Navigation

Navigation

Chastened by clouds of indifference,
he plotted a course based on idiosyncrasy.
He had nothing going for him
except the true north of doubt,
which always guided him
faithfully, like a compass.
The perfection of the circles in which he moved
was compensation enough.
Or so he told himself
as he stood stoically at the wheel,
coming around to where he was before.
He, not the stars, which never shone,
nor the graybeards who taught navigation,
was the captain of his fate.
He alone, always alone,
was the only one taking deep breaths,
thankful for the billows, relishing the isolation,
knowing that the meaning of the voyage
was not the destination, no,
but the deep satisfaction of not getting there.
Sailing in perfect circles was as close
to heaven as he ever wanted to get.

Robert Forrey, 2009

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News item: Yale U. Press decides not to publish controversial Danish cartoons after all.

Et tu Yale,

Lux et Veritas?

Light fail,

Truth embarrass?

Dementia

Dementia

He could not have predicted, not in a million years,
What his mind would be like at seventy-five,
Those billions of seconds of stored up,
Long forgotten impressions and memory traces
Being obliterated forever, being replaced
By a feeling of preternatural understanding,
And compassion, the precious gift of detachment
And insight into those stages of staged life,
Or so it seems now, the actors, blood brothers,
Including the younger one slipping into dementia,
And the accompanying cast of characters,
Whose roles were written before the big bang,
And were doomed to fall into the black holes
And to love the children of those mismatches
Immeasurably and guiltily, as slippers
Become more comfortable than sneakers
And eternity leaks like gold dust out of the head
Of the straw man who does the old soft shoe
While the usher shows you to your seat
Just as the screen goes belatedly, blessedly blank.

                                Robert Forrey, 2009