| how new the world is trying to find nerve in an old rind (ii) the bread is crumbled for birds to swallow rolled into droppings flowers from the hair of noseless statues tyrants of parks where men have cowered too long and mistaken unmanned by he dark (iii) when we awaken (how have we fallen) machines are broken wires lie strangled by the messages they nursed lathes are swinging from trees in derision pipes burst and scalded houses contorted (what went on in such rooms that stare from their windows) cars tap the kerb their eyes put out by the order of fingers that have jabbed through the skin of the earth infected with visions there is ink in us swirling (if we spill it we bloom) – no writing erupting from the cave where the guilt-laden beast has his parchment will do for our murders we must stab with a brash shape of pen no quill but a sting-ray (iv) marshes are the womb of the poor – the flowers that creep out of doors will be crowned by and by will unite with the worm who (crawling for light in the last breath of time) mangles itself in the cogs of the cyclops who crashes to death unable to function hence the sun is revealed parasites begin the digestion in the harsh shack of winter corn is conspired the marsh bares its breast to a medal a gold leaf is born – there is hatred and hunger a cry from the rushes proclaims a long journey whose sundown will see us in safety – whose home be our grave where we scratch there is blood on the rockface that we murder ourselves is no setback – we arise from the tomb unprovided what-is-known is our crutches let the light kick them from us the sun eats us up and renews us inside me am i turning to stone the drill niggles downwards there may be oil in my bone though the flesh is all gone only in the dark was it dumb if we squeeze our darkness through a doorway what new voice might come (v) how old the world is trying to put grey on a green shoot how thick the answers when questions find nerve in a new mind |
Category: Poetry
Tuesday Poetry On Wednesday…../.
Reason and Passion XV
And the priestess spoke again and said: “Speak to us of Reason and Passion.”
And he answered saying:
Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against passion and your appetite.
Would that I could be the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and the rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody.
But how shall I, unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all your elements?
Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul.
If either your sails or our rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas.
For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction.
Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion; that it may sing;
And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes.
I would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you would two loved guests in your house.
Surely you would not honour one guest above the other; for he who is more mindful of one loses the love and the faith of both.
Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows – then let your heart say in silence, “God rests in reason.”
And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky, – then let your heart say in awe, “God moves in passion.”
And since you are a breath In God’s sphere, and a leaf in God’s forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion.
Tuesday Poetry Selection……
Famous
The river is famous to the fish.The loud voice is famous to silence,which knew it would inherit the earthbefore anybody said so.The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birdswatching him from the birdhouse.The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.The idea you carry close to your bosomis famous to your bosom.The boot is famous to the earth,more famous than the dress shoe,which is famous only to floors.The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries itand not at all famous to the one who is pictured.I want to be famous to shuffling menwho smile while crossing streets,sticky children in grocery lines,famous as the one who smiled back.I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,but because it never forgot what it could do.
Tuesday Poetry……
When The Light Appears
Lento
You’ll bare your bones you’ll grow you’ll pray you’ll only know
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
You’ll sing & you’ll love you’ll praise blue heavens above
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
You’ll whimper & you’ll cry you’ll get yourself sick and sigh
You’ll sleep & you’ll dream you’ll only know what you mean
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
You’ll come & you’ll go, you’ll wander to and fro
You’ll go home in despair you’ll wonder why’d you care
You’ll stammer & you’ll lie you’ll ask everybody why
You’ll cough and you’ll pout you’ll kick your toe with gout
You’ll jump you’ll shout you’ll knock you’re friends about
You’ll bawl and you’ll deny & announce your eyes are dry
You’ll roll and you’ll rock you’ll show your big hard cock
You’ll love and you’ll grieve & one day you’ll come believe
As you whistle & you smile the lord made you worthwhile
You’ll preach and you’ll glide on the pulpit in your pride
Sneak & slide across the stage like a river in high tide
You’ll come fast or come on slow just the same you’ll never know
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
Tuesday Poetry……
Self-Knowledge XVII
And a man said, “Speak to us of Self-Knowledge.”
And he answered, saying:
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart’s knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always know in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.
And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.
Say not, “I have found the truth,” but rather, “I have found a truth.”
Say not, “I have found the path of the soul.” Say rather, “I have met the soul walking upon my path.”
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.
