Voices Network

Presents the Poetry of

Michael Naber

On occasion, JJ Namcap chooses a poet who is a regular contributor to our Creativity Forum and offers them a page for three of their most precious writings. They are also offered the opportunity to choose the illustrations used within this page. They are not charged for posting their work on this select page, nor are they paid in any spendable currency, although it would be great if they could be, for they certainly should be.

Profile of Poet Michael Naber

Mr. Michael Naber has been hanging around the Voices Network website since the very beginning.

He has contributed regularly to our online forum, known there merely as "Animus".

He has shown a unique style of poetry and insight and we have very much enjoyed his many works posted regularly on our forum.

Mr. Naber resides in Nebraska. He is a manager in the injection molding department of an international manufacturer of electronic connectors. He has been married for twenty-five years as of 9-11-01, bellieve it or not. Michael has two teenaged children, a nineteen year old daughter and a seventeen year old son. He has a B.A. in Industrial Management and an A.A.S. in Engineering Drafting.

Mr. Naber says: "I write now because I used to paint. The eyes and hands don't agree like they once did, so I express verbally what I used to visualize. Hopefully, my writing does not tell the reader what to think. I attempt to portray a situation that elicits a response that may not lend itself easily to description. I am fond of those feelings you might call inherent knowledge. Ideas you understand at a gut level but may have never verbalized before. I struggle a bit because I really only began writing poetry last August (2001). I'm still a novice. My job and family activities tend to limit available time to write but it is a release for me, a release on two levels, first, simply the creative gene expressing itself, and secondly, it is stress reducing therapy."

Thanks "Animus"!

JJ Namcap - Voices Network

I AM, REALLY

Whether it was better to have turned left instead of going ahead
or to have spoken up rather than remain silent
is yet a point debated only in those hours when I lie awake
because of caffeine or stress
and listen to the distant diesel engine of a train
or the burbling emergency siren drift
into my consciousness and then fade away.

I have no answers.
At least no encompassing ones
to explain the events and influences
that have produced who I am at this point
in a life that is without either great accomplishment
or devastating tragedy.

Nothing remarkable
to distinguish a singularity of purpose
or any particular characteristic
deserving of either celebrity
or notoriety.
I simply exist
somewhere in the bell-shaped curve
of the masses of western civilization.

Indistinguishable in a crowd.
Individualistic within bounds.
A person apart only in the minds of the few
whose pursuit of affection have been rewarded
with a friendship somewhere beyond courtesy
but in no sense intimate--save one.

Copyright 2002

 

 

 

 

 

 

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PARODY OF ME

Curious...

That song inside that sounds like me
Giving voice to feelings never spoken
Imbued with instinctual rage

It whispers in my mind like Lorelei
Grace without form or tone
Compelling me ever onwards

A license to soothe and protect
It acclimates to the ache
A routine reluctance to care

Then suddenly to decry and inflame
Mocking rancor exposed
Intrique and carnage are its endowment

The aftermath is habituated grief
A callous disregard for the carrion
It toughens me to the null

In a moment the onerous expression dissolves
Remorse appears, a purgative
The hostile intimate is vanquished

With absolution anticipated
And reemergence of the norm
I accuse the parody of me

Copyright 2002

FISSURES

There's a place that can be touched by neither hand nor lips.
Its presence is unrevealed by confession.

Obscured by the camouflage
of sophisticated arrogance.
An immutable posture.

I am a monolith of reason
unyielding in self assurance.
My match as yet unknown.

Maintain a dignified distance
for the warmth may be felt too long.
Its comfort is disquieting..

I am endowed by a nature no tangible science can define.
I seek merely to measure the depth of my being.

Weep only in solitude
for observers wish to connect.
Isolation is my salvation.

The sin of vulnerability
betrays the brittleness of the mettle.
My justifications deflect blame.

Graciousness and civility
enhance the mirror's image.
A subtle monument to presumption.

Wielding wit and humor once more I engage the world.
Surely, you can feel the terror.

Copyright 2002

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