touch

The river
    touches mountain and sound
for millenia flowing
    wild and free
    confined to its ribbon bed

is this water
        one with the glacier
        one with the delta
    or separate different
        is light a wave
        am I the one soul
                who at birth
                who at death
                who now breathes
            freely chooses
                the forged path I walk
        does history forge me
            or do I walk apart
            clean my dishes
                sing my song
    perhaps yes and no

the river roars its answers
    knowing not these questions
    for millenia flowing
    wild and free.

you may think

you may think

you may think
these are words
this is a poem
this looks like a clever one

you may think
you can read it
appreciate it
like a daffodil or a butterfly

you may think
he is a poet
you are an enlightened reader
you appreciate his fine work

you may think
this guy sucks
he thinks this is poetry
I've read Milton and Yeats

you may think
this is uncomfortable
what does this guy want
I am reading his damned poem

you may think

turn as one

Oh!
the cloud of white birds
turn as one
across the vast farmland
for an instant shine
in the waning sun
Oh!
the white birds turn as one.
Oh!
the white mountains shine behind.
Oh!
the fast river
flows around the smooth smooth stones.
Oh!
the farmer wipes her brow
and turns again
to the nascent living soil.
Oh! Oh!
beautiful beautiful beautiful day.
I and my son turn as one
and walk back home.
Oh!
we turn as one.

still

still
the fog hangs
white mist gently obscuring
the trees stand as gray shadows
the moon a blurred whiteness
a slight mist moistens
from the deep sky
the frosted meadow glistens

still
I watch as my mind
clamors for succor
until as a babe
I settle all peace
as in my mother's arms

still

now

(image courtesy of h.koppdelaney)

the time has come

from
    every universe
    all eternity
    every potential
    all possibility

the time is now

just
    this once
    once again
    we converge together
    at this humility

the time has come

time for birth
time for death
time to plant
time to harvest
time to kill
time to heal
time to weep
time to laugh
time to break
time to build
time to love
time to hate
time for war
time for peace

the counterpoint
    of billions of
        independent
        sentient
        universes
    has coincided
in this single present

rhythm

Rhythm

The rhythm of the waves
washes the air
an ever changing ostinato
Soon fades with the tides
Each time the same
Each time different

Leaf upon leaf
tree upon tree
shimmer the mountain in sunlight
whisper on the waves of wind
Each time the same
Each time different

The kiss lingers
The lovers love again
Urgently merge waves of savage tenderness
In a counterpoint of shared ecstasy
Each time the same
Each time different

Desperate pain and dread
disappointment and failure
besiege the soul in waves of shame
addiction failure betrayal
Each time the same
Each time different

change and novelty
newness and invention
soon grow weak
nuance and rhythm
are the hidden power of life