Unspoken Word
December 13, 2017
THE CALL TO CREATE!

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A star exploded deep within you years ago
and still the light has not yet reached your eyes,
not yet turned the night to day for birds to leave their nests
or monks their caves to play.
Blind to your own infusion, you insist there is nothing to see,
nothing to celebrate your reasonless being for,
and yet you feel it, you quake, you quiver to begin.
An unseen trembling turns your head,
the way you stand, the wind, the ground beneath your feet.
You think the shock of this bodily remembrance is fear
and do not sing, do not burst into song,
do not wring the beauty of the sound long buried in your bones.
You stop and throw a stone, half hoping it will come back to you,
and wait as if there was time,
wait, like a beggar ashamed to ask for a bowl to beg with.
How can this be?
The sky is bluer that the eyes of your own mother
on the day she first beheld you and still you cast your gaze down.
Don't you remember?
You were made in the image of God!
The Creator! The One who creates
river, eagle, ladybug, leaf.
If anyone else gave you the moon you'd call him a thief
or worse, refuse to look.
Give up the notion of stealing from God,
the only crime here is to hoard.
Prometheus?
Only board of chilly nights
with no flame to write his poetry by.

TimelessToday

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:56 PM | Comments (0)

December 08, 2017
Come to the Edge of the Shore

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 07:57 AM | Comments (0)

December 05, 2017
There Is a Poem I Will Write

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:43 PM | Comments (0)

November 26, 2017
Ah... This Restlessness

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:21 PM | Comments (0)

November 22, 2017
Groucho Speaks

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:26 PM | Comments (0)

November 16, 2017
Beneath the Tree

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Lots of people think that if you have a Master all your love goes there -- leaving not much left for the other people in your life. This is not true. The love a Master awakens in a human being is overflowing. There's plenty for everyone.

The old routine of focusing only on the "Divine Beloved" and treating the other people around you as if they were second class citizens is a sure sign you haven't understood a single thing.

Anyway, in celebration of 26 years of marriage to the exquisite Evelyne Pouget, here is a poem I wrote to her some years ago. The feeling only deepens as time goes by and I continue to realize how precious this life is -- and how fleeting. PS: It is best read aloud...

Continue reading "Beneath the Tree"

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 07:58 PM | Comments (1)

November 12, 2017
The Diamond Inside

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Excerpted from this book

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:43 PM | Comments (1)

November 11, 2017
Moon Volcanic Leaper

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Mosaic: Evelyne Pouget

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November 08, 2017
My Uber Driver

My Uber driver, I just found out,
sings in a Mexican rock band.
80's covers. Spanish only.
That's why he asks me to sit in the front seat with him.
If I sit in the back, he explains,
the State Police will impound his grey Toyota
and he'll never get to a gig again.
They will keep his car for two months behind a barbed wire fence
next to a field where many dogs bark.
35,000 pesos it will cost him if he ever wants to see his vehiculo again.
You see, the Regional Governor, owns the local taxi company
-- 100 shiny green and white cabs.
That's why the State Police, in leather boots,
stop Uber drivers in my little town,
but only if their passengers are sitting in the back seat.
Not today, however.
I am sitting in the front.
Like his best friend.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:12 AM | Comments (0)

November 03, 2017
Some Might Call It Dancing

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TimelessToday
These guys can dance
Excerpted from this book

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 04:56 PM | Comments (0)

October 29, 2017
Face Your Life Like a Cuban Trumpet Player

Face your life
like a Cuban trumpet player
standing his ground
for whatever comes next,
eyes straight ahead,
not a thought in the world
and blowing,
I said blowing his horn
at the peak of his power
so his long gone grandfather,
the man who worked the sugar cane fields
and always had a kind word for strangers,
will hear.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:04 AM | Comments (0)

October 24, 2017
The Slightly Overweight Modern Art Museum Security Guard

He stands there, barely,
a kind of slow moving
piece of performance art,
just a bit off-stage,
not comprehending
the apparently fabulous shapes
recently described in the New York Times,
though he is, indeed, dressed for the part.
His hands, lightly clenched behind his back,
hold no brushes, no paint, no cloth.
His eyes, unsure of much
here in this large white room
glance off into somebody else's distance
while the rest of him,
curious for the moment,
wonders if the tuna fish sandwich
his wife packed for lunch
will be enough today.
Now he is leaning up against the wall,
now is he not,
now he is not leaning up against he wall,
now he is.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:00 PM | Comments (0)

October 13, 2017
THE PATH

The path is simple,
but not always easy,
kind of like a teenage boy,
on his first date,
who discovers he has a pimple
right before he goes to kiss
the girl of his dreams
who,
as it turns out,
is in love with someone else --
a nice enough fellow,
or so I'm told,
but with wicked temper
and a red '63 Corvette.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:37 AM | Comments (0)

October 02, 2017
Disguised as Myself

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 03:05 PM | Comments (0)

September 25, 2017
I Take a Few Deep Breaths

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On a good day
I take a few deep breaths
and feel God's primal tide inside me.
A force of nature they are,
coming from who knows where.
They continue, these breaths,
one slow motion wave at a time,
and take everything I have
back into the ocean.
Nothing remains,
nothing at all,
just the blue sky overhead
and the shell of a body
at ease, at rest, at peace,
now thankful for a power
greater than me
hiding in my breath.


Some inspiration for you
My book of poetry

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 03:06 PM | Comments (0)

September 24, 2017
Hiding in Plain Sight

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:28 PM | Comments (0)

September 17, 2017
Poetic Justice?

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The Best Archer in All of China
A Bag of Small Red Berries
What I Learned from Listening to Bolero for 14 Hours

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:15 PM | Comments (0)

September 06, 2017
The Wheel Turns

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TimelessToday
Ira Meyer

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September 01, 2017
I Share My Poetry Too Soon

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TimelessToday

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:24 PM | Comments (0)

August 29, 2017
The Ecstatic Wound of Longing

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:37 PM | Comments (1)

Want more? Read our Archives:
December 2017, November 2017, October 2017, September 2017, August 2017, July 2017, June 2017, May 2017, April 2017, March 2017, February 2017, January 2017, December 2016, November 2016, October 2016, September 2016, August 2016, April 2016,
“I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry.”
— John Cage

Welcome to my new blog — brief ruminations on what it is that moves me (and maybe YOU, too). If any of my poems inspire you, please forward them to friends. Good muse travels fast. Or could, with your help.

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© Mitch Ditkoff