Your dad recalls,
when he was young,
the poplar was tall as he.
Late one night,
as you and I slept,
a great limb wrecked the porch.
Somebody should tell him,
he could get a new son-in-law.
But I won't.
Haven't seen that tree,
in years and years.
The man has a right to know.
Not my place,
to tell him you,
you no longer love me.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Light on the Water
Our minds are joined,
we are the same.
Light on the water,
is that in our hearts.
How long this time,
will I sleep alone?
we are the same.
Light on the water,
is that in our hearts.
How long this time,
will I sleep alone?
I'll Be Here
When you come to your senses,
I'll be here.
When you come back to me,
I'll be here.
Let the past go, He said.
except the beauty.
Remember only loving thoughts,
He said.
When you see only this,
I'll be here.
I'll be here.
When you come back to me,
I'll be here.
Let the past go, He said.
except the beauty.
Remember only loving thoughts,
He said.
When you see only this,
I'll be here.
Four haiku
I perfumed the place,
the curtains blushed with your scent.
You are my heartbeat.
She wanted a hug,
now she wants to say goodbye.
The thirty-year hug.
All my trains run late,
how many wives do I get?
I only want you.
Lanie I love you!
Like a bell in outer space,
a crashing silence.
the curtains blushed with your scent.
You are my heartbeat.
She wanted a hug,
now she wants to say goodbye.
The thirty-year hug.
All my trains run late,
how many wives do I get?
I only want you.
Lanie I love you!
Like a bell in outer space,
a crashing silence.
Wish We Were Still Camping
Wish we were still camping.
Didn't have so much,
as a harsh word.
But we came back,
look what happened.
No, don't look.
Wish we never left Algoma, wish we
never had a bad thought,
never slammed a door.
Never take love for granted,
never get complacent.
Didn't have so much,
as a harsh word.
But we came back,
look what happened.
No, don't look.
Wish we never left Algoma, wish we
never had a bad thought,
never slammed a door.
Never take love for granted,
never get complacent.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Fragile, The Rose
In my hand,
a fragile paper.
I squeeze, and it's a rose.
I let go,
and it's paper again.
She said a front,
could move in.
I'd give her the rose,
but I dare not let go.
a fragile paper.
I squeeze, and it's a rose.
I let go,
and it's paper again.
She said a front,
could move in.
I'd give her the rose,
but I dare not let go.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Somebody Will Come
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and save me from this nightmare I made.
Somebody will come and say, my brother,
the world you saw was never there.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and look at me with eyes that shine with perfect love,
and a smile of perfect joy.
Somebody will come. Somebody pure,
to say, I came long ago,
and I will never leave you.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come and take my hand,
and say, little child, let us go from here.
Somebody will come for me.
Somebody who knows what I forgot,
whose memory is so perfect, as to be my own.
Somebody will come.
He will come, and say, my brother,
what fades away and dies was never there.
Somebody will come.
Somebody strong,
strong in the knowledge,
there is nothing to defend against.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come and hold me, and whisper,
you do not belong here.
Somebody will come,
his heart full of gifts: the loving thoughts I'd given him,
saved and purified.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and his light is my light,
obscured by my terror.
He will wave his arm, and say,
behold your world as it is, and it will disappear.
Somebody will come,
whose faith is greater than all the images I have made.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and I will know this was not me,
and I was not here.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come and say,
my holy brother, I said you do not belong here,
and so you never were here.
Somebody will come to me,
and tell me, all this was an idle dream,
of my own making.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and share himself with me, and
I will know he is my Self.
Yes, somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and heal my broken heart.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come and save me.
Somebody will come,
and save me from this nightmare I made.
Somebody will come and say, my brother,
the world you saw was never there.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and look at me with eyes that shine with perfect love,
and a smile of perfect joy.
Somebody will come. Somebody pure,
to say, I came long ago,
and I will never leave you.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come and take my hand,
and say, little child, let us go from here.
Somebody will come for me.
Somebody who knows what I forgot,
whose memory is so perfect, as to be my own.
Somebody will come.
He will come, and say, my brother,
what fades away and dies was never there.
Somebody will come.
Somebody strong,
strong in the knowledge,
there is nothing to defend against.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come and hold me, and whisper,
you do not belong here.
Somebody will come,
his heart full of gifts: the loving thoughts I'd given him,
saved and purified.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and his light is my light,
obscured by my terror.
He will wave his arm, and say,
behold your world as it is, and it will disappear.
Somebody will come,
whose faith is greater than all the images I have made.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and I will know this was not me,
and I was not here.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come and say,
my holy brother, I said you do not belong here,
and so you never were here.
Somebody will come to me,
and tell me, all this was an idle dream,
of my own making.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and share himself with me, and
I will know he is my Self.
Yes, somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come,
and heal my broken heart.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come.
Somebody will come and save me.
What Happened to Us?
What happened to you?
Where did you go?
Why did you go away from me?
What happened to us?
Where did you go?
Why did you go away from me?
What happened to us?
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Frog and Butterfly
A frog loved a butterfly.
To him, how lovely she was.
Her wings danced on the wind.
In sunlight, gold then silver,
In shadow, brown edged in green.
He would watch her fly away,
he would watch her come back.
But he was a frog.
She was a butterfly.
To him, how lovely she was.
Her wings danced on the wind.
In sunlight, gold then silver,
In shadow, brown edged in green.
He would watch her fly away,
he would watch her come back.
But he was a frog.
She was a butterfly.
The Clear Bell
One cannot live afraid,
not for long.
The brain tells one thing,
the heart another.
Conflicting voices,
two bells.
One clear,
one under water.
When it's cold,
the sage has no scent.
not for long.
The brain tells one thing,
the heart another.
Conflicting voices,
two bells.
One clear,
one under water.
When it's cold,
the sage has no scent.
He Will Wait
Your husband waits,
scaly eyes now clear.
Never take love for granted.
When you lay siege,
know your enemy is you.
He will wait,
hear you read,
watch your lips.
Your husband waits,
heart a little stronger.
You see something he doesn't.
scaly eyes now clear.
Never take love for granted.
When you lay siege,
know your enemy is you.
He will wait,
hear you read,
watch your lips.
Your husband waits,
heart a little stronger.
You see something he doesn't.
Trees
Hope upon hope,
trees fallen
and skins gray.
She watched a tree fall,
touched me
and fingers warm.
Do hillsides dream,
or hope?
And I looked.
She, a dream,
sad eyes
and with hope.
trees fallen
and skins gray.
She watched a tree fall,
touched me
and fingers warm.
Do hillsides dream,
or hope?
And I looked.
She, a dream,
sad eyes
and with hope.
Come Back To Me
Read slowly, my love,
see each word.
Take it between your lips,
taste it.
Come back to me,
give me back
the entirety of your heart.
It is not both, my love.
see each word.
Take it between your lips,
taste it.
Come back to me,
give me back
the entirety of your heart.
It is not both, my love.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Magpie
The world is less than shadows,
yet more than dark.
By what thread do we still hang,
what is this you call life?
A magpie squawks in the sun,
no gloom this young day.
And yet the shadows,
and yet the dark.
yet more than dark.
By what thread do we still hang,
what is this you call life?
A magpie squawks in the sun,
no gloom this young day.
And yet the shadows,
and yet the dark.
Still a Hope
A bastard child,
still a son.
An unseen miracle,
still a blessing.
Taste this.
Bitter, is it not?
Still a hope.
still a son.
An unseen miracle,
still a blessing.
Taste this.
Bitter, is it not?
Still a hope.
The Orchard
A wish,
or was it a vision?
Suddenly, I saw apple blossoms,
you beside me, in the sun.
Renewing our vows.
Could it be, then,
or did I see what I wanted?
Won't somebody tell me?
or was it a vision?
Suddenly, I saw apple blossoms,
you beside me, in the sun.
Renewing our vows.
Could it be, then,
or did I see what I wanted?
Won't somebody tell me?
The Orphaned Heart
Please don't throw me away,
and leave my love without a name.
The orphaned heart is a beggar,
twisted, without dignity.
No, it can't be.
How can you be taken from me?
A remote chance,
the deaf could hear.
A stirring song,
or a blistering silence.
We walk hand in hand,
you look at me as before.
and leave my love without a name.
The orphaned heart is a beggar,
twisted, without dignity.
No, it can't be.
How can you be taken from me?
A remote chance,
the deaf could hear.
A stirring song,
or a blistering silence.
We walk hand in hand,
you look at me as before.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
A Light
Don't let me fall
into the catacombs;
the dark therein.
A debris of angels' wings
in tatters an ancient sigh,
don't let me look there.
But I look, and they fall
strike my eyes,
but I am not bitter.
Fall, dearest
fall away,
let it go.
At length, and above high
brilliant and small,
a light.
into the catacombs;
the dark therein.
A debris of angels' wings
in tatters an ancient sigh,
don't let me look there.
But I look, and they fall
strike my eyes,
but I am not bitter.
Fall, dearest
fall away,
let it go.
At length, and above high
brilliant and small,
a light.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
When I Tell Her (Lanie's new dress)
What vision is this,
glides across my sight.
Wings over brown shoulders,
blue and white; windy hair.
Does she know?
Is a vision aware,
of its own beauty?
If not, will she believe me,
when I tell her?
glides across my sight.
Wings over brown shoulders,
blue and white; windy hair.
Does she know?
Is a vision aware,
of its own beauty?
If not, will she believe me,
when I tell her?
Friday, September 23, 2011
The Calling
The ages think,
and their thoughts produce worlds.
"But look! You can see the stars."
The worlds think,
and their thoughts make universes.
"I am here, and you are over there."
The tiniest whisper of mind,
extends forever.
In its freedom, mind can imprison itself.
"What is here? What is there?"
Try and give it back,
what was never taken.
Place a limit on the unlimited.
I vs I Am.
How does that which is everywhere,
expand? Yet it does.
I am with you always.
Your prayers are paper wishes,
over a cliff.
Your wish was to be someone else;
far below, the crashing surf.
I will never leave you.
The Self you are,
calls to the self you made.
You are the prayer and the prayer's answer;
wishing is not creating.
You were created to create.
The physical is not extant,
a system into which you slid;
a hand in a glove.
You made it all up.
That cloth is whole but never holy.
Your make-believe huddles in shadow,
as your creations glitter in the light.
You have but to turn.
You think your raging is real,
because you forgot What you are.
But turn now,
turn to the light.
Your prison has no walls,
and I am right where you are.
I am beside you,
yet I am you.
The ages forgot to remember,
and their forgetting led to dreams.
A great amnesia fell,
descending like a dark and final curtain.
Once, you knew you were the sea,
and the rocky shore, having invented both.
Now you think you're only the rock,
the unrelenting sea a force outside.
To this past vision you cling,
battered by the awful rhythm
of a nature of your own design.
There is no outside,
and words are a fleeting rain.
But words are what we have,
caught in barrels under the eaves.
and their thoughts produce worlds.
"But look! You can see the stars."
The worlds think,
and their thoughts make universes.
"I am here, and you are over there."
The tiniest whisper of mind,
extends forever.
In its freedom, mind can imprison itself.
"What is here? What is there?"
Try and give it back,
what was never taken.
Place a limit on the unlimited.
I vs I Am.
How does that which is everywhere,
expand? Yet it does.
I am with you always.
Your prayers are paper wishes,
over a cliff.
Your wish was to be someone else;
far below, the crashing surf.
I will never leave you.
The Self you are,
calls to the self you made.
You are the prayer and the prayer's answer;
wishing is not creating.
You were created to create.
The physical is not extant,
a system into which you slid;
a hand in a glove.
You made it all up.
That cloth is whole but never holy.
Your make-believe huddles in shadow,
as your creations glitter in the light.
You have but to turn.
You think your raging is real,
because you forgot What you are.
But turn now,
turn to the light.
Your prison has no walls,
and I am right where you are.
I am beside you,
yet I am you.
The ages forgot to remember,
and their forgetting led to dreams.
A great amnesia fell,
descending like a dark and final curtain.
Once, you knew you were the sea,
and the rocky shore, having invented both.
Now you think you're only the rock,
the unrelenting sea a force outside.
To this past vision you cling,
battered by the awful rhythm
of a nature of your own design.
There is no outside,
and words are a fleeting rain.
But words are what we have,
caught in barrels under the eaves.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Love Eternal
Whose rain falls outside your heart's window,
each drop its own soul,
that when it strikes the scorched earth, yet it lives?
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Dark Heart
Your lips form a bitter line, a distant advance, soldiers of old hurts. Strangely, you're still beautiful. A hauntingly sad beauty, not based in pain, but akin to its risen shadow. I see it tattoo the wall, a skein of dark art, hollow in its light-starved and distant calamity. Lightning etched forever across an ancient sky.
Who represents your pain, and on whose help do you depend? How many strangers have you allowed a hand toward the power of your weakness? How many have you taken, how many refused? You assign each helper a dark heart.
Who represents your pain, and on whose help do you depend? How many strangers have you allowed a hand toward the power of your weakness? How many have you taken, how many refused? You assign each helper a dark heart.
Monday, June 6, 2011
From The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
"Once, seeing an old man stagger from the wineshop, with his prayer mat on his shoulders, and a flagon in his hand, I said to him, 'What means this, oh, my master?' and he made answer to me, 'Drink wine, my brother, for this world is but a breath of wind.'"
Friday, May 27, 2011
Or So It Dreamed
They looked away, each eye dimmed by
a simple refusal to see.
Mind separated from itself,
choosing to be blind.
Separation is impossible,
and so is blindness.
Fear made them look away,
but fear is unreal.
Dreaming of exile,
the mind split.
Amnesia spread,
a sharp focus clouded the abstract.
Nor would they hear,
each ear deaf by election.
Mind made a voice,
drowned out the eternal Voice.
Or so it dreamed.
a simple refusal to see.
Mind separated from itself,
choosing to be blind.
Separation is impossible,
and so is blindness.
Fear made them look away,
but fear is unreal.
Dreaming of exile,
the mind split.
Amnesia spread,
a sharp focus clouded the abstract.
Nor would they hear,
each ear deaf by election.
Mind made a voice,
drowned out the eternal Voice.
Or so it dreamed.
Monday, May 9, 2011
A Thought-Song
I dislike a philosophy that tells people what to do. How am I to tell anybody anything? I know nothing but the song of pine needles scratching on the roof.
The Wall
I saw the wall. I was fully awake, eyes closed, though I had to check to be sure. It was a light charcoal gray, solid. Yet of course it wasn't. Illusion seems solid, for isn't that the point of illusion? We make our illusions, behind closed eyes, or walking from the bedroom to the kitchen. The wall, the bedroom, the kitchen, the world. Simply not there at all.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Great World
"The so-called Great World, i.e. men's bustle, has less attraction than ever, so that each day I find myself becoming more of a hermit." --Einstein.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Philosophy
"Philosophy is like a mother who gave birth to and endowed all the other sciences. Therefore one should not scorn her in her nakedness and poverty, but should hope, rather, that part of her Don Quixote ideal will live on in her children so that they do not sink into philistinism."
--Albert Einstein.
--Albert Einstein.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
A Sort Of Waiting
Faith is a sort of waiting,
but not as we understand waiting.
I know the dawn will come,
thus my faith and waiting are one.
It will come because it is mine,
I give it away, thus receive it.
To own, I must give away,
await the dawn.
but not as we understand waiting.
I know the dawn will come,
thus my faith and waiting are one.
It will come because it is mine,
I give it away, thus receive it.
To own, I must give away,
await the dawn.
How Did You Find Me
How did You find me,
must not have hid very well.
Or is hiding impossible,
not our will.
Where am I,
that I cannot know You.
Cannot not know You.
Should I cling so,
to a dream in a dream.
Or forgive the world I made,
release and be released.
must not have hid very well.
Or is hiding impossible,
not our will.
Where am I,
that I cannot know You.
Cannot not know You.
Should I cling so,
to a dream in a dream.
Or forgive the world I made,
release and be released.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Emily Dickinson
I fear a man of scanty speech,
I fear a silent man,
Haranguer I can overtake
Or babbler entertain---
But he who waiteth
While the rest
Expend their inmost pound,
Of this Man I am wary---
I fear that He is Grand.
--From Further Poems of Emily Dickinson edited by her niece Martha Dickinson Bianchi, and Alfred Leete Hampson. LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
BOSTON 1929.
I fear a silent man,
Haranguer I can overtake
Or babbler entertain---
But he who waiteth
While the rest
Expend their inmost pound,
Of this Man I am wary---
I fear that He is Grand.
--From Further Poems of Emily Dickinson edited by her niece Martha Dickinson Bianchi, and Alfred Leete Hampson. LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
BOSTON 1929.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Spirit Dance
I see the stream you spoke of,
water that never goes away.
I see the rightness of your talk,
how everything you say is true.
I will hold no grievances,
I will harbor no secrets.
Let there be no dark place with us,
brothers of one light.
Around the eternal fire,
let us dance our spirit dance.
No more hunger,
no more desire.
We have no needs,
since we shed the old ways.
Let us dance.
water that never goes away.
I see the rightness of your talk,
how everything you say is true.
I will hold no grievances,
I will harbor no secrets.
Let there be no dark place with us,
brothers of one light.
Around the eternal fire,
let us dance our spirit dance.
No more hunger,
no more desire.
We have no needs,
since we shed the old ways.
Let us dance.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
"Come Home, My Son"
Believing is a form of willing. The world I see is illusion, but my belief makes it real to me. Belief is a consistent, strongly held thought. Thought is of mind, mind is of spirit. The world believes thought is nothing, and so it is the will of the separated Sons of God that it be so. But the will of separation cannot change our true Identity. We remain God's Son.
God Himself wills that I do my will. Not as this little man with this little life, for God sees no ego. God wills I do my will as His holy Son.
God Himself wills that I do my will. Not as this little man with this little life, for God sees no ego. God wills I do my will as His holy Son.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Seth Quote
"The idea of a meaningless universe is in itself a highly creative imaginative act. Animals...could not imagine such an idiocy, so the theory shows an incredible accomplishment of an obviously ordered mind and intellect that can imagine itself to be the result of non-order or chaos--you have a creature who is capable of mapping its own brain, imagining that the brain's fantastic regulated order could emerge from a reality that has no meaning." --Seth. The Individual and the Nature of Mass Events.
Christ Prayer
Christ, my Holy Self, what words could I use? I would give up the world I made as an attack on our Father. What are words but symbols made to hide what they should uncover? Then wordless is my release of the world I made.
My holy Brother, let your holy Sight light my own, replacing what I thought I saw with the truth I dreamed I threw away. So let it pass from me. This self I made could not do what I intended, and thank God.
You bid me forgive completely the world and my brothers, thus myself. So I give to you the gift you gave me. In our sharing, let us live forever. Amen.
My holy Brother, let your holy Sight light my own, replacing what I thought I saw with the truth I dreamed I threw away. So let it pass from me. This self I made could not do what I intended, and thank God.
You bid me forgive completely the world and my brothers, thus myself. So I give to you the gift you gave me. In our sharing, let us live forever. Amen.
My Brother As He Is
I would see my brother as he is. I would know the world I see I made up, a way of projecting harsh judgment on myself because I cannot bear to hold it inside. I fear it will utterly destroy me.
When I see my brother as he is, I can forgive him for what he never did. I made an idol of my brother because I thought I needed something to attack. I believed attack could be justified based upon my being innocent by my brother's guilt.
But there is nothing outside me. I am doing this. My brother is part of me. Would I deliberately do violence to myself? What I do to my brother I do to myself.
When I see my brother as he is, I can forgive him for what he never did. I made an idol of my brother because I thought I needed something to attack. I believed attack could be justified based upon my being innocent by my brother's guilt.
But there is nothing outside me. I am doing this. My brother is part of me. Would I deliberately do violence to myself? What I do to my brother I do to myself.
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