Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘mind’

 

 

 

A mallard swims

in the beaver pond,

the sunlight makes

green praise of its head

 

and for an instant

the whole world

revolves around

emerald sheen.

 

There is little else

that’s green here,

though it is late spring—

but over 10,000 feet

 

the snow tends to linger.

This is a place where

the mind doesn’t hesitate

to offer its attention

 

to the sharp scent of trees,

to the snaking trickle of snowmelt,

to the thrill of cold air

in the lungs. And in giving

 

itself away, the mind

becomes clearer, becomes

a shining and natural thing,

like a mallard wing, like

 

a tree just before leafing,

like a canyon in which

the lush green world

is just about to emerge.

Read Full Post »

After Reading the Rules

 

 

 

It wasn’t that hard to figure out,

Mrs. White with the revolver in the conservatory.

It took less than half an hour—

 

the right questions asked, the right rolls

of the dice, the luck of being in the right

room at the right time.

 

Some mysteries persist—you know,

the ones that keep you awake. No cards

neatly dealt to the players. No brown paper envelope

 

containing the answers. No score sheet

with a finite grid of possibilities. I walk out

and look up at the stars. A voice from nowhere

 

says the words I do not really want to hear,

but it says them with such tenderness:

some mysteries are not meant to be solved.

 

I feel some part of me relax, though the mind, well,

it loves a good game. It reaches for a pencil, sharpens

the lead, creates a grid, looks for clues in every room.

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

Pantoum for the Ego

Sometimes it’s hard to let things go.
They keep returning to the mind
like echoes in a narrow canyon—
hello, hello, hello, hello.

They keep returning to the mind,
these images, these pushy thoughts,
hello, hello, hello, hello,
like stones dropped into glassy ponds.

These images, these pushy thoughts—
like neighbors who keep knocking, knocking,
like stones dropped into glassy ponds.
And trying to stop them makes it worse.

Like neighbors who keep knocking, knocking,
these same darn thoughts, these same darn thoughts.
And trying to stop them makes it worse.
I give up, I give up, I give up, I give up.

These same darn thoughts, these same darn thoughts,
I’m, encircled by these same darn thoughts.
I give up. I give up. I give up. I give up.
Oh make them stop, please make them stop.

I’m encircled by these same darn thoughts
like echoes in a narrow canyon.
Oh make them stop, please make them stop.
Sometimes it’s hard to let things go.


*The pantoum is a poetic form from Malaysia that plays on repetition. Two lines, the second and fourth lines, are carried forward into the next stanza as the first and third lines. The poem ends by repeating the first and third lines from the first stanza, weaving them with the second and fourth lines from the penultimate stanza.

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: