Garden is the mirror of man

It wasn’t man that planted

garden

that sowed the

first fruits

that bid heaven

relinquish!

water this earth.

Was soul there in void

to whisper

most secret wants?

A stream, a flower

a twinkling star

a patterned heavens, a mystery

to give thought.

Body Reformed

Cloth I wrap

synthetically

a sluice of movement

and body-garbed

A slice of skin

cover

flapping in terrific

wind

Why not blow?

The Second Fall

Daniel Warren's complaint:

Horizontally I seek

always at right-angle

to the force.

My work theorem always empty

and my direction

without choice.

If only vertical were my dimension,

to be in tune

with fleeting moments

of sheer height.

It was that robbed from me

with my fall from

paradise.

For you I can write love

I think of Donne’s

romance and understanding,

of sonnets too, too real

Of the bliss in How do I love thee

but also the self guile.

I don’t write easily of love

somehow the embarrassment

sets my hand uneasy

upon the page.

So why do you stir in me

these attempts to create more

than I can achieve?

Bound Again

Your soul looks out from

behind your eyes

and would, I think,

leave that place

To meet me

between these worlds

and mingle here outside

of space.

And our spirits would soar

at moments of touch

like autumn leaves

in the wind

carrying the prayers of

deeply rooted trees

mingle and dance once

but not again.

Love

You come to me and ask

the meaning

of this word.

How can I tell you?

How would I know?

I can drop you hints

point you in directions,

Wind you up with lessons taught me

watch you buckle and break

I never found the same meaning

twice,

In some way white had

become gray.

Never in my head was it clear

but just over there,

it was always that near.

Flood-tide

The flood-tide

of my soul

is more than universe

can contain

The pounding

heart of rhythm

drowns the sound

of star-rain

In universe

tonight there is

no vessel

that can stand

the strain

Yet you

hold my soul firmly

in your hand.

The Bond

 A couch of flowers

she offered

and there I stupidly lay

To see a man amply

satisfied

again with this offering

God stood amazed

But there’s an emptiness

of the flesh

that creates a potential

to conduct

a touch

entire and quick

to fill him enough

Virginia near the beach

Virginia near the beach

I pulled my love close

to me,

Her eyes never turned from

the horizon

at Norfolk near the sea.

How far to the horizon?

I asked my love

she said,

It’s forever to the horizon

forever and a day.

If my heart were an emptiness

If my heart were

a flame

flickering in the wind

Would you cup your hands

in protection

till I grew strong again?

If my heart were

a snowflake

caught in an early spring

Would you flee with me

northward

till I grew firm again?

For a maid

There was a time

you held a world for me

secret and secluded

from mine

It drew me near

as if to explore

ancient ways

in new lands

I only mouth the words

Curling

on a chair

in soft afternoon light

from a window

She reclines at ease

with a

spring catalog

full of summer clothes.

Men tend to make

fantasy

reality, she says.

Sleep my child, peaceful sleep

What do I tell my child

of megatons, of megatons

What do I tell my child?

What do I tell my child

of fallout fears, fallout fears

What do I tell my child?

Sleep my child, peaceful sleep.

The fleeting things

The fleeting things of

this world

are its beauty,

a flower, a sunny day

a shared moment

between friends

A young boy or girl

with little time

to be young

a late snow

in the early spring

Natural Universe

You never want to go anywhere

seeing as how you hold

what foolish nonsense a dance be.

But this time you’re going, by God,

so put on your best;

You’ll ride up front with me.

Can’t you feel the excitement from

over the ridge?

Why it’s a county social

for the great Independence Day.

Don’t start groaning

'bout how silly people get at these.

Just keep quiet

if you’ve got nothing good to say.

Farther up the hill

A butterfly yesterday morning

crossed the snowy April fields,

I suppose he was chasing his fancy

farther up the hill.

But then he veered from flight,

wild flowers down by the brook

had called to him quietly,

to come take a look.

The Naked Eye

“Father,” the boy said, “what is the quest

of man?”

“Why, nothing more than to see beyond

the naked eye my boy.”

They walked a time and a ways without

speaking.

To stay your smile

I miss the days that will never be

with you, here with me

I miss the laughs we would’ve shared

the lovers laugh

for no reason.

The future I miss more than

the past,

for the past will dim

but the future will always

be bright,

Held like a light just out of reach

never out of sight.

... surely the people is grass

  The voice said, Cry.

And he said, what shall I cry?

All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof

is as the flower of the field;

The grass withereth,

the flower fadeth;

because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon

it;

The winnowy dust mote

 Tired like the winnowy dust mote

I flote

'til down a swirl,

I whirl

Caught!

I thought,

Decision made

I lade plans

with more might

than most motes.

Somewhere in this clay

Be quiet my soul

for there’s no one to hear

Your frustration I feel

pressing against my chest

and heart

Be careful there

you put too much strain

on my heart, my soul

be careful there.

To loose the marble spell

Gaze at the marble block

see the grain that marks the cut

The tools of the sculptor

are in the hands

Strike a bold plan.

The shape therein

a brief moment is seen

Only to be lost in the flurry

of creation

As the chisels ordered precision

wedge-shapes the pale virgin.

The Climax, is the Kill

African savannah

grassland

dark-skinned animal

the protein is in

the kill.

Stand and stalk

for the hunter walks

to sharpen his sight

on a new way of life.

So Why So Many ... ?

The truth,

great poets teach,

is the one Golden Bough

So why plant so many words?

So why continue to plough?

So why continue the harvest,

if the truth is known to man?

That good is one way in this world,

and evil the other plan.

The Cutting

There was a flower cutting

over the sink

last morning

Drawing life

from careless spills.

From the wasted motions

of thoughtless strangers

As with a salve

its cut was healed.

A Southern Smile

Chair, the room with

white walls

Come… sit down to fry.

My body balloons with

a fever

Mother somewhere, cries…