The Counsel

By Purdy, Director of Publicity

Michael Manner and I were English majors at Plattsburgh State before the days of email, before the days of the fax. Indeed, the modern technology of the time was floppy disk computers, and the CD was quickly replacing the cassette tape. Manner and I have kept in touch through the years and when we are together we often argue and bicker like a married couple about love, fear, greed, envy, lust, hypocrisy, music, cats v. dogs, words et al. I think the only thing we ever seem to agree on is that chocolate milk is the greatest invention ever. But enough about me, Manner is a freelance computer consultant living with his mangy, blind cat in Williamsburg Brooklyn, NY. His love of poetry dates back to when dinosaurs roamed the earth and he first heard the words “ugga bugga” uttered by a passing Neanderthal woman. He’s been writing verse since the Iron Age and one day hopes to be cited in the OED. His fave comic book hero is Batman. Despite all this I think is is a truly talented poet and have asked him to post some poems on this blog. You be his judge.

The Counsel

Not just when I’m alone (all one),
but during sunset on the beach – for instance.

As if the counsel is innate within us all –

avoiding the full appreciation
of perfection’s instant –

is profligate.

A sophisticated regret flows
towards the absence of her hand,
or my arms around her waist,

any waist really,

Because the light,
the sky’s nacred shell, and the mythology of the ocean
and its depths
will be gone in minutes.

And the memory, without having tangible reference, will be as subtle as the ache.