Claws in the tires of the able-bodied;
Parasite of the able minded –
The weak feed on the strong –
There is power in numbers.

But what happens when there is no strength left to bleed
because it was strong enough to walk away?
Smart enough to hide?
Do the weak feed on each other?
Starving maggots in the dust they’ve destroyed –
If they could feed on sores they’d never go hungry.

Without one, none can follow;
The most powerful number is one.

EJZ 03.26.2015

“I wrote a poem that makes no sense”


Once upon a time
I was balancing on the wall
and spinning out of sight.
Each finger-prick and toe-tap
driving me out of my wits, my mind
melting in the freezing heat
of dark cold warm insanity;
A juxtaposition of me and
whoever else I want to be
or who wants to be

A spirit in suspension
dwelling on the edge of a cliff
over jagged stone
under murky pools –
This is my threshold,
I have reached my limit.
I am ready to jump
and be caught
or not
and breathe
or not
but wherever I land,
let it be a place
that has

EJZ 03.23.2015

My Solace

It is comforting, my solace
to know that you exist
in this world, as you are
you are
breathing, thinking, being, living.

I can hold you in a memory just as I can hold your hand
and that gets me through.
I cannot see you but you are here, for in the back of my mind
I hold a picture of you.

To be conscious of another’s existence –
What a strange and riveting sensation.

That I am aware
of you
makes me more aware
that I am.

EJZ 03.17.2015


Fear is the heart of shame.

Have we lost something?
Was it there, was it
real in the first place?
It came and gone and came
and went again.
A bird who can’t remember its way home –
Circling round jet streams
settling in a rotted tree
until it falls –
Never knowing from whence it came
or which way next –
Singing sweetly always
but never straight
so you don’t see it coming
but you know when it’s gone.

EJZ 03.16.2015

Philosophical Interjection

“All art, as the letting happen of the truth of what is, is, as such, essentially poetry.”
~Martin Heidegger

To me, the concept of God, of a Higher Power, has never been something outside of myself; it has always been a source of inner strength, wisdom, guidance that knows what is best for me. The struggle has been learning how to listen.

I ask myself, “Yes, but did that inner guidance create the world around you? The mountains, the ocean, the vastness of space? The people and connections between them? Are you protecting life after death?”

My thoughts turn to that inner strength – and I believe we all have one – and maybe that is what threads us together; maybe our inner voices are really all one voice manifested in various forms; maybe that is what created this Earth (I did once say,  “creative principle is my Higher Power”).

This may be a truth I will never uncover in this life. For now, for practical purposes, what matters to me is that I enjoy having a Higher Power in myself;  I enjoy the strength I derive from it, the motivation, the will to wake up and live another day, the sense of love, calm, even exaltation it brings me, the knowing that I can count on things turning out right, and the idea that this world, in fact,  is here, is mine, to respect.

Isn’t that what believing in God is all about?

EJZ 05.21.2015

All We Need


It was a day that stopped time.
Frozen, but for feathers floating on the gentle breeze.
Calm, peaceful, warm
but winter.
Feather-dust droplets
quietly kissing the sky goodbye.
You could pick them out and count them –
Suspended in one moment –
You’d stop breathing just to see
and they would breathe for you,
whispering as they fell
like angels from heaven,
showering the earth with sparks of light,
“I am here for you.”
The expanse of time contained in a single moment
“This is all you need.”
Caressing the ground on which they land
and settling in –

I am here and I am yours and this is all we need.

EJZ 03.08.2015


Gray, bleak,
damp, winding,
tender, cold,
stark, gaunt
And I am so inclined to venture out
down roads that look as this one.

Mild, worn,
secret, scorned,
pondered, shivered,
heavy and lost

From whence did I come?

The dimly lit street lights
with the chipped rusty paint

The faint fog of dusk and dew

Too cloudy for sunrise

A mist of dusty wherewithal
and the quiet feeling
in the sunken surroundings –
The crux of my heart
Profound, following
the gleam of the shadows
providing just enough to hold on to

Bound to the core of the earth by the soles of my feet

The sun contained in a single spark

The healing power of time

EJZ 03.05.2015