Six Poems by Nolo Segundo

 

Sylvia Plath Died in a Bell Jar                                      

 

 

Sylvia Plath died in a bell jar, 

and I know what that is like: 

how scary the vacuum, how brittle 

a wretched little human feels inside 

opaque walls of touchless glass, 

alone in a cavern of orderless madness. 

 

The bell jar holds but three goodies: 

the lunatic, the horror, and the longing, 

longing for a banished world of beauty 

and desire, senses and apples, children 

and wine, yesterday and tomorrow… 

 

but longing most for freedom, to be 

free and pulsing like God-given amoeba 

between scaleless walls of holy cement 

binding earth and eternity--the freedom  

to feel as only a tiny human may feel 

naked in a hot-cold world…. 

 

Sylvia, Sylvia, I read your poems,  

I read your book, I even read your life, 

but Sylvia, lover I never had, it remains 

you gassed yourself like Nazi and Jew 

in one 

and I do not reproach you for this, but  

only ask, did the death balance the life?

 

 

 

 

The Computer's Lament 

 

 

Please don't blame me 

When your trains derail, 

When power plants fail, 

And it's really not my fault 

When you don't get the mail, 

Or not warned about the hail. 

 

I do what you tell me to do, 

Anyway, I haven't a clue 

What will make you happy 

Or why you cry & get sappy! 

And please don’t say “Lazy  

You make me!” Or even crazy 

When your life gets so hazy.   

 

Truth is, I can't think for myself 

(although you suspect I must),  

So if your dreams turn to dust... 

You should only blame yourself!

 

 

 

 

To A Friend A Continent Away 

 

 

You turn up often in my mind, though it be 

in subliminal fashion, iridescent flashes  

of your quiet image flit into consciousness 

like flies in spring, when they are quick. 

 

I think of you in your silent parade, you 

marching in your eastern-black robes, 

your body and face towards the sunset 

but your mind and soul see the sunrise…. 

 

During our brief piece of the vastness 

we learned thoughts, taught codes and 

traded essences, so now you can never 

be away from me, for my imagination 

and memory and will, shall, like some 

formidable trinity holy, penetrate  

mountains and forests and oceans 

to sense your presence  

in the movement of my arm  

lifting a cup of tea…. 

 

 

 

The Low Hanging Sun 

 

 

I went to take out the trash,  

the good trash, glass and paper 

destined for re-incarnation  

and as I stepped outside, 

the air cool and pearly white,  

the low hanging sun smiles, 

throws a late afternoon warmth  

over my body, a blanket of silk. 

 

For a moment I stopped to think,  

then thanked the low hanging sun  

for being there, the last defence  

against a cold deep unto death.... 

 

In our immense Universe, wall-less,  

ever expanding, is mostly night, 

utter and fearsome darkness,  

all pitch-black and cold, a coldness 

beyond comprehension or life--- 

so the light and heat of every 

myriad star is precious, precious…. 

 

 

 

 

Flying over Vietnam, 1974 

 

 

I flew,  

a modern man in a steel bird, 

with all the arrogance of  

ancient Icarus, but my wings 

did not melt nor I swoon. 

 

I flew high, very, very high 

Over Asian lands and homes, 

And below me, very, very far 

Down where the bombs fell 

Like the rains of hell— 

I saw the face of the moon.

 

 

 

[note: this poem was inspired by the memory of a commercial flight I took after a stop-over in Saigon on my way to teach in Taiwan, having taught in another war-zone called Cambodia.] 

 

 

 

 

Ode To My Red Maple 

 

 

She lives just outside  

my bedroom window, 

ever loyal, ever faithful-- 

always in the same spot, 

day after day, 

season after season-- 

she’s there to give  

comfort, even joy,  

especially in November, 

the sloughing month 

when the leaves fall 

in sad splendour, with 

grace—but my tree, 

my Japanese Maple, 

holds out, turns scarlet 

with the blood of life, 

its leaves dancing  

little dances of love 

in the autumnal winds 

as though it were  

laughing at death…. 

Nolo Segundo, pen name of L.J.Carber, became a widely published poet in his mid-70's in over 140 literary journals/anthologies in America, Canada, England, Romania, Scotland, Portugal, Australia, Sweden, India and Turkey. A trade publisher has released 3 book length collections: The Enormity of Existence [2020], Of Ether and Earth [2021], and Soul Songs [2022]. These titles like much of his work reflect the awareness he's had since having an NDE when as a 24 year old agnostic-materialist, believing only matter was real and so death meant extinction, he lept into a Vermont river in an attempt to end the suffering of a major clinical depression. He learned that day the utter reality that poets, Plato, and Jesus have spoken of for millennia: that every sentient human has a consciousness that predates birth and survives death--a soul. A retired teacher [America, Japan, Taiwan, and Cambodia in the mid-70's] he's been married 43 years to a smart and beautiful Taiwanese woman.