Poetry for Scientists
----------------------------- Next to Godliness Nov 5, 1998 Bond, James Bond Wayne, John Wayne Eastwood, Clint Eastwood. God, to be as powerful as these men. To kill the guy, to get the girl, to get the money, the picture, the fame. How do these guys do it? Travolta, John Travolta Gere, Richard Gere Pitt, Brad Pitt. God, to be as popular as they are. They get the lines, the sex, the angle shots. How do these guys do it? Murry, Bill Murry Crystal Billy Crystal Murphy, Eddy Murphy. Cool and perfect timing. They get all the laughs, the girls. Humor is next to Godliness. How do these guys do it? Miller, Henry Miller Shakespeare, William Shakespeare Dylan, Bob Dylan How do they do it? Get all the good lines, see things clearly, spin popular, insightful, powerful phrases. I just want to be one of the guys. ******* Luckily there is no source for darkness. ******* To the Sound of Crickets Chirping July 12, 1997 Coffee, three tomatoes sitting on a plate.... this table... It's all here. No other place, no other time. Never seeing our eyes, we see through them.; reaching is unnecessary. Being one-sided, where can reality go? Being everywhere, where can it go? ******* A firefly aglow in the forest, can't it serve as the North Star? ******* Timekeeper March 16, 1999 A wooden pendulum sweeps back and forth across a valley of fire. Push it away. It draws near and reveals its sweet perfume. Push it away. It swings across and returns again over the eternally raging flames. Mmmmm...smell the sweet fragrance of slightly smoked cinder... push it away. ******* No one pointed a finger when Buddha detached himself from his sphincter muscles. In this realization, he sheepishly smiled, "What is the sound of one cheek flapping?" They all laughed. Non-judgement frees the mind, like one hand clapping. ******* Like This April 30, 1999 Crack the shell let wind and water waste you. Try as you might, your first and last motion is downward. Roots, roots before stem, roots before flower. Try as they might, trees never leave the ground. Leaves may rise and fall but all will eventually settle. There's no escaping it, the first and last motion is downward. A flower may come and go, but not away. This is the embrace of Mother. Into the weight of her broad hips we are pulled. Her possessiveness is our sense of home. Our falling is our security. When we let go, we're held in place. We can run, but not away. Crack the shell let wind and water waste you. Try as you might, your first and last motion is upward. Sperm swim upstream like salmon going home. Like molten lava we erupt from our mother's belly. Like vapor rising to seed the sky, we grow. Like the perfumed essence that hides in flowers and lovers' dreams. Like that which keeps the earth and stars and us from falling. Like love from the heart that rises to fertilize the mind. Like spirit ascending sacred landscape. Like this breath pulsing upward. Like eternal hope and deliverance, we are forever lifted upward. And try as we might to hold on we all will go away. ******* August 7, 1997 Everything making it up, it makes up everything. The unified field speaks of creation as a whole. Something huge keeps saying hello in small faces. Existence spells off its special signature one letter at a time. If everything came about all at once... ******* When books go to their final resting place, tucked away in the world's warehouses, trees will sing hallelujah! and begin to tell us stories of the forest. ******* The pond dreams it's a cloud and lifts into the sky. A tree branch in hand--when does it die? From here you can see the forest growing. Some will lie silly in my wood pile. Fire will take them up and return their dreams to the sun. ******* |
Poems from the Heart
----------------------------- Inside the Center Sept 2, 2000 It danced tonight and the stars fell down. The oceans dried up. They were happy to disappear. Charmed. Everything stops when it stirs Non-existence is the state of greatest respect when it dances. If you know that movement within you then you understand how you need to bow before it. Trees lay themselves bare, flowers put aside their fragrance, When the ocean and stars return all aglow like the sun, what was broken will be fixed, and what was empty will be full. ******* The dark sea is raging and my boat is far from home. Waves hammer the deck and my compass has loosened. As the world around me is beaten down, I reach for solid ground, dry land. Bit by bit my boat is swallowed by the sea. In the midst of the madness there is a still pool... a journey inside to the paradise of all the worlds. ******* Shuttle May 24, 1987 Across the heavens and beyond the stars, a magical distance neither here nor far... At the edge of the darkness lies a loom being strung. frayed strands are knotted, creation begun. Threads-attached and crosshatched; intent begins to show. As far as the eye can see a weave begins to grow. The braided threads are tightly fed through warped and patterned course; out and back, no slip no slack, the design never lost. The weave in the ocean, the weave in the tree, the weave in the garden; in the sky above me. The thread is one thread, the tapestry the same. The sun is my Mother, the Universe my name. Magic is the commonplace: a song, a breath, a sound. Look within the fabric, the weaver can be found. Across the heavens and beyond the stars, a magical distance neither near nor far. Within my chest is stitched a guest... a common place for a solar star. ******* Love God. Exalt Ra, in the light, love God. Follow Moses, in the law, love God. Obey Jehoveh, be diligent, love God. Welcome Mohammed, be merciful, love God. Listen to Buddha, be free, love God. Accept Jesus, and your brother, love God. Sing and dance with Wakan Tanka, love God. Give to Jim and Tammy, give, love God. Sit Zazen, empty, love God. Walk the Tao, it's the Way, love God. Trust yourself, be direct, love God. ******* How we place that which we love in the middle. The heart of the sandwich the rhyme in the card the story within the covers the way we wrap our lovers in our arms the smile we smile behind our eyes. between our ears. The honey-glow in the center of our being. ******* May 21, 2000 Why would I want my soul full when it's hunger that drives me on? Yet, even when we feast all night long there's always room for one more morsel of delight. ******* Hide and Seek May 21, 2000 Why run away like this: I pretend to move to other parts of myself, and begin to ask questions. Why do I try to deny you anything? In my make-believe corner of the unniverse I imagine I can't find you. And you always play along. I never picture your face in detail, so if we meet, please point yourself out. Those kisses you send into my heart are more than I can learn to love. Maybe this is why I pretend to move away from you: make-up love is the best. How is it that I keep fooling myself, that one moment you're here and in the next you're not? They tell me that you want me to be you. But if we already are... Each of us, and yet, only you. ******* The Lord's Prayer And the God said: my love is boundless and seamless I am always watchful over you everything that I have done has been done for you you are never outside my compassion and understanding you are forever saved, and never damned you are universal and complete in my likeness and when you think you leave I draw you ever nearer; you are my yearning that never leaves me. ******* Zen Welcomes the Buddha August 22, 1987 How does one welcome home the Buddha? By sitting quietly and not stirring by greeting him at the edge of the village with outstretched arms with singing and dancing and sweetmeats! By realizing that the Buddha cannot leave, therefore he cannot return. How does one welcome home the Buddha? With love and joy in the heart with clarity and resolve. As Buddha wishes. How does one welcome home the Buddha? Does Buddha care? Does that matter? How does one welcome home the Buddha? All at once! ******* |
Observations
----------------------------- Tequila Meltdown July 12, 1997 We discover the world has limitations. We reach the end; there is nothing new left. Everything lies in the past; everything now is repetition. To find some sweet long lasting sweetness, wouldn’t that be sweet? And here is where we leave the ideas of this world behind. ******* Hearth May 26, 1999 I made a mistake and wrote the wrong poem. I don't know where it came from, or how it happened. The words were mine, but the ideas were... I wrote the wrong poem. I meant to say something else. But I wrote what... someone was feeling. The poem said, here, take my heart. What it meant to say was, here is my love. When freezing seek an ember, When warm, share one.. Take away burning coals for your hearth. And as you steal away into the night shut tight the door behind you. ******* Awaiting Kristen Aug 25, 1998 No. But something vague says yes. No. Actions speak louder than wishes. There are whispers about potential. But there is no evidence for anticipation. Yes: the softness in her eyes. There's a special burial ground for burned love poems.... No two situations are ever the same. I'm doing the work of two when there's only one. I have an appointment with rejection. ******* Thoughts are staionary. It's the mind that's moving. ******* Unopened Nov 1998 Hearts in a box fresh in the box changeless, no wear no tear never broken. ******* Love Poem Nov 24, 1998 Can we hate unconditionally? You know, hating just for the heck of it, no reason. I feel un-American if I don't hate something. To belong, I choose to unconditionally hate. How clean, how direct, no bull, no explanations. The simplicity of unconditional hate. Blameless hate, no guilt, no reason! You gotta love it. Are we in any condition to be conditional? We love because it feels good. Who can you trust? ******* April 20, 1999 All over itself, grass has no shame. Trees are dignified. Slowly, discretely roots reach out and curl around one another. Branches grow and intertwine, like a lover's constant welcome. ******* Webs Sept 4, 2000 The spiders have been working hard this morning. The dew settles on their shop windows; beacons to be avoided by the wise. These busy weavers would gladly suit you up with some fine silken threads. Such nimble fingers, will taylor a fit; no baggies here. Browse, but plan to stay awhile. Instant service and lasting attention. If somehow you manage to escape their hard sell, their children will go hungry. So, if you're in the garment district today, watch out for storefronts that sparkle. Shopping there could cost you an arm and a leg. ******* Release May 8, 1999 An old farmer has come out to the road to cut back the underbrush. He uncovers a stone wall hidden by the growth. With saw and sickle he releases the wall. As with all work, he has created more work. His wall needs harnessing and mending. Disguised as a forest, it has gone the way of the wild. A stone here, a gap there. The creatures that live within like the neighborhood just the way it is: skylights, patios, indoor waterfalls. But the farmer now has a vision of what the wall is to become. How it should be. How it was. As a small child he inherited the wall and now he will set its course aright. To keep out what never should have trespassed, and protect that which is within, which should have always been protected. ******* A Pause in Time We balance like a cane on end we teeter like drunkards, travel like pendulums. When we come to our senses it won't matter if it's raining. When that pause in time for insanity slams into the next real moment, gears will mesh together, and time will grind on again. ******* |