Letting Go


When my son was small
We were walking through a great crowd,
In my dream,
And I felt his little fingers slip
From my hand
And he was swallowed up by the world.

Sometimes, I still take his hand
To make that connection
Between boy and man,
To know he is still safe
In this dangerous place.

But he is so much older now
And feels awkward,
Embarrassed by the act,
And because I understand
The boy is not the man,
I let go.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

The Speed Of Regret


I can’t quite believe
All these lovely young women
Will grow old so soon
And lose what they labored
So long to possess,
What these ravenous young men
Long to devour.

In less time than they'd guess,
In less time than they’ll know,
With the speed of regret
All the young years go.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Time Keeper


I am the one who turns back time
This chilly gray morning
While wife and children slumber
In the hibernation of Sunday.

I sneak like a tooth fairy
From room to room,
Setting back clocks,
Slipping another hour of sleep
Silently under their pillows,
Hastening the darkening of a season
Already too dark for my timeless soul.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

The Upper Crust


His finely manicured fingernails,
So clean.
He never earned money with those hands,
This denizen of the upper crust,
So certain that poverty is the fault of the impoverished,
A moral judgment upon those unworthy of wealth,
While he takes credit for the accident of his birth.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Speak To Me Now!


I will not pretend to admire
The esteemed poets of my day.
I do not understand
What they are trying not to say.

My life is too short for such pretense,
I’m growing older every day.
Poets speak to me now!
Or I will cast your words away.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Inside


Inside,
This is where heaven and hell reside,
Where propriety has scant power
To temper the onslaught of extremes,
Where rationality is fleeting,
And the soul, with its accumulations,
Is all.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Spared


A plane crashed in the Ukraine
And here in California the film is on television,
The smoldering wreckage displayed
While the announcer says,
No survivors.

It is a big world
And thousands upon thousands are dying,
Disease, famine and war.

A plane crashed in the Ukraine
And I can no longer separate
One tragedy from another,
The television so full of tragedy
All day long.

I turn it off and breathe deeply,
Trying to clear my thoughts,
Trying to remind myself
This world is also full of joy,
Thousands upon thousands,
Spared.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Somewhere There Is A Boy


Somewhere there is a boy
Dreaming of a horse,
A horse of his own,
A chestnut stallion,
A part of his soul,
A horse he would ride
Through fields and meadows,
Through shadowed woods,
A horse he would greet each morning,
Spend all day with,
Kiss goodnight.

Somewhere there is a boy
Dreaming of horse,
A horse like the one I see here,
Standing in a muddy pen,
Looking wistfully out at me
As I walk by,
This horse,
Alone all day long,
Dreaming of a boy.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Sometimes When I Sleep


Sometimes when I sleep
I go so far away,
When I wake up
I have to remind myself
I cannot fly
And 11 is a number.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Sometimes I See You


Sometimes I see you
Walking down the sidewalk,
Keeping your little children near and safe,
Or in the supermarket,
Selecting your purchases carefully
For a demanding family,
Or driving by fast,
In a hurry to complete your daily errands.

Sometimes I see you.
Sometimes you see me.
Sometimes we look at each other and recognize,
Something,
Something never meant to be.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Evolution


Feeling the hot breath of the baboon
On the back of the neck,
We overindulged in the refuge of civilization,
Denied being animal at all,
As if inseminated, incubated and initiated
In a place somehow apart from this Earth.

Now we live in a disillusioned age,
Tired of manners, morals and inhibitions,
Tired of orderly existence
In ghettos of steel, cement, glass and plastic.

The restless stirrings of things within us
That have no mind
Scare us no longer.
They lead us,
And our children hunger for raw meat,
Animal again.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Angels Can Only Do So Much


Angels can only do so much,
Depending on their age, experience and motivation,
Intercession not being as easy as one might suppose.

Consider political upheavals.
Consider natural disasters.
Angels can only do so much.

And there is considerable reluctance among the winged
To capriciously alter the course of human events,
Knowing how motivational calamity can be,
What with all the problem-solving it requires,
Knowing how the evolution of the human race
Is enhanced by a few obstacles now and then.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

This Politician


The solemn occasion,
The honored dead,
The grief of a nation assembled in memoriam.

The earnest words,
The inspired speech delivered by this politician,
A showcase of compassion
Cleverly constructed by his speechwriters
To magnify his public image.

O the tortured expressions of sorrow.
Yes, he feels our pain,
Yes, he casts his humanity out upon our weary nation,
A nation so desperately in need of a leader.

This politician presents himself,
Offers himself,
This humble servant of the people,
This shepherd,
Eager to employ the suffering of a nation
To his own ends.

Those skeptics among us,
Aware of his grandiose disingenuousness,
Can not,
Will not forget how many lies he has spoken,
Winning so many earnest hearts and minds
With such sanctimonious deceit.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Sometimes


Sometimes,
I am a moth flying aimlessly through the dark,
Lost,
Searching for light.

Sometimes,
I am a humming bird flying from flower to flower,
Drinking sweet nectar,
Bathed in sunshine.

Most of the time
I am something else.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Something To Do


Memory,
Memory,
Memory.

Reshuffled yet oh so persistent memory,
Steeped in recrimination,
Sanitized with nostalgia,
Somehow suggesting the past is not finished
But full of things left to be done,
If only in that place where memory resides,
As if I cannot ascend to the now of this moment
Until I have fit all the pieces of the past together,
As if this life were a puzzle,
Jigsawed by God,
Just to give us something to do.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Nothing Special


No special time,
No special place.

Any time,
Any place.

When I was young
I believed in preparation,
Years of preparations.
But now,
After years of preparations,
I can,
At last,
Let preparations go.

Now,
With imagination exhausted,
I blunder my way into enlightenment,
Not walking into heaven,
But leaving heaven,
And hell.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Hugs


It was a friendly hug,
A hello hug,
A nice-to-see-you hug,
For her.

For me,
It was love,
It was touch,
It was lust.

O this vast desert,
O this oasis,
These few drops of water,
Keeping me alive.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

All The Way


She climbed a mountain,
Struggled and suffered her way to the summit.
Looking out over the vast landscape,
Looking up into the dome of the sky,
She said:
I am closer to God,
Not realizing God was with her,
All the way up,
Not realizing God would be with her,
All the way down.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Reincarnate


How many things we do
Without thought,
Things we’ve done so long,
For so many years,
Becoming habitually unconscious.

Actions and reactions
Assembled into support systems of self-identity,
Reinforcing who we think we are,
Who we think we aren’t.

Strip them all away and who is left?
A newborn?
Or just a very old human being,
Finally ready to begin again,
Somehow.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Light


I have grown tired of profound revelations,
Startling insights,
Content now with my first cup of coffee
As this planet tips daintily toward the sun,
Filling the room with light.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Something Young


Something young in the old,
Something angry about the cloak of age,
Something that knows it was just a moment ago
When the body was young
And without concern,
And even now,
The same person inside,
Still dreaming,
Still expecting to fly.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Something Eternal


I can easily see the second hand move
But no matter how long I stare
The minute hand seems stationary,
The hour hand frozen.

In the mirror
I am the same as yesterday,
Yet the photograph is surprising,
How quickly I have aged.

Yes, I see wind-blown clouds changing shapes,
Time-lapsed flowers unfolding,
Water that comes to a boil,
Still,
There is something eternal inside,
Surprised at the passing of time.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Morning


When I first woke up I thought it was going to rain,
Upside down,
Each raindrop a single, singing voice,
Assembling into a drenching choir,
A requiem of weather,
But then, I woke up a little more.

I thought I was a spy who must deliver documents,
Secret documents,
To my communist overlords
In order to maintain the lifestyle
To which I’d grown accustomed,
But then, I woke up a little more.

I thought my cats were whispering to each other,
Speaking English,
Complaining about their accommodations,
Casting furtive glances about the room
While pretending they couldn’t really speak,
But then, I woke up a little more.

I reprimanded my furniture,
Intimidated my toilet,
Put my walls on notice that containment was not an option,
But then, I woke up a little more.

All that I’ve ever done wrong spontaneously flew about my head
Like buzzing houseflies,
Each, in turn, flying close to my left ear,
Accusing me of human frailty,
Reminding me of missed opportunities,
But then, I drank a half cup of warm coffee.

One by one my demons evaporated
Like mist into steam into air on a hot summer morning,
And for another day,
Absolution,
Reprieved by the will to live
And a little caffeine.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Penance


During the last days of the shadowed world
Serpents were driven out
From their shelter in the brush
By frantic, cloud-darkening swarms
Of tiny, ruby-throated birds,
Made insane by famine and drought.
Screeching and swooping,
These minions descended on the serpents,
Devouring them on the vast, darkling plains.

During the last days of the shadowed world
Leaves of all colors and kinds
Shriveled on the branches of ageless trees
But would not fall
And so were ripped from their stems
By merciless, incessant waves of wind,
Their ashes spread upon the waters.

During the last days of the shadowed world,
When the air was finally still and silent,
We walked cautiously out into the beckoning light.
We did not return to the dark places,
And meaning gushed from what had been
A million meaningless things.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Something


Weary singer of unsung songs
Moving in deep, undulating waves
Of subconscious longing for flight,
I plunge upwards into soar and glide,
Infused with the grace of birds,
Like the happy release of death
When very old.

So worn
And wishing for the play of wind
On flight feathers,
I let go and fall
Into something
Beyond these words.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Home Sings


Home sings
In the rattle, clang and clamor
Of kitchen song,
In the cat claw scratching
On the back porch door,
In the vacuum drone humming,
In the going,
In the coming,
In the laughter, shout and hurry,
In the fuss,
In the fury of everyday life,
Home sings
With irregular rhythms of slamming doors,
The sizzle of water in sudden streams
From faucets, showers and various machines,
Home sings
With assorted shoes on linoleum floors
Tapping out a dance of a thousand chores,
A pan in the oven bangs with the heat,
Home sings,
Phones ring,
Doors knock,
A key in the lock,
You give me a hug
And the music begins:
The refrigerator is whirring,
The cats are all purring,
Our children are playing
And my heart is saying
Listen closely
To the song life brings,
We are safe,
We are happy,
Home sings.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Some Small Measure


Even though I knew
This small, furry thing called kitty
Could not live forever,
I find it hard to understand
That this still, lifeless body,
So suspended in time,
Will not awaken,
Shake off death like a bad dream
And find voice
To once again ask for food
And some small measure of companionship.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Some Raindrops


Some raindrops,
The size of a flea.

Others,
The head of a pin.

And so on.

So many gradations.

And they collide,
Join,
Sometimes separate again.

I’m sure you could find a reason why,
Sitting in your laboratory,
Warm and dry.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

So Much Denial


So much denial,
The requirements of everyday life
Being what they are,
Even the requirements of pleasure,
So hastily arranged,
Full of denial,
Of longing
For something essential,
Something.

A small whispering voice,
Reminding,
Asking,
When?

Soon,
You say.
After all the little things are done.
Soon.

And years go by like minutes,
And your life is full of reasons why,
And why not,
Full of explanations,
The occasional stab of memory,
Something faintly remembered,
Something.

Then,
Just a dull ache.
Then,
Nothing.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

So Many Lives


So many lives
Populating this planet,
Falling in love,
Making families,
Fighting wars,
Building cities,
Posing for photographs.

So many lives,
Full of fear and bravado,
All fall away
Without exception.

We have seen them pass
Yet here we are,
Striving still,
As if there is anywhere in this world
To anchor.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

So Busy


My love is talking on the phone,
So busy,
Too busy to hear love’s examination of the heart,
So much to do.

Of course you love me,
Quote unquote,
Make love,
Quote unquote.

So much to do,
So busy,
Who am I?
Who are you?


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved