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Poems from the Heart
------------------------------- 1981 Time is a sentence, object and motion. In a thinking universe would we need space? Without space, can we have thought? Time is a sentence, object and being. Time is where space takes place. Everything else follows. ******* Human beings are a lot more fun when they're alive. ******* Inherent potential motion, always ready to move, moving still; ever filling and emptying form, motion everywhere at once. ******* 8/27/80 As a prisoner of my mind, I reach for that which is divine. A place of earth and wind and sea, I am the place, I am the key. Inside my heart, inside of me. ******* Divine 6/4/80 When eyes no longer shine, and ears have lost all meaning, a heart will go on beating. When taste has tasted everything, and hands have been there too, love will be our saving. ******* 6/7/78 In emptiness came direction, in the lack of meaning was hidden the purpose. In loneliness came motivation. The place between breaths is where we are kept. Feeling and feeling again, innermost is where we touch what is most alive. ******* 4/1/78 Belongings. Be longings. Longing for being. The uncontainable essence of things slides in and out of form. We grab a handful for a while, but eventually it all slips from our grasp. ******* Kaleidoscope 1980's What hears and feels and sees itself as us, as them, as that? Without reaching it grasps itself in the center of being, a place beyond. In the knowing of itself we are formed, they are formed, those are formed. It lights itself and leaves no room for darkness. Before all beginnings, we, them, all of it. ******* Good People of the Northland 8/26/98 Hurricane thoughts; here it is the morning of somber awakenings. The forest anticipates the coming hurricane; stillness rattles the silence. Prayers are recited, written. Hot coffee, cold pie, three tomatoes on a plate: here it is, it's all here. No other place, no other time. How the present is hidden is a mystery-- Never seeing our eyes, we see right thru them, no reaching necessary. Being one sided, where can it go? Being everywhere, where can it go? If a firefly shines in the forest, can't it serve as the North Star? ******* Tequila Meltdown 7/12/97 We discover the world has limits. We reach the end, nothing new left. Everything new lies in the past, what remains is repetition. To find some sweet, long lasting sweetness, wouldn't that be sweet? And here we leave the ideas of this world behind. ******* |
Observations
------------------------------- If God is everywhere, then love is everything. ******* Sound Barrier December 20, 2002 Tiny hail hitting the ground sounds like a waterfall. No. Sounds like a bad connection. No. Tiny hail hitting the ground sounds like paper burning. No. A rainstorm? No! The tiny hail that hits the dead leaves and branches and frozen grass and snow and cars and trees and stairs and railings sounds like... Yes. Snow begins to fall that sounds like hail. No!!. A snowstorm silence is like no other: thick heavy muffled white. ******* Love Cycle December 31, 2002 A seed dies to become a sprout. A sprout is dying to become a plant. A plant is dying to become a fruit. A fruit dies to become a seed. A heart is dying to become love. Everything gets composted in that garden, till there's nothing left but joy for the bloom. In that fertile fragrant ground, love is dying to become a heart. ******* January 1, 2003 Knowing we are beggars, why not hold our begging bowls out in plain sight? Knowing the value of breath, why aren't we awake every moment? ******* 3 a.m. 1/2/03 As if my personal distraction is of any interest to you: Storm, pen, paper, night window: Snow lights upon the black Chinese lantern; flame safe, battered wildly by a frosted wind. Outside Winter freezes and has no where to go. ******* January 15, 2003 Little girl raises a tiny blue paper umbrella above her head and stoically holds back the rain. ******* Continuum January 18, 2003 What strange thoughts the heavens: Divine synaptic constellations; holographic galactic ideas. When we open our eyes, it's this world, this time, these heavens. When we close them universes appear. ******* January 21, 2003 Humanity is just the probe. Intelligent life is appearing soon. ******* In the Other Room February 2, 2003 The one hardly speaks anymore. Can't hear much, and doesn't want to. Moves away from the dinner table into obscurity as the one. Is he pretending to be asleep, to listen for plots? His face is no longer his alone; it sags into someone else's profile. His body has a mind of its own; legs and heart skip a beat. His medicine prolongs his life and kills his spirit. This leaving began years ago. These are the warning signs to make amends, patch holes, tie-up loose ends. Make things right. But the one denies. Denies warmth, love, forgiveness, companionship. An anti-Buddha, he has no taste for compassion. The root of this detachment took hold in his one, as it took hold in those who came before. How many of us are there in the other room? ******* |