appropriation of light

the sounds we hear at the edge of the known
light in the trees the birds at work or play
we sense the fullness of this fresh spring day
what we can see is more than what is shown
the birds are here they have not further flown
we look outside and by the sun's bright ray
see greener grass and life sprouting from clay
white and pink flowers on many branches blown
and the clarity of light and sound we note
the voices tell us things we've longed to hear
work summons but the call is not so loud
as to silence each heart we're called upon to vote
for what we like most at the turning year
but here for this moment we can avoid the crowd

right mindfulness

impact of messages senses must derange
what rejoices marks a kinship with the past
what's most familiar becomes most strange

emotions and sensations will arrange
into those shapes that potters may cast
impact of messages senses must derange

with no respectfulness signals will exchange
with symbols that pass by our vision fast
what's most familiar becomes most strange

the job of cultivation keeps going at the grange
meanwhile the ship's boy stands before the mast
impact of messages senses must derange

you hold things back we give our hopes their range
in between horrors we all will have a blast
what's most familiar becomes most strange

rejecting all stability what we embrace is change
we know that life and light just will not last
impact of messages senses must derange
what's most familiar becomes most strange

what choices have i

i name my apprehension but it remains
to haunt me at the noon no light of sun
penetrates these corners and i can't run
faster than myself inside always rains
there isn't room here to list all the strains
the shadow falls when most i'm having fun
thoughts of the waiting hawk nothing done
by me can compensate for all the pains
i've taken to mark off the normal space
for life and thought the work that's made
to suit my agile mind and all the fleeting time
that seems to hurry in much faster race
past me and through me on the long parade
that takes us forward but not to the sublime

melancholy joy

shorn of all inelegance the spaces fill
with all the memories that we can bear
moving from cool to warm along the year
the light is sharp the trees are very still
walkers are quiet going down the hill
for once we name and master all our fear
duty we have and with that duty care
but what may happen must do so by will
not now the time for our tempers to fray
allow our sentiments their proper spaces
shaping the time's an overwhelming task
the mind into odd paths we will let stray
amazing each with such unexpected graces
the smiling visage under the hard mask
what matters here is that we have to ask
not for what we must but what we may
rejoice in while each finger interlaces
with the next hand the sun's glowing ray
brings out the colour in our winter faces
allows us joy in the most boring task
welcome to us is this amazing hour
when the small bud turns into brilliant flower

without transition

within the moment what room to be
no sham this enterprise emergent
what not to understand or even see

the answer that arrives most urgent
wherever growth resumes in spring
grass climbing up the slope resurgent

not heard the telephone's faint ring
messages taken coming across ocean
all avian creatures rise on happy wing

soothed by the touch of emollient lotion
a storm recedes clouds scurry west
there's no reason for any great commotion

instead we ask each candidate for the test
not for an answer but a better query
selecting all the bad ones not the best

the response given does not make us teary
intensity of concern drives us wild
but we have got good reason to be wary

the adult carries in his soul the child
that looked on the wide world with wonder
and now considers things and is not mild

what had created such a curious blunder
the sense of being not a whole but part
of some smaller being with no thunder

we go back and examine from the start
the nastier production of the torpid night
and see in them the makings of new art

it is our duty here to make clean light

continuous service

evening light thoughts come to me of rest
but much to do and much more to be done
large orange ball of the declining sun
heads down the slope of sky to the southwest
it seems to me that none of this is a test
life is for real right from the starter's gun
there is a battle it may be lost or won
but the duffer ends up equal with the best
long days to come we sense the promised heat
warmer the world and weary are the ways
this is the magic moment of the soothing light
life moves for now to a far slower beat
the race will happen soon for none stays
the coming of the stars and gloom of night

(no subject)

how many i wonder read eliot for pleasure
the faber book of modern verse with devotion
at thirteen with a real library as treasure
while others looked at it as work the notion
did not enter my mind there was so much
to find so much to read the deepest sense
of exploration the need to reach and touch
all that creation all that truth without pretense
no need for magic with those words of power
opening worlds and letting infinite space
into a nutshell i still regard each short hour
as not enough i'd found at last the place
where i could stand at par with them that know
and let my thought in those deep waters flow

the hall of the mountain god

with careful step the hill we climb
the temple there is pale and old
the trees are bare feeling the cold
stark walls are here coated with rime
sensations far from being sublime
enfold us this is not the story told
to those who climbed up here for gold
this place reminds us of another time
the god has long departed from his place
the priests still shuffle with feet of woe
no sacrifice suffices for our need
above us in the infinity of space
the stars in their fixed patterns go
and infinite divinities their ichor bleed