Tag Archives: opportunity

the agony is where you are

the agony is where you are
not, the empty spaces, the
hallway, where your spirit
pervaded and how i was
happy to be knocked down
over and over, dismantled
in your presence because
you were whole and you were
flesh and near; never have
i become so fragmented,
sensing now only your
vapors emitted from walls as
your hands graced outlets
with cords, tapping energy…
i search for you, but your
proximity blinds me and i repeat
the same mistakes overlooking
your footsteps… clearly
too fast for me and i loose
you altogether in the density,
the fork of destiny leading
us separately, and fear somehow
seizes me, soon the inability
to breathe takes over me

poem©mrg 3/30/17

The Perfect Imperfection; Early Setback to Making Gluten-Free Bread

Cranberry-Walnut GF Bread. Photo©mrg 2017.

So I thought I had this in the bag, the promise of homemade gluten-free bread everyday. The hope partially sparked by an unopened electric bread maker abandoned in the far corners of the garage. When I found this box, it was like finding gold. Eureka! I made gluten-free bread before and with success. But the whole process involved so many tools and bread pans that it eventually got the best of me. It was good and I do still prefer the method of bread pans and proofing myself, but time and the weather’s unpredictability during winter makes me surrender. And I don’t want to… I don’t think I want to be defeated in that way ever, especially when I’ve come up with a good recipe. A recipe which is probably the greatest poem I can conceive, but the Prometheus in me isn’t ready to hand it out to humanity just yet. Why? It isn’t where it needs to be, as you can see from the picture on your left.

I’m not seeking perfection. I think when one looks for this, in any part of their life, they’re really asking for disappointment. No, what I’m looking for is consistency. I’m looking for reliability that this gluten-free bread will rise and not collapse like the way it did with this last batch. Is it the amount of liquid or is it too much yeast? Did the addition of walnuts and cranberry affect the sink in the bread? Questions I must answer and resolve before attempting another batch… where did I go wrong?

Everything will be alright, this is the beauty of bread. No one will ever think this is the prettiest bread ever made, but I do. I’m bias, I know, because I’m the baker. And maybe I’m stretching it a bit, but this bread mimics a place of surrender for me, where it’s okay not to seem perfect most of the time. (Only because I have this thing of trying to get it right on the first try). This bread reminds me it’s okay to be human. Being human, being in the places where we’ve been and where we are right now is after all the seat where all great things and great art can come from… from errors, from mistakes, from fortuitous accidents such as this cranberry-walnut bread. If one looks hard enough, inside that reservoir of walnuts and dried cranberries, one can derive a potentiality no one will ever see. Between God and me, there lies a gift reserved for me. The gift of chance, an opportunity to be better next time.

Regret Is A Hard Thing To Misplace

Regret is a hard thing to misplace. Once there, as it travels the realms of our minds, regret seems difficult to loose altogether even when we want it banished forever. Does that even make sense? Well, yes. Because there are opportunities often bypassed, choices we didn’t make. And what about the people we let go or the ones we didn’t look to?

It’s the latter that bothers me most. It irks, bothers and nags at me. Yes, nags at me like a persistent complaint I cannot escape. Because I looked too late, they left. Because I was way too deep inside a poem, knee-deep in learning a new responsibility, immersed in irrelevant ongoing drama at work, I forgot to look.

And there they were… the person who crosses our path for a reason, whose lessons we missed because we didn’t look. We were too busy scrolling on a touchscreen, too busy engaged in the superficial things that they disappeared from our lives. If we imagined each person a small representation of some world unknown to us, then we missed it.

I missed it completely. Not only their place in this world, but the sound they bring into it, their thoughts and their potential contribution into my world… I wonder how it is they might have enhanced my world? I’ll never know.


“to look is to regret no more”

i kept you in my periphery—
i am sorry.
you seemed a world away,
stripped of sound… your silence
dismissed as no one, and, yet,
you are the only one who matters,
whose ghostly reminders battle i
with swords to slay your memory’s
endless taunts as they stretch my
sanity taut, pinned against
the wall…. i am going crazy,
i know, but no remedy can come
for me when it is your certain
light i miss most at night

poem©mrg 10/3/16