A Song of Earth

A bird AND a plane

 

I wonder if the birds envy the planes,

If their ancestral stories of tell of times long and long ago,

Times when they were closer to God

Than any other being to walk across

This sacred Earth,

A time when seagulls laughed their taunting cry

As shoreward they soared,

A time when the youth were held in line,

And the elders were wiser by far,

A time when the air was purer,

And the sky was bluer,

And when you landed and looked up

And up

And up,

You could see not a paltry smattering of stars,

But rather, the glory of the universe herself,

The face of the Goddess each night revealed,

The broad brushstroke of her lips

Wrapped around the words

Of a love song about her home;

Her eyes sparkling

As she sung songs of Earth.

Advertisements

Sorrowfully, I Saw You

4693806467_8dd89deb2a_b

 

I saw you on the train the other day,

Crying out under the burden

Of someone else’s sorrows,

Or at least I imagined that it was you,

And that you were crying,

And that the sorrows were not your own.

 

I saw you down the hall as well,

Standing in perfect stillness,

Knees bent under the weight

Of our caprice,

Head bowed as if in prayer,

Or at least I pretended it was you,

And maybe even said a prayer of my own

To the Old Gods we used to howl to,

When the moon was full of joy,

And so were we.

Summer’s Ending Soon

Summer is what summer has always been.

It’s that moment in July

When you realize,

“Summer’s ending soon,”

And there is not a thing you can do

To stop the turning of the Earth,

Or the motions of the planets,

Or the revolution of the stars in their orbits

Around some distant galactic hub

Which I have and will never see,

Yet am assured by the most veritable authorities

Exists,

Somewhere impossibly distant from here,

Beyond the boundless distance between the stars,

Across time and space,

Itself turning with the eons,

Hurtling through space

On a collision course with its neighbor,

And I suppose I can relate

But then again, maybe not;

Maybe there are just some things beyond

The boundaries of what is relative and relatable

To the human experience,
Which is also something

I have never seen,

But which my humanity,

And your humanity,

And our collective humanity

Demands the existence of.

Summer is what summer has always been –

Our humanity at its finest,

Life and death balanced together on the edge of a knife,

Dancing with one another on the head of a pin,

Which brings into question once more

Just how many angels can, in fact,

Dance their divinity away on such a surface;

I say that the answer lies somewhere near the square root

Of the number two;

No one else seems to agree.

Autumn

c121072de893cbc733e280c987fa6495

 

Autumn arrived

Much in the same way it always does,

With a blustering gust of wind

And a hint of chill in the air.

 

It came for me

While I was asleep,

The turning of the Earth

And the motions of the Heavens

Colluding to bring about the fall

Of all those brittle, bright-colored leaves

From their summertime stations.

 

Fall entered stage-right, and I?

I stood, enraptured, as She came closer,

Caught utterly unawares by her presence,

Not realizing that summer had gone

Until it was already far too late

To mourn its passing.

Communion

photography_1

 

Poetry is a bit like photography

In that the lighting needs to be just so,

And the moment – it passes all too quickly,

Far too swiftly to be recorded at its purest,

And the reader, the viewer,

The person in communion with the art,

Will never see your world

With the same exactitude;

Yes, their world rivals yours

In clarity and complexity,

And perhaps even the twain do meet,

Somewhere at a crossroads

In Idaho,

One car turning slightly

To give the right of way to the other;

The encounter is brief,

And is quickly forgotten

In the midst of the other infinitude of moments

Stacked together in your memory

Like the pages of a book.

Summer Love

5403a16bc9896635ce31c420b7f34ab6

 

Summer love –

It’s song

Too sweet to bear,

Berries weighing heavily on the bough,

Overripe and golden for the taking;

Behold its forbidden fruit

And you will be helpless but to surrender

To the subtle call of the serpent,

Summersweet

In the heat of the moment,

Savage and bitter

In the fallout.

Dawn Breaking

gahag-0113482947-1 

Day is breaking,

And so am I.

 

The crickets sing, still,

But soon their song will be still and silent;

Already, it has reached a crescendo,

And begun to fade.

 

Dawn is blossoming from the East,

Spreading outwards like a lover’s touch

Prying open the secret, furtive parts of this world,

Revealing the weary people of the night,

Who have succeeded in their quest to brave the dark,

At least ’til morn’.

 

The birds have awoken,

And are flying hither and thither;

Soon, their silent wings will take them far from here,

To sing a different song

For some other poet to mournfully record.

 

They seem starlike,

Silhouetted against the pink streaks of dawn,

Save they are lightless,

And distinctly less distant.

 

Now, a seagull cries his way shoreward,

And the colors of sunrise, muted, now,

Are phantom-like and fading,

Fading, fading;

And soon, they will be forgotten

In their entirety.

 

Dawn has broken;

And so have I.