A selection of poems by EJ Glusac
(Additional poems that are subject to copyright restrictions are available upon request.)

A MILLION YEARS

a million years

in evolution,
a small chunk of time 

a tiny fraction
of the time it took
to go from fins
to feet 

can we fathom it?

we who live
four score 

days weeks months years
decades
yes 

the time since Christ?

a million years
is five hundred of those 

perhaps 
ungraspable 

but

sitting quietly

patiently

maybe

we can get a taste
of being

without end

THE COMPASS

a point
applied 

the pencil
traces round 

we shade
the circle 

light
and dark 

beneath
the still point,
an indentation

the pencil may slip

shapes
imperfect 

the point

remains 

allows

MAY YOU BE SAFE

may you be safe
may you be healthy
may you be peaceful
may you be on untroubled 

a blessing
said for centuries 

a blessing

for whom?

HABIT

eyes open
make coffee
shower
dress
quickly! 

quickly?

the mind
going fast 

slow it down?

doesn’t work

decades of efficiency
won’t quit 

make
the body
slow down? 

slow footsteps

you’ve got to be kidding me?

try it

OK

watch the battle

the slow steps
win

CEDARS

sleep lifting
at first light
after the rain

little cedars outside the open window
in steam

are still

quiet uncovered
always was

in cobwebs
of welcome lingering sleep

no task
minutes
meaning

just this

ENGAGE YOUR CORE

my back
twisting
turning
aching
tired 

engage your core
they say 

pelvis aligned
power in the transverse abdominus 

gut, I think

it helps

my mind
twisting
turning
aching
tired 

a core?

…feeling for it

gut

something
there 

let it speak

In no words
it says
something 

large

from a space larger than it is.

I seek
to engage the core

I DON’T KNOW

can help. 

stuck

with something
gurgling
beneath 

“I don’t know” 

curious

letting
it 

answer

in language
wordless
 

Let

NITROGEN 

80%
of what we breathe 

Nitrogen

is everywhere

I need to get groceries
where are my keys?
she forgot to close the garage door again
so much traffic 

oxygen
of our thought

behind it? 

subtle

with time

effervescing

with more time

Roaring

Silence

Soundstage

Nitrogen

WHAT IS A POEM, THEN?

What is a poem, then?
a friend asked 

if not metered
if not rhymed 

it was a good question

hopefully
a picture painted
concisely 

of a setting
of a thing
of a thought
of a state

not a meter
but a pace 

and
sometimes
a stutter 

metaphor

tacking upwind

if straight at it
won’t get you there

not words that rhyme

words that point 

using space
as much as words 

space leaving space
words leaving space 

uncovering layers

and
maybe
occasionally

more

the best ones
come from deep within

or maybe
not within at all

Not an essay 
Not a treatise 

of mind, yes
but not too much 

something softer
something harder 

more raw
more felt 

less of head
more of intestine
more of blood 

an exploration
of

that

(For my friend, Mary)

MIRACLES

Early man

For millennia

Scrounging 

for
Roots
Berries
Animals
Marrow 

eating
things uncertain 

sometimes
getting sick 

sometimes
starving

transported to
Now 

would
see 

Miracles

chief among them

maybe

The corner grocery

DEMOCRAT ISLAND
(41.2543 N, 72.8451 W)

Democrat Island
sits just beyond our shore

I like the name

really just a rock
big enough to hold a small house

gleaming in the morning sun

which reflects
softly from the cedar roof
harshly from the aluminum boat ramp

a tiny figure, Mr. Democrat,
sits on the porch 

with a cup of coffee
trying to wake up

like me 

looking at the waves
as I look at the waves 

We share a political view

or maybe he’s a Republican
on Democrat Island  

Why live on an island?
to get away from the riffraff?

or to go where we all are?

alone

but there is also a boat

and to shore we must go
together 

an osprey sets atop his lone tree
with no party affiliation
scanning the sound 

we look at the waves
the osprey, Mr. Democrat and I

LONG ISLAND SOUND

a buoy bell sounds
over and over 

almost dawn

darkness obscuring sight
but not sound

the bell sounds
rhythmically
randomly

rolled by the waves

the waves
lapping, hissing

on rocks as they meet the shore

first light
vaguely revealing the world
in black and white

the bell sounds 

it sounded all night
did we hear it?

it sounds
now

it sounds
a call to worship 

worship what?
God?
the natural world?
the one who listens? 

I do not know

but when it is heard
tears are with it 

the good kind

there is another ringing
more subtle

sometimes heard at night

before sleep
after sleep 

another ringing
always

where ringing starts and ends

the buoy bell
still sounds
over and over
on the waves
of Long Island Sound

DRAGONFLY

a dragonfly,
hovering
flitting

to a flower

eons of pollination

ancient, terrible, exquisite

says

I am for myself
for nothing, everything

I am

HARD TO HEAR IT

Rough seas today
wind from the west southwest
buffets
gusts

whitecaps

birds flying sideways
lots of flapping

a sailboat
listing

tacking upwind

we do that a lot

it’s required

low tide
rocks high
pounded by the surf

new rocks appear
mariner, beware

the buoy bell
sounding

louder than usual

but
obscured
by the roar

a flotilla of Canada geese
fight the surf
a little
and win

now gone
round the point

barges in the distance
seem to make their usual progress

an osprey
masterful flyer
using the wind
to glide

the sound
of Sound
is Loud

churning thought
drowning thought

the pages of my notepad
flap in the breeze


Hard to hear it,

but
still
there,

in
the sound
of the surf,

in
the sound
of the wind,

in
the silence,
amidst the roar 

STRAY THOUGHTS ON WRITING

part of me
wants to focus 

apparently
not all of me 

OK, not much of me 

thoughts come
keep coming 

fruitful ones?

write them down
maybe come back

flesh out
unravel 

what’s beneath that?

and that? 

next page in the notebook

It’s blank 

it will fill

with what?

patience

and something that doesn’t have patience

a pause

different now?
usually
always 

which direction?

where is the map?

maybe, the words will make one
they do make one

accurate? 

won’t know
not for a while

another pause 

water shut off?
or time to marinate 

a small step now

deeper?
or away 

have confidence?
not quite right

have trust?
better

is it the result that counts?
or getting there 

where is there?

still
here

FOR MICKEY

Born in poverty
Montenegrin American
youngest of nine, 

mother died when you were two.

Living in a converted storefront
newspaper covering the windows
three to a bed
a pot of beans, soaking
always 

Toting the family wagon to and from the grocery
where an account was kept
and dearly paid 

Growing up motherless
with the love of seven sister/mothers 

Father, with few words of English
taking the bus each day to Ford
to shovel coal into the foundry 

First in the family to earn a college degree
then law
Life as a local politician
Working quietly
for a better Detroit

Raising your own three children,
My sisters and I 

A self-described introvert,
you were the life of the party
Many big family parties 

Your warmth,
a magnet

Your success,
a family pride

You fought against self-pity
mostly successfully
The depression, baby
of an ethnic family 

Now dining with the elite of Southeast Michigan

You particularly loved the University of Michigan
Ivory tower of the state
And the Victors Valiant 

You never attended it
Your children did 

You loved good food
and shopping for it
Hail fellow, well met
at Farms Market 

You loved your work

You loved the city of Detroit

You loved your family

You had a big big heart
For nine-plus decades 

Eventually

it gave out

The sobs at your memorial
were many
and deep

Thank you 

Thank you for playing catch
in the backyard
night after night,
when I tried to learn
to throw a curveball

Thank you for wrestling with me
on the living room floor
and occasionally letting me think I could win

Thank you for fishing with me
for tiny striped bass and perch
on Cedar Island Lake

Thank you for letting me pilot
the pontoon boat
on Walloon Lake
Making a 10-year-old believe
he commanded the waters
of Northern Michigan

Thank you for being with me
at that great game in the snow
at the Big House, where we beat the Buckeyes

and at the U of D Fieldhouse
to see sweet Terry Duerod light up the night
and make Highland Park High School
the darling of Michigan basketball

Thank you for teaching me the game of tennis
and for the memory of when I first beat you
on that dusty Court in Nova Scotia

Thank you for encouraging me to develop a thoughtful mind
For poring over my English papers

For encouraging me to be a public speaker
For giving me the groundwork to make
a terrible high school graduation speaker audition
And giving me the love and the tools to craft
a final graduation speech that expressed my heart

Thank you for teaching me how not to waste money

Though I don’t thank you for scolding me
for buying a tie for a med school interview
that you thought was too expensive

Thank you for the last few years in Chicago
as we ushered each other into new phases of life
semi-retirement for me
end of life for you

Then, there was the role reversal
me the parent/doctor
telling you what you should and should not do
And you listened…mostly
Thank you for that

Thank you
finally
for a thousand things
that words can but poorly express

(For my father, Michael M Glusac 1930-2025)

ONE DAMN THING AFTER ANOTHER

how much is in my checking account?
I’ve got to get my car fixed
my back hurts
hurry up and get dressed

one damn thing after another

Churchill’s view of history

‘could say the same
about thinking

and it repeats itself, too

get me out of here

is there anything beneath 
all this thought?

can it loosen?

my back muscles
can they loosen?

getting curious

what are they holding back?

let everything in?

dwell in possibility

yes, it’s possible
they loosen

let the thoughts in

they loosen

and
something

remembers

something
rests

and smiles

in the gut

ALL CARS SHOULD BE WHITE

All cars should be white
White cars stand out

Why buy a black one?

I suppose

it’s like buying clothes

how you see yourself?

how you want to be seen?

but with cars
perhaps
it shouldn’t be so

to be seen at all
at the edge of your vision

dark
doesn’t stand out

Red
it’s hot!

but still doesn’t quite pop

Yellow is good
better than brown

but then
folks
will flag you down

All cars should be white

but if they were white
if cars were all white

would I ever find mine?

and will the right color
help with rage, fear and guilt?

all that we feel
behind the wheel

He cut me off
damn it

I cut him off
sorry

He’s going too slow
I’m late 

She’s is going too fast
reckless

OK
maybe she’s late too

saving ten seconds
always
saving ten seconds

adds up to a day?

and if it does

what will we do
with it

DEMOCRAT ISLAND (REPRISE)

Democrat Island
still sits off our shore

mostly uninhabited
vacation spot only

occasional retreat
for Mr. Democrat

he’s mostly off working
for the common good
or his own good
or none

the house has a really nice roof

from a tall point
cedar shingles slope

an interesting slope 
with a gradual curve

sending water on a journey,
a circuitous one

and the porch is to die for

wraparound

its broadest expanse
facing the sound

its sides
facing the houses
crowding two shores

when Mr. Democrat is in
he takes his coffee there

actually,
the island is mostly
Not uninhabited

it is continually inhabited
by its actual owner

the osprey

he doesn’t take vacations

leaving the island
only to venture
to his place of employment

the sound

returning quickly
returning often
with a fish in his claws

transport is part of his vocation

the egrets don’t do that
they swallow their catch
right where they catch it

Ollie
(we call him, Ollie)
always brings it home

Will Democrat Island
ever be more peopled?

someone
loath to leave
the wraparound porch

Democrat Island
is not very big

but it is pretty high

safely above
the tide

protected from the surf,
I think the home may survive 

until someone
faithfully

commands the view

RETIREMENT

Retirement
Some love it! 

Phone rings
Not my problem! 

Now

My life begins

Take up birding
Learn Italian
Build a boat
Practice piano 

But others
They hate it 

Thought they’d love it
They don’t

When
All of a sudden
All day and all night 

Alone
In the house
With only the spouse 

A realization

An appreciation

Of what work
actually was 

A focus
A purpose
A thing to be done 

A thing to get dressed for
A place to be

And money
Who knows? 

How long will you live?

Did I really want
to contemplate my navel? 

Oh,
That was just a sabbatical.
Back to work!

HAVE YOU HAD A CAR ACCIDENT?

Have you had an accident?
injured?
Call us!  

We win big
We win often
We’re the best
Make ‘em pay! 

personal injury
lawyer billboards
oh joy 

The most frequent
sign on I-95 

drum up business
from folks
on the worst day of their lives 

there’s one of these signs
that I actually like 

a lawyer
a poet 

Keep Calm
Call Tom 

but hopefully
I’ll never visit his abode
if I can keep
my eyes on the road

THE FOUR FORCES

electromagnetism
we think we know it 

we can
grasp it 

at least
sort of 

the push and pull of charges
attraction
repulsion 

makes the world go ‘round

TV sets and radios 
chemistry happens
lightbulbs turn on 

electromagnetism

relationship

the stuff
of our world

gravity
we certainly get that one 

the attraction
of stuff for stuff 

they say it’s the weakest

sure doesn’t seem so
when standing
at the edge of a cliff

but weak, it may be

to a paper clip,
a refrigerator magnet
pulls more than the Earth 

unlimited by distance
it adds
and adds 

until

oceans move

moons stay faithful

and we call one place home

but
gravity
the thing most intuitive
does some strange things too 

bends light
around stars 

do we understand it?
we think we do 

then
the strong force 

they say it’s the strongest 

counterintuitive

keeps things together
particles in the nucleus
stuff that’s like-charged
that should repulse

superglue of the universe

that acts at a distance
so small 

almost
inscrutable 

as incredibly small

as the universe
is large 

but we almost can get it
almost can feel it
a sort of a pull 

fidelity

but the weak force
forget it 

at least I’ll never get it,
this curious “force“ 

even some physicists
admit this too 

not
a push 

not
a pull 

transformation

one particle
becomes

another 

through this mysterious
thing 

they say
the other three forces
would be nothing  

without

this shape shifting
goddess

that lets it
all be 

the weak force
maybe
not so well named 

not weak

not even
a force 

but permission

for one thing
to become 

another

neutrons
become protons 

and a universe is born

BURT MULLETT CEMETERY

Burt Mullett Cemetery
named for two lakes
between which it lies 

amidst pines and fescue
since 1845 

rolling hills
with gravestones

an uncommonly uneven
resting place 

the gravel pathways
invite a good walk 

many flowers
real and plastic 

many veterans
many American flags 

the gravestones
many colors of granite 

older ones
of marble
with names
washing away 

my favorite
in the shape of a bench 

Come rest with me

A moment

In my eternal rest

STOA

“Life’s a bitch
And then you die” 

“I don’t care”

you see it
on T-shirts 

not
stoicism 

stoicism

stoa
the porch
in Greek 

a public porch in Athens
a gathering place 

the teacher
a man named Zeno 

they came

to hear
wisdom 

life presents hardship

no way around it

can’t
deny it 

can’t
run from it  

work with it

Epictetus
stoic master of Roman times 

“Put before your mind
What commonly happens at baths” 

some people splashing you
some people jostling 

others being abusive
others stealing 

what is your reaction?

maybe
that
makes you suffer 

ignorant people
blame others
for their own misfortune 

the partially wise
blame themselves 

anger?

better guilt 

still better 

no guilt

not indifference
but not giving the world
power

Marcus Aurelius
was a follower 

“We have come into the world
To work together” 

not apart

not indifferent

strength

peace
of mind 

finding it

together

On the porch

SUPERSTITION

“You did not sacrifice
to the rain god. 

It did not rain.

We are starving.”

“Pray to whatever gods you want.
But don’t refuse the rain god.”

Or hate you

We will

We didn’t know how things worked

We think we do now 

Meteorology 

We laugh at our ancestors

We think
We know
So much 

But

If I don’t cross myself
I won’t get a hit

Knock wood

Don’t step on the foul line

Cross your fingers

Early Christians
were not hated
for praying to Jesus. 

If Jesus could only make it rain 

FINAL EXAM 

I sit down to take the final exam
blank page in front of me
I haven’t done the assignments
haven’t read any of the books 

the professor says
you may now begin 

eyes flutter open
oh, thank God 

again

but
the inadequate
lingers 

run away?

going nowhere

lean in?

it’s in the gut

quavering

then

shimmering

then

just gut

CRUCIFIXION

He died
on the cross 

suffering
for our sins 

that we
might be sinless 

sinless?

blame, we may
The Romans?
The Jews? 

if we fail
to accept 
His heart  

maybe
we sink nails
each day