There is a silence to the south
A burning mystery
Rolling over the tip of a tongue
Sliding gently into a memory
That could be a story
If only it were written there
On parchment or bare skin
The back of a hand
Or a stark street sign
Lit by the blankness of night
The wind brings with it a storm
Rattling steel and bone
With it's delicate deluge
In this quivering possibility
It is nothingmore
Than heaven at a distance
Take it all in
Right or wrong
And if that is so
All that is left
Is to swim
Concern yourself less with love and more with loving.
My salmon body sleeps
taken by a dream-awake serenity.
My body, like a fish, like a man
I have said, "attend to the breath".
The elusive, magnificent breath.
I have said each moment
is an eternity.
Slaked by this river of breath
below osprey depth,
the river breathes and dreams
my body--, is my dreambody.
She is sunlight in eddies
and on colorful rounded stones.
Nearby--, she is nearby.
My arm drapes him. Such calm.
Such a deep dive, so cool, warm
and then the sky darkens.
The river would pull me under
in the torrent of sleep.
Sleep, tugging me under,
Osprey sleep, storm sleep.
I am becoming man,
rising from sleep.
which means rooted
and now the sky can be the sky again
and a hand in the place of a hand
and a foot in the place of a foot
it feels like stepping over a chasm
looks like leaping a void
but it is no risk
and tender enough to
slough off the drama
take off your boots
it looks like a crushing blow
but the wound is in the past
Last edited by River; 06-13-2011 at 03:27 PM.
A Fire for the Deep Earth
This part is my own.
I have it within me to handle it myself.
I have made a fire and I am burning lack.
I am using tenderness as flame.
The Deep Earth Herself
Everything I really desire
You are here with me,
your drum in hand,
You are one who knows
an overripe peach will fall,
the corn and squash
The people will eat
of the Deep Earth.
Last edited by River; 06-15-2011 at 02:02 PM.
awake again before dawn
again on the edge of morning
heart full of wordless poems
and imageless sensations
what can a man do when
he is overflowing? he can
lie there and take it
as it is
he will arise, eventually
to drink cool water
and he will come to the kitchen window
and there will be a glint
a glint of pure heart
hanging on the roses
Silence is Everything
Silence is everything
that wants to dance,
that wants to break into poem.
One cannot break silence.
Stillness longs for a spring breeze.
Fulfillment is searching out longing.
Fire and water swoon and sizzle
This is the life!
this is the vivid inside of the poem
this is the end of all searching
this is the indwelling of the found world
gone is the shroud of seeking
what was known at a distance
the vivid inside of the world
images fall away
this is no fiction
this is the essence of life
this is the falling away of masks
this is the dropping away of armor
this is the unfolding mystery
this is home!
this i've always known
this is the final truth
this is the nature of things
this is home!
all of the givers know it
all who shiver glow it
any of us may instantly bestow it
this is home!
Suppose You Have Travelled
Suppose you have travelled very far, very fast.
Suppose you have risked what you thought was everything.
And suppose arrival is nothing more than an infinite journey.
There is no parade in your honor. And you wouldn't like that, anyway.
Suppose the moon kisses the sun.
Suppose the Earth Herself bid Welcome!
Suppose you are no less lost now than ever.
Suppose you're far more vulnerable.
Suppose you've forsaken the Booby Prize.
Suppose it won't make the news today.
Suppose it hurts. Suppose you are broken still.
Suppose only broken ones can enter this gateless gate.
Suppose children, boys in pink shirts! Suppose girls in yellow dresses.
Suppose ignorance and bliss. Suppose barefoot and suppose hammocks.
Suppose endless poems. Suppose endless music. Suppose surprise endings at the end.
Propose apparently the impossible. Suppose courage. Propose innocense, suppose mispellings!
Encourage typos, risk everything.
Last edited by River; 06-17-2011 at 08:51 PM.