and that is when
the Beloved said,
(and this is, of course,
a rough translation),
Hey, bowing’s nice,
but wouldn’t you rather
jump up and play chase
or a round of badminton,
perhaps?
Archive for June, 2014
I’d Been Bowing for Days
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged appreciation, play, poem, poetry, reverence, sacred path on June 11, 2014| 1 Comment »
Learning to Say Yes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, alphabet menagerie, letter u, poem, poetry on June 9, 2014| 1 Comment »
(another poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie project)
Obey the poem’s emerging form.
—Jack Mueller
This is the poem in which you accept
that anything might happen next.
A red umbrella might fall from the sky
and offer a ride to Belgium.
A constellation of bright sea urchins might
walk by on their tiny transparent adhesive
tube feet. Or perhaps a petulant cherub,
unhappy with a day full of broken hearts,
might urinate on the next line. It happens
in poems all the time—the improbable,
the profane, paired side by side
with the miraculous. Like love. Unicorns, well,
they are more often saved for fairy tales and
UFOs, they belong more to sci fi texts.
But why not have them here? In this poem, ukeleles
might serenade the next stanza with their sweet Hawaiian twang
and their hint of exotic happiness.
An umbrella parakeet might fly its way in,
or a strange man might enter
and wonder “Why?” It happens,
it happens in poems all the time. Though
there are never any simple answers. Always paradox.
The Great Bear in Ursa Major just might hunch over
any errant rhymes and strew them like stars
across the sky. Or a cow might stroll through
with its pale pink udders reminding you
of other things you have never done.
Oh, there you are, you made it
at last into the poem. I was hoping
you would show up, not like in one of those
terrible dreams where you’re wearing only
your underwear and you’re afraid everyone
will notice. No, here you are, ready to do
whatever the poem asks of you, which is
to say yes to whatever happens next,
though the poem is as unstable as uranium,
as fickle as a butterfly in a whole field
of open flowers, and you will be asked to make peace
with not knowing what the poem really means.
And yes, you will say, yes. And you will perhaps see
how you are the umbrella, the seven stars, the parakeet,
the urchins slowly moving their way across the sea.
Taraxacum
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dandelion, gratitude, poem, poetry, wonder on June 8, 2014| Leave a Comment »
Gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.
—G.K. Chesterton
Standing in the field of golden blooms
it is easy to feel happiness. So bright,
after all, and such an abundance! Oh yellow!
Yellow all nodding and splayed! And then, well, happy
of course, because it is not my yard, and dandelions
are undeniably weeds. You know, the rubbery leaves.
The way they squeak underfoot when you walk.
The way that after a week or two they turn into gray seed
and proliferate successfully, as weeds do. It’s harder then,
once all the white wishes are spent and the hollow
stems stand naked and dull, harder to believe
that the pilgrims brought them to this land on purpose.
So many things are just this way—vibrant
for such a short season. But don’t fast forward. Admire
how they grow almost everywhere, from the Arctic Circle
to sub-Antarctica. That alone is cause for wonder.
Today, couple wonder with gold, miles and miles
of golden sway, and that, my friends,
makes for this curious tide of gratitude that rises
out of who knows where in the body and makes us want
to run out into the field and become the field
and wade in the gold and weave ourselves into the current.
Who could believe in a clock? Who could believe
there is anything to do in this moment but meet it and play?
What We Practice While Singing A Capella
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged a capella, communion, music, singing, unity on June 7, 2014| Leave a Comment »
for Heartbeat
Here, rest in my voice
on this note we share.
And when you breathe,
I will carry the song.
And when I breathe
I know you’ll be there.
And this is how
the song goes on.
And this is how
we disappear.
Six Musings on Breaking the Magic
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged "breaking the magic", poem, poetry on June 5, 2014| Leave a Comment »
inspired by a challenge from Danny and Thalia
it is not like a vase,
magic—nothing we can do
can break it
*
breaking the magic—
the tear opened the moment
to a new magic
*
we thought we broke it,
but the magic was just playing
hide and seek
*
the more we break
the more room there is
for magic to enter
*
I’m breaking
said the woman, never before
noticing she was in a shell
*
if it breaks,
the magic, then make
of yourself a wand
Living by Breaking
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged heartache, love, opening, poem, poetry on June 4, 2014| 4 Comments »
The heart breaks and breaks and lives by breaking.
Stanley Kunitz, “Testing Tree”
Like any other muscle,
the heart, when injured,
will clench, and will stay that way
for a long, long time, most likely
long past the time of usefulness.
But when it relaxes again,
perhaps because it has been touched
in just the right way, or perhaps
just because it is exhausted
with its own clenching, well then
it is like when the sun hits the forest
in late morning and releases the scent
of pine and greening leaves.
And it is like when you walk past a spring
and a dozen blue butterflies all brush
you with their wings, a feeling so impossibly
soft and tender that you cannot help
but let the heart stay open, though you know
it will be wounded again. It is not
in the end the heart itself that matters.
It is the practice of releasing again, again.
Ready to Learn a New Way
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, self-destructive behavior, transformation, unlearning on June 3, 2014| 1 Comment »
I am perhaps like the fish
who is attracted to the hook,
the thrill of the line—
though barb is sharp,
at least for a moment
I know what it’s like
to fly.
Eight Self-Portraits
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged opening, poem, poetry on June 2, 2014| 1 Comment »
after the glass slipper fit
deciding to go barefoot
anyway
*
I could be more open
if you stopped reaching
said the hand
*
black sheep, black sheep
you are such a fool, yes sir yes sir
eyes don’t go with wool
*
peeking into my broken heart
only to find another heart broken
a breeze goes through
*
we could dance more often
if you sang more
said the toes
*
even sad songs
are good
for dancing
*
look at her
thinking she has to try harder
her hands two hummingbirds
*
it never came back,
that goldfinch, but every morning
she sets out the seeds
A Dozen New Views
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged box, ekphrasis, emergence, entrapment, Joseph Cornell, poem, poetry on June 1, 2014| 1 Comment »
after looking long at Joseph Cornell’s Untitled assemblage (“The Hotel Eden”)
take the center
out of the spiral, it is
still a spiral
*
this list
of things to do—
not one word legible
*
after you set me free
holding my own leash
between my teeth
*
directions to Eden—
! but the starting point
has been rubbed away
*
inside a world
another world with another
world inside
*
waiting for the world to tip,
this motionless yellow ball
*
what if the frame
just fell off, how might we
see each other then
*
a jar full of unidentified things—
shall we open it?
*
so may places for the eye to land
so many places to gather dust
so little impulse to dust them
*
where would we be
without the diagonal—
one boring box after another
*
it will never fly away,
this green bird, still watching
the spring that will never
be sprung
*
perhaps this bird knows
what I have been trying to learn
there is nowhere
but here
to arrive