …
a fly on frog’s nose
Stefan Sencerz

I present “zazen,” an issue of 5 printed in black on hand painted canvas paper. 2023

I already know there will be a slightly larger issue in green on a variety of art papers and perhaps a third issue on origami paper.

If you are compelled to have a copy, contact me.

I’m sorry these five are gone. I will producing an different edition in green and assorted art papers shortly.

Update 4/17/23

Zazen frog just sits.

He is fat and yet he smiles.

What Zen empties him? [68]

[46-50]

Poetry

You’ll Never Get Me!

(Written on April 4 while waiting for Donald Trump to surrender for arrest in New York.)

Why am I always surprised?
It’s not like they haven’t been there.
Every April in Spring
The frogs start screaming:

“Ha Ha, fuckers!”
“I’m still here, ya bastards!”
“I hid in the mud.”
“I closed it all down,
I shut down breathing,
I sucked air through my skin,
I let the heart beat slow,
And slow,
And 
Not
Quite
Stop.
For months I willed thought to cease,
If I heard at all
it was a low hum,
Kind of electrical
While snow and ice and wind and gravity
Made its winter show
On the margins of the waters above.”
“And now it’s April, fuckers.”
“Squawk, peep and triiiiiiiill, motherfuckers!”
I’m back 
and ready to propagate!”
“Where my lady frogs, huh?
“Fine specimen of man-frog, right here!”
Peepeep
Peeeeeeeeeeeep!
Poetry

What a Ride: A Proposal

Looks like we might have made it to the finish line.

At least we could walk it from here.

Well, you could. I have some doubts.

And it wasn’t like it was a smooth ride.

Lots of couples hit some bumps in the road,

But we skidded out more than once,

Saw the ditches way too close 

When I was driving a while ago,

And I know we caught air this last time.

You were driving.

But I think I can see the route ahead

And now that we know we don’t speak the same language,

But we think we’re heading the same way,

I’ll try to navigate if you’ll do the steering.

Deal?

[44]

Poetry, Uncategorized

Admonition

My elders were very poor teachers,
Or I was a piss-poor student.
So much about aging was left unsaid
Or unheard:

That pain is ugly
But it’s only pain.

That your heart will heal
But it might be a little crooked afterwards.

That the injuries from the Spring of youth
Return in the Winter.

That you can weep when one who cares
moves on—
And still wish them every goodness.

They also didn’t mention that
Mentors grow in age,
That gardens aren’t about vegetables,
That owning a dog isn’t about owning.

And shame on them for not telling
How an old heart can swell,
not just with edema,
But from the full panoramic view of life
As it plays out on the faces of children
And then the Elfin magic of grandchildren.

I’m writing this down today
So no one else forgets to say
Or hear.

[43]

Uncategorized

MEDIA ALERT!

for old mostly white people who medicate with Michigan legal marihuana (no, really, that’s what we legalized in Michigan). I have found a new show that caps the peak of the Boomer nostalgia mountain. Wait. It’s animated. It has Elvis (portrayed by Matthew McConauhey). It touches on every media button of the 60s and you want to shake off the pain and bring on a new, appreciative state of mind. AGENT ELVIS, Here’s a link to a real review. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/tv/tv-reviews/agent-elvis-review-matthew-mcconaughey-netflix-1235354807/

PS You don’t have to be white, or even mostly white to watch this show. The part of you that enjoys this show is the part that is an old white or mostly white person living inside you.