David Kopacz, MD
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You Let Your Magic Tortoise Go

From the unpublished collection: You Let Your Magic Tortoise Go
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“After a time of decay comes the turning point. The powerful light that has been banished returns...If a man misses the right time for return, he meets with misfortune.  The misfortune has its inner cause in a wrong attitude toward the world,” (I Ching, p. 97-100).


Is it the turning point?
Yes, it is!
All the darkness and despair –
now gives away like a false wall
one small shift and
the balance is tipped
as negativity feeds on negativity
so does positivity feed upon itself
leading to the general rule:
The more you have,
the more you're going to get

what returns?
or remembering temptation?

The time of darkness is past...
The old is discarded and
the new is introduced

I said to myself
maybe I'm at a turning point...

each way I turn
I know I'll always try
to break this circle
that's been placed
around me

the unbearable transforms
and is suddenly bearable

what causes the shift
is it just the nature of things?

When the time for return has come,
a man should not take shelter in trivial excuses,
but should look within and examine himself

is the last about to break
leading to utter destruction?
or is the tide turning
in becoming out
weakness becoming strength
dissipation becoming fortitude?


becoming, beginning
Apocalypse and/or Metamorphosis

entering into pain
it is only pain
it won't kill you
maybe its like...random associations to the past?
a blurring of lines, boundaries

I forgot the sadness...
it wells up like a botched surgery
a time, not so long ago,
longing for healing
is different than healing

the black monster/dog
that helps to set you free
the land-locked,
golden-furred whales
or like the spider/scorpion
that turns into friend

Does any extreme emotion,
if prolonged repetitively,
lead to some sort of transformation
beyond despair?
beyond happiness?
beyond good and evil?

No, not beyond good and evil,
more like a renaissance,
a reconfiguration
an inspiration of coloration
a time for many things, a time for realizing
that “many things”
are fantasies
that while the self can be many things
it can only be one thing at a time
and that time is passing

Here it is:
the scattered change
reflects the setting sun
I'm glad to have the pennies
for the copper contrast

open books,
paint brushes,
a tea pot given to me
by someone who loves me

You're going to reap
just what you sow


lines scratch out across
blank landscapes of possibility
you can sing of terrible


while it is true that everything


a p a r t


the cells of dance
and strength course
like a good friend
not the friend you imagine,
but the real one at your side

the earlier realization
that one has to seek
both inside and outside
the realization
that one has to seek
one doesn't have to find -
no one promises finding anything
one only has to seek

while explosion of bells and veils
fast cuts
confusion, but intrigue too
pulling one into the vortex
curiosity not desire

the particulate matter
in your mouth
a sound like electricity and pepper
it breaks up a bit sometimes

a fresh breath
pulled with strength,
not regret
they say, umhumm...

returning, returning
sometimes its a myth
sometimes its a truth
this is the part I'm
not even going to write about


who knows what it is
something like

The veil that keeps us from
vision is not placed over the
object seen, but is located
deep in the seer


every millenium,
like every year, day, hour, minute, and second,
can be a potential new beginning for us.
All we have to do is marshal our psychological forces
to infuse the moment with relevance, and let our vision
adjust our behavior accordingly


Well, there it is,
like all feelings
it doesn't last long
the return to foul, bitterness
and irritability
the struggle (perpetual)
to salvage some sanctity
before bed
not wanting to sleep on this.

the sudden fatigue doesn't help
neither does all this rain
accomplishment and attainment
do not help
there must be some refuge
some dark or light space
some perspective or
right word or wrong word
of peace of mind
some peace of time

why this feeling of almost crying?
why not just crying?
This prolonged tension
is worse,
is worse

grieving for things not yet lost

Back to Poetry


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