Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Some people recycle
because they know the value of a note,
more so, of several
strung together just so....
ba dum pa da dee dum.
Yes? You know it?
But of course!
It is globalized, somewhat.
Some realize it is never born
twice the same.
It is always a newly opened event
(oh yes, an occasion -
all your realities, dreams, and regrets invited to gather
audience of one)!
Do you hold the presentation
out, a distance from your body
grateful, by God!
Someone has thought of you
by way of a melody,
less dissonant than your own.
Or do you make chaos of the packaging
ripping paper, bow, shredding skin
bleeding into your effort,
desperate to wear
such a thing as was designed, for you
at 6:45 PM on this...
...the devil's night?
(October 30th is referenced as Devil's Night, or Hell's Night. Thank you Marion, for the beauty you sent into it!)
Sunday, October 28, 2012
What we write is an expression of what needs outpouring, release, or clarification. It is so beyond us, that we look back on it in either repulsion or awe. Rarely do we say, "I did that", but rather "It needed doing."
(Reposting this poem from my dragonfly, Marion...)
Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End? By Mary Oliver
There are things you can’t reach. But
you can reach out to them, and all day long.
The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of God.
And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.
The snake slides away; the fish jumps, like a little lily,
out of the water and back in; the goldfinches sing
from the unreachable top of the tree.
I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.
Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
as though with your arms open.
And thinking: maybe something will come, some
shining coil of wind,
or a few leaves from any old tree–
they are all in this too.
And now I will tell you the truth.
Everything in the world
At least, closer.
Like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the unlooping snake.
Like goldfinches, little dolls of goldfluttering around the corner of the sky
of God, the blue air.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
In the fracture of so many pieces
it's amazing how light still manages to shine
between them, a type of binding.
No human effort could hold such shatter together
into a functional shape
yet a divine power gathers elements of chaos
into recognizable form.
We easily accept the dimension we are in.
We accept it as the only reality.
But we are changed by the light we allow through us
each new crack projecting the kaleidoscope
of something that never used to exist.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
I keep my hand on the knob
clenching and unclenching with fearful muscles
an emotional spasm if you will.
I want to slam the door.
I want to lock it.
I want someone else to lock it...remove my choice.
I want to fling it open
so hard that the latch is incompetent
nothing but decorative hardware to a swinging door,
removing my choice.
I want to assemble a deadbolt
that can only be opened from my side.
I want you to screw in a hook & eye
that I can easily batter through from my side
when I wish...
so that finality is not really
I want to leave this door.
I want to run so far that I am unable to return,
unable to find it when resolve wavers like a hiccup,
those quick ins and outs,
Lamaze breaths with no birth.
I want temptation removed.
I want to become this door.
I want my molecules to fuse with it
so that there is no possibility of separating myself
and temptation is mythical.
I want to destroy this door...
every scratch, dent, and warp that showcases my handiwork
I want to reconstruct this door
antique knob from decades ago
and new squeak free hinges.
But I am not a carpenter
and this is not a door.
It is a bridge.
And even though we are on different sides...
I will not burn it.