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Master Of The Day
I am master of the day.
I am lord of all I survey.
The world is my subjugation.
I am a god in my own way.
My designs I cannot Suppress.
My yearnings I cannot redress
With anything but creation.
My passion is akin to madness.
The Moment
Seize this splendid moment.
No monument can stand as may
The seconds of this day
Against eternity.
Seasons, history will say,
Were written on daisy scrolls,
Sent as sun upon sand,
As golden pieces of eternity.
The Nature of Things
Straight and twisted is
This Emersonian wind -
Supercilious in the head,
And language to the heart.
What I Came For
I’ve seen it, Henry,
Beneath the numbers,
Beyond the cumbersome lies,
Put delusion aside,
Sucked marrow a while,
Gave deliberation a try.
And there it was – a poem,
In a flowing stream
Pebbled with stars.
For A Day
They say a butterfly
Lives only a day,
That to live and die
In a day is rough.
But who’s to say
To play for a day
Is not enough?
Distraction
I have been chastised
For chasing butterflies
When I should not,
Should be watching a phone,
Or figuring figures,
Or configuring configurations.
But there’s a bright moth
Fluttering past the fence.
And I can fathom nothing more intense
Than floating after it for an afternoon.
World of Glass
In the center of a field,
There is an old pump.
And the handle won’t yield
For the years and the rust.
So it no longer fills
The water trough
Cut from an old stump -
Yggdrasil, it may well be,
Where algae grow,
Sustained by snow and rain,
And water striders skate listlessly
Across the surface of their domain,
And suppose themselves to be alone,
On a world of glass,
In the center of a field.
Snail
All other domiciles pale
By comparison to one;
The shell of the lowly snail,
A shelter second to none.
A snail is always at home,
Even when he is away.
No matter where he might roam,
At home he can always stay.
If his neighborhood is bad,
He can soon find another.
He can never be made mad
By an overstayed brother.
His nook is fluid and quaint,
His house always on the go,
Though, his pace is somewhat slow.
But when was speed his complaint?
Opulence
There are honey ants called repletes,
Who fill up their bellies with sweets,
Like bottles on a cellar rack,
So their bon vivant queen can snack
Whenever she feels so inclined,
Or be thoroughly wined and dined.
Once Burned
They appear curiously benign;
Slender pagoda stalks,
Delicate leaves with whiskers silky fine,
And a righteous posture that mocks
The wise, and welcomes fools
To touch, to test the mettle,
To discover the rules
Of stinging nettle.
The nettle demands liberation,
Teaches mental self-purification.
Once burned, lesson learned.
Twice burned, lesson spurned.
Praying Mantis
She kneels before the judgment chair,
Arms folded in reverent prayer,
In the heart of her saintly lair.
A pilgrim passes by in quest,
Is fast transfigured in her nest,
As lay against her loving breast.
Herculean Herald
At dawn I woke to song of finch -
A bird with bulk of but an inch.
He sang a note with all his might,
That freed me from the clutch of night.
Benign Invasion
There strode in step a line of quail,
A hen with four chicks at her tail,
In quest for spoil of bugs and grain -
A horde of five birds in the rain.
Orchestration
Grasshoppers
And cicadas
Are lying in the grass,
Are hiding in the weeds.
And in the trees,
Play a symphony
From the laced score
Of the winged strings
That each summer brings,
And till autumn rings.
And from the fields,
Join the harbingers.
And at the corner of the barn, in a crack beneath the window,
Wait the crickets for the curtain of the coming night to fall.
What do they sing?
What does it mean?
This I Pray For
This I pray for:
A little stone cottage
With an unlocked door,
And for pottage,
A garden to till,
An orchard of trees,
A wood box to fill,
A meadow of bees,
A forest behind,
A god without sin,
Life’s secret to find,
For content within,
A clear sky above,
For friends that care,
For devotion and love,
And kindness to share.
Happy, Happy, Birthday
Happy, happy, birthday!
I sing this day to you.
It seems the least that I can say.
I hope your wishes all come true.
I celebrate your years.
That in life you always may
Find more laughter than tears,
And know true happiness, I pray.
On The Way
On the way,
Day broke in newborn hues,
Clues profound in her eyes,
Cries of purpose weighed,
Laid in radiant dawn,
On the way.
Tumon Bay
There is no beginning to the day,
No end to the sea or sky -
No separation in my eye.
Perhaps that is why
Stars twinkle in Tumon bay.
A Blue-Eyed Crow
A blue-eyed crow called to me,
Sang a raucous melody
From the top of a pine.
The notes it sang,
With a discordant bang,
Slammed down the base of my spine.
But sincere was the melody,
The message clearly divine,
Straight to my heart rang.
One Lunar New Year Morning
One lunar new year morning sight
Of children with a dragon kite,
Doll-girls in their dresses bright,
And a magpie calling out in flight,
I took up a sunrise endeavor,
And painted the picture in my heart forever.
Mississippi
Rhyme rides upon an ancient snake,
Glides to a boisterous bullfrog’s tune,
On a June night, for a thousand years,
By the light of a Mississippi moon.
On The Pend Orielle
If I could stay for just one more day,
I’d while away on the Pend Oreille.
On the Pend Oreille, I’d pass away.
On the glassy sway,
I’d sail,
And sail,
And sail away.
In the Sawtooths
Let’s get some fresh air, shall we?
Shall we search for it together,
Take to the trail if you have the inclination,
See the sun on Alice Lake as we pass?
We can ascend a peak in the Sawtooths,
If you, too, share the desire,
Climb as high as we can climb.
There is truth blowing there in the breeze,
In the roots of the trees,
In the branches and leaves.
You may see it too, my friend,
Spread out at the foot of the Sawtooths.
I’ve Never Looked On Heaven’s Grace
Where the gates to paradise are,
I’d have to guess in vain.
My best wager would be a star
Or here in Coeur d’Alene.
Whether angels tie up their hair,
I really cannot say.
But how hawks ride upon the air,
I witnessed just today.
What is the look of saintly dress?
Which scent is most divine?
Both, I would say, were I to guess,
Would have to be a pine.
How to conceive the maker’s face,
I grant I do not know.
I’ve never looked on heaven’s grace.
But I’ve seen Idaho.
Soil To Soil
Cherry tree,
Bury me
In pink satin.
Pear tree, Bear me
As fruit again.
Spoil.
Foil.
Coil from
Soil to soil.
Final Fruit
Bury me shallow,
In a field lying fallow,
Just beneath the grade,
Where over-plowing has made
The soil turn to dust.
And I, with my mold and must,
Shall make new crops grow.
Spread me around with a hoe.
Watch me live once more,
Even better than before.
My blood and my meat
Shall make the tomatoes sweet.
My brains and my skull
Shall make the melons plump full.
My bones shall abide,
And all the marrow inside,
In lank cornstalks keep,
Rattling my soul to sleep.
Enchanted Grove
A pillar of silver, and one of gold,
And one of solid emerald stone,
Surmount a secret mossy fold,
At the foot of the fairy queen’s throne.
There, nymphs of water, and sylphs of air,
Gnomes of earth, and salamanders of fire,
Folk of siren, sprites, and elves fair,
Gather at sunset’s shadows to conspire.
And of all things present, I alone
Am formed of flesh, marrow, and bone.
A Tale
I wish to see
A unicorn -
I wish to be
A man reborn.
I dream of her galloping
Where ancient forest grows,
And air alive,
A sparkling stream
Glittering in the radiance
Of her horn,
Purity of breath and heart beat,
Sparks flashing from beneath
Her silver hooves,
Crystal eyes radiant,
(She knows me)
And snow white mane
Blown by a tempest
As she moves,
The fluidity of her gait
Through immortality.
I wish to be there
When she rides.
I wish to see
A unicorn.
Oracle
This vessel was christened with blood,
Assigned a guardian spirit
To divine a direction and destination.
And no shield for the wayfarer,
No steel blade girt at the side,
Nor strength at the rowing oars,
Can turn back the pending storm,
Can steer a straighter course to Odin.
The spirit of the christening alone,
The mystical oracle at the helm,
Keeps watch for an omen of the voyage.
On A Utah Flight
I saw on a Utah flight,
Flying off to foreign lands
To serve a banner of right,
With Smith’s bible in their hands,
Boys leaving a golden tower
To broadcast a hopeful word,
Believing in their god’s power,
World opinion yet unheard,
Made unafraid by faith’s might,
A hymn of trust as their song.
I saw angels one long night,
Out to put right before wrong.
Cherubim
Row to me delicate bloom of the sky,
I would time spend with you than any guest.
Grant now your feather care unto my nest.
Forsake all the wind-swept branches and fly.
Upon one path our destinations lie.
Draw close my cheek against your downy breast.
Lay low this heavy head in peaceful rest.
Sing, sweet requiem. On love’s wing I die.
Ice On The Moon
On the moon, they’ve found ice.
I hope it’s lemon ice. Lemon ice is nice.
It would give space a special spice,
Because lemon ice is nice. (I’ve said it twice)
But even twice can’t suffice.
Ice on the moon is a clever device,
Probably reserved for God’s afternoon rice.
I’d like to go up there to share a bit of ice and advice.
Unless they’ve also found mice
That heard of cheese and went for a slice.
Waking Dreams
I dwell
In a pastel
Cottage of stone,
All alone
In a surreal stead.
I dwell
In a pastel
Painting of a fountain,
At the foot of a mountain,
By a lake in my head.
Strawberry Fields
We will sit us down in strawberry fields
To talk of things we remember.
We’ll measure the worth of our mortal yields,
And feast on them clear through September.
You can step out a lively beat,
While I try to sing a tune.
We’ll gather up fresh strawberries to eat,
From winter till half past June.
We will vanquish time as an earthly foe,
With immortality as our shields.
There will be such joy where we will go,
When we frolic in strawberry fields.
Titans
I stand all amazed, cast upward my gaze
Into a haze beyond my mortal daze,
To lofty curtains billowing as nigh
To gods as anything earthly may lie,
Too far to touch and too near to deny.
On high, moving between the earth and sky,
Titans, restless in their highland abode,
March in parade, upon a mountain road,
Along the stepping stones to higher space,
While I watch from my inferior place.
Viking Ghosts
The wind is wild tonight.
It fills the billowing breaker sails,
And rows the ocean white.
The vanquished water weeps and wails.
Tonight I fear the sea -
An invasion of fearsome hosts
Come back to conquer me,
Upon a storm ship – Viking ghosts.
Phantom Vigil
She holds a phantom vigil tonight,
Rises slowly from the creeping fog,
Fluttering and murmuring, takes flight,
Lifts in a spectral glare from the bog,
Whispering to those who remain chained,
Her brothers and sisters who still dwell
Imprisoned, by bars of brake detained;
Damned souls trapped in temporal hell,
In the depths of the rank mold beneath,
Drowned in bottomless pools of despair
Where heavy-hearted spirits bequeath
All that they are to a murky lair.
She swirls among the bulrush crosses,
In a passion of prayer pleads and glides,
Whirls hope aloft, above all losses,
And in a holy vapor abides
Until her righteous fervor inspires
The quill of redemption to rewrite
The accounting of will-o’-wisp fires
In a mystic volume of moonlight.
Sonnet For A Distant Neighbor
Oft have I gazed across the sea at you -
The lonely void that limits our discourse -
Space gone unmarked by no lack of remorse -
Too far for all but starlight to get through.
If it were within my power to do,
I would take hope’s reins like a mighty steed,
And stride to your pasture in my due need,
That I should make my inquiry anew.
Has your kind arisen from swamp and sea,
To gaze in wonder at the vast expanse,
And consider how it all came to be?
Weighing the infinite odds of pure chance,
Does your regard ever wander to me,
As you watch the beacon of my sun dance?
Delusion
He had a vision of happiness,
On a timeless, sunny, day.
He dreamed of lush cypress
Draping lazily over a sway
Of moss, soft at the river’s edge.
Joyously, he danced with swans,
Along a high July hedge.
Upon far-fabled lawns,
He had an afternoon and a life,
A religious ecstasy
With a daughter and a wife -
An apparition and a fantasy.
His thoughts were filled with daffodils,
His gambol to his knees
In dandelion-imposture windmills
Gone to seed, sailing with the breeze -
Figment ships, floating on the bosom of nirvana,
And he with them, eternally bade
United in the house of manna,
In the shelter of universal shade. |
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