Poetry for Scientists
-------------------------------- Of the Mountain July 15, 1984 Where is the source of the mountain stream? In the steady drip of melting glaziers, and the constant rain and snow? Or the sky from where they came; the sea to where they go? The stream flows as a circle; the source moves right along. The desire is attraction. Water is never wrong. ******* Fill in the Blanks August 1983 We've become so............ that common sense is............. ******* 1984 Whisper, speak softly. Refuse to throw words out. Save all of them inside if you can. Put together in the right way, they may mean something some day. ******* Aurora February 22. 1986 The eye of the sun dreams clouds into ponds, into streams. Trees come up out of this river of light. We labor at keeping ourselves warm and fed. When all the fire in this log has burned away: a dream of clouds rising toward the sun-- its desire will be released. ******* Photon Journal Stones are cameras with a super long exposure time. They record moments of cosmic proportion, capturing events that chronicle the universe.. A photo-synthesis. ******* Wonders of the World 2 1982 Which part of us hasn't always existed? We rose from dust , gravel that found its way here through time. And back and back, and before that more beginnings. We stand like crystals, ancient and immortal. ******* Einstein's Light 1982 Raindrops are sunbeams that travel through clouds. Light being so attractive, little pieces of cloud jump right on and go for the ride. What appears to be stormy weather, are just photons slowing down. ******* Mathematically Yours August 7, 1977 Love is not a point, it's a line. It's not a circle, it's a sphere.. It's not a plane, it's a dimension. Not a one nor a two. Love isn't a direction, it's a vector. Not additive, multiplicative. It's not an equation, it's a formula. Love isn't X the unknown, it's the root and the exponent. ******* The Sound of Everything Motion is at the root of stillness. Stillness moves and penetrates all. This radiant, churning substance of being crackles in the silence, and issues forth everything everywhere. ******* Soul artisans build nothing by their own hands. They are the fortunate material, the blessed house of the work, the site of the project. Life chips away stone till what is perfect remains. ******* |
Poems from the Heart
-------------------------------- Pull Switch The fly leaves the perfume bottle for the light. Walking up the string, the sweet scent is left behind. He disintegrates in the heat. ******* The heart isn't a single family dwelling. It's public housing. ******* Soul Artisans build nothing by their own hands. They are the fortunate material, the blessed house of the work, the site of the project. Life chips away stone till what is perfect remains. ******* Number 22 It's not the thing thought, but the thinker. We're not a step away as any thought of ourselves, or thought of that. We are immediate and immense, and that. ******* Going Out of Business September 20, 1977 I have no business here. I don't remember choosing to be; no one asked me. There's only one game in town then: get to the source of the expedition, the broker of the experience, the one who booked the passage. Because, what's next? ******* Pivot To pivot in the middle... Caught in this spiral dance we funnel ever smaller, till only the tiniest of what we are can pass through. That irreducible something is what this is all built upon. So we struggle to go in the opposite direction, expanding into who we are, and who we are to become., while remaining a coil in the middle. ******* Function And the Special Being was good, and kind, and virtuous, but unaware. That's where we come in: the turning point; the look back, the reflection of the self-awareness of Being. Not a bad gig. How very disappointing though for the Special Being. . ******* The peace pipe burns within; we are the keepers of the flame. Kindle the breath. ******* 1980 Below the noise and all the hustle buried deep within, lies an energy supreme, from which all life begins. ******* October 1981 Where distraction ends, creativity becomes the splender of unity. ******* October 1981 Wakan Tanka is sometimes hard to see in this world. Yet, one blade of grass speaks, and all are blessed and sanctified. ******* Peace Go to that door appearing to be closed and listen. Soon it will appear to open, and you can walk through. ******* |
Observations
-------------------------------- Missing Persons A heart drawn in the snow disappeared in the latest storm. Initials carved in a tree, chopped and burned. Names in the sand at the beach... washed away... The jet stream made off with, I Love You in the sky. A book of matches, an invitation, a piece of cake have all vanished, and taken two names with them. Address labels that locate the missing... Something engraved inside a ring... A Valentine signed in invisible ink. We come and go like this: here today, gone today. And no matter what we do, nothing and no one ever stays put. Except for two names down at the courthouse that decree they don't know one another anymore. ******* Witch hunts are carried out by witches. ******* Accept apologies when they come. Understand to be understood. ******* We try one another on like a pair of shoes. ******* It's Not Personal 2001 It's said that all acts are political; nothing personal. A maneuver, a scheme, a management problem. No. From personal thoughts come personal desires, words, deeds. All acts are personal; from conception to impact: person to person; a maneuver, a scheme. Pointing to "politics" is a cop out, a way out of responsibility. Look for that one face of the people. It's ever becoming. Face us all, make it personal. ******* Feathered Canvas Traveling Art Show February 22, 2001 It's 3:47 a.m. and completely dark in America. Here, there is a Tibetan chant coming through my German speakers. This pencil from the US writes on this pad from Illinois, lit by my lamp from China. My glass from who knows where... You know where I'm going. A card printed in Berkley, a letter from Vermont. A calendar from India and field glasses from Japan. A thumb piano from Ghana, a book from England. Incense from Indonesia. I keep going... An eraser from South America, a cactus from the Southwest. Fossils from Europe, hasn't it always been a global economy? Fair trades? And feathers from... and feathers from the souls of birds, where this canvas was painted; trailings of the sky, the way it's known from the inside. The symbols and patterns of flying, and dying. I dreamed and woke up inside this poem once. *******. January 1, 2001 Every time a wing gets fixed, a heart gets broken. How is it that that which couldn't fly, can carry off a whole person? ******* Truly Political Animals- Inorganic Beings February 20, 2001 Hold onto someone, best if it be you. When the waves come crashing in on Your shore, their thunder will obliterate Your peace and their pounding will wash all of Your self away, and you will become part of the tide lifting and falling. The onslaught is impersonal; inorganic beings bring them about. They may look like you and me, but there's nothing alive or truly wonderful about them.. Not recognizing life signs, they make themselves a nuisance. Hold onto land when they come by, they can't help but make waves. Like the dead moon pulls at the night. the way shdows eat light, non-living beings make themselves known. Black holes, they can empty a whole galaxy full of love and goodness. (Inorganic beings, Castaneda, The Active Side of Infinity) ******* |