Full emptiness

We poets ought to shy away
from homilies concerning love.
What manner of creative thinker
might presume to take a single step
in front of all the ranks of millions
who have wept out tired or inspired
words to probe its depths
or sail upon its turbulence?

Yet here am I, the foolish ingenue
compelled to sigh again,
compelled to co-create a god
up in the sky, or some seductive muse
upon the shore, inclined once more
to let me maunder through the swampland
of bathetic sentiment before a world
still too polite to say "enough."

Somehow a love is least bereft
of purity, when left alone,
the lover sans beloved, never lost.
When form or wit or lovely face,
much less a deity, a sunset or an art
is gone, the one who sits apart
may still, enraptured, know
the flow of love is its own source
and its own silent grace.
~

Second sight

Did you see it?
Something blurred the air that day
just as it does sometimes
above the asphalt
in the heat of summer.

Two souls, I think, in discourse,
roiling energy in passion,
sent a tiny spot of cosmos into chaos--
in contempt of time, and for the moment
let us in.

For us, we would not have known
that Love has its insidious side
reaching forth from places
that seemed not to give a damn--
the little tragedies of yesteryear
that never were resolved
still lodged within the earth.
There were fragments of rejection
that we left there when we knew
they couldn't stand alone
and the years that pounded down on them
could never heal but only
make the hurting stronger still.

Some god gets blamed for over- parenting,
for all the better motives we acquire.
Some scraggly, gruff old fellow
out in space, who keeps an eye on things,
and shakes his finger
when we do not think to love,
finally will sigh, and tell us it's ok.

I'm sorry. That is not the God for me.
This guilt is one I own alone,
the one I cannot fashion to adorn
the man upon the cross.

The human creature thrives on fantasy
and rises from his bed each day
in discontent to face the glory of the wind,
the hints and shreds of change
that were not here before.

His state of bliss is unaware
the ocean at the door in silent raging,
poised to flood his consciousness
with seas of a reality he never dreamed,
is an insistent guest.

No. There is no rest from this.
No flighted messenger to sing
an alleluia. No, I think we need
our scourges and our chains.
I think we need the air that trembles
in the day, reminding us
that love is never free
and only perfect eyes
may know its clarity.
~

As others see us...

" I am astonished each time I come to the U.S. by the ignorance of a high percentage of the population, which knows almost nothing about Latin America or about the world. It's quite blind and deaf to anything that may happen outside the frontiers of the U.S." ~Eduardo Galeano

From the Cradle

It seems I have just found myself
not in this body, rather in the wind
where I have always been,
and lost to grimy fingers
scratching inside out in wonder,
chasing old identities,
and not quite happy with the latest one--
who joined his greedy fellows
at the trough wiith thoughts of lust
and later, rusty arteries, and death.

I much prefer the breath, the spirit ride,
creation's thrust returning still again,
the journey through a cosmos
that a man will never touch with fingers.
Suddenly I am aware that one is born
when he is old--must be, as we were told
by one they called the son of God,
but then it never dawned on us

that all those blinking particles
were playing games,
and in the changes that they wrought,
proved quite immortal--you and I
behind our eyes, looked out
and saw it all.

And it was good.
~

Meditation at Ebeneezer Church

Martin and Coretta knew
how straight the road ran
through the wilderness. They knew
that some would stray
and turn across the meadow
toward the woods.

They felt the love rise
from the aging marchers,
knowing when they too would disappear,
the road goes on.

The knowing is
that they shall not return--
and still the road goes on.

Will newer marchers fill the ranks?
And will the flow of love be strong?
And might the breath
beneath the song prevail
unto this joyless day
that we may overcome?
~

Quintessential sobering thought

"From 1945 to 2003, the United States attempted to overthrow more than 40 foreign governments, and to crush more than 30 populist-nationalist movements fighting against intolerable regimes. In the process, the US bombed some 25 countries, caused the end of life for several million people, and condemned many millions more to a life of agony and despair." ~William Blum

Naked soul

Do you want to know what I search for?
Totality, nothing more.
And would a man content himself with less
he would embrace a cinder for a sun
and turn his back on love and light.

To see beyond his vision, something looms
that he may never touch, a symphony
that he may never hear, a love out there
that races by in parallel,
one not to gratify, but rather hold in place
the all that is, and was, and is to be
and feeds the dreaming of the still unborn

forever, is my muse. I shudder
at that cold wonder of it.
~

An Awakening

A sliver of life is all it was.
Someone was crying,
caught me there within the moment,
made me wish profoundly
that it were not I
who needed to be strong.

It was those tears that overpowered me,
wrested me away from all the safety
of my observation post,
and in their weakness, gifted me
with some strange love--
a gift I could not stand.

It was another's pain
that offered a release
for my compassion; there was I
confirming it was not enough--
this looking out between the towers
of my little parapet, as lord;
I needed to become that agony

My fortess stood upon the moors
as on an alien sea, and I the alien,
the prisoner bereft of suffering
had nothing that I could return.
Disarmed and disingenuous
I knew and understood the certainty
of absolute despair.
~

A thought for today

"Violence as a way of achieving racial justice is both impractical and immoral. It is impractical because it is a descending spiral ending in
destruction for all. It is immoral because it seeks to humiliate the opponent rather than win his understanding; it seeks to annihilate rather than to convert. Violence is immoral because it thrives on hatred rather than love." ~Martin Luther King Jr.

On Aging

Taking stock in my 70's, I think,
Foo, I'm the same fellow
I was at twenty,
with a bit less energy,
somewhat more certain either way
about my shrinking future--
dead and uncaring,
or transcendantly alive,
a spirit properly incredulous
and grateful--not a bad deal.

Everyone my age wonders
where the time went;

I know where it went,
preoccupied with number one,
and constantly denying it.
We called that sin, but now I think
I really missed the point
when I forgot to look inside,
behind the skin, to find
the spirit there already, looking out
upon the world I made,
manipulated, then laid out
for visitation that I hoped
would mercifully be brief.

Such is not the case.
A man gets patronized for what he is, compromised
for what he wants to be.
We dodder, so we're told,
a point against us on the scale
of worth, of dignity--wise we are
when we are called to be,
and otherwise when passengers
upon our cosmic ship are not
so well equipped with consciousness
as we, and mindlessly
race off to war.

So let it be.
So let the ages line us up
by phalanx in the quest for life or death,
and we shall march to our last breath
as some imagined victory we could not
set aside, loomed much too far ahead,
and we shall march,
and we shall march...
never looking back behind our eyes,
yes, we shall march.

The Eyes of Saul

He walked along the country road
suffused with guilt...the archetype
of arrogant despair
bearing unknown void
as some monstrosity ballooning;
thus encumbered, saw the gloom
take on decay, Damascus fade
and then upon his solemn march

a grace appeared; he saw no more.
His hands were warmed
as one who understands compassion--
suddenly may seek to let it heal.
Reality wore different dress;
allthough there was duress
that still prevailed--a wretchedness
confessed within a new holistic fire
created endings for a man
faced with a birth that centuries
beyond would celebrate.

He would see again the choice;
the restless rest exchanged,
he would attain quixotic glory
in the pain that he could own,
and thus refreshed,
would make it known
across millennia.

Hard-pressed without a doubt
for kira self to find serenity
inside the passion of this
feisty little man obsessed
with lightning and with love,
the one who from the darkened path
had stumbled to a martyr's paradise
enabled by the eyes of God.
~

From My Corner House

Looking out enables me
to see the world in microcosm.
Those who travel in an opposite direction
now for me are doubled,
now to stray from one straight path
is cordially invited and encouraged.
Indecisiveness and sometimes fear
are common traits, and warning signs
are commonplace..

Snowplows clear one surface,
and in process fill another;
now the chance of hazard
grows by increment.
My vantage point surveys both double joy
and double sadness
in an avalanche of tenderness,
I'll never understand.

Like legerdemain, the passing colors
weave their fantasy of crosses,
while inside the cars
metallic voices, disembodied, blend
with those from flesh, enough
to rival Pentecost. In the drifting ether
all around them, oratorio
and slamming rock guitar will coalesce,
and are no more.

I, however, choose to be deceived,
aided in my madness by the silent
churning scene beyond my window.
Gifted by a mantra for the eye,
I lift my world, and gently turn it
upside down to watch the snowflakes fly.
I see them settle on my corner
as my neighbors find their driveways,
caring little for my shrinking world,
minding little that it is too late for me
to step outside, and enter.
~

"If" ......by Robert Steinback

12/27/05 "Miami Herald" -- -- If, back in 2001, anyone had told methat four years after bin Laden's attack our president would admitthat he broke U.S. law against domestic spying and ignored theConstitution -- and then expect the American people to congratulatehim for it -- I would have presumed the girders of our very Republichad crumbled.Had anyone said our president would invade a country and kill 30,000of its people claiming a threat that never, in fact, existed, thenadmit he would have invaded even if he had known there was nothreat -- and expect America to be pleased by this -- I would havethought our nation's sensibilities and honor had been eviscerated.If I had been informed that our nation's leaders would embracetorture as a legitimate tool of warfare, hold prisoners for yearswithout charges and operate secret prisons overseas -- and call suchprocedures necessary for the nation's security -- I would havelaughed at the folly of protecting human rights by destroying them.If someone had predicted the president's staff would out a CIA agentas revenge against a critic, defy a law against domestic propagandaby bankrolling supposedly independent journalists and commentators,and ridicule a 37-year Marie Corps veteran for questioning U.S.military policy -- and that the populace would be more interested inwhether Angelina is about to make Brad a daddy -- I would havecalled the prediction an absurd fantasy.That's no America I know, I would have argued. We're too strong, andwe've been through too much, to be led down such a twisted path.What is there to say now?All of these things have happened. And yet a large portion of thiscountry appears more concerned that saying ''Happy Holidays'' couldbe a disguised attack on Christianity.I evidently have a lot poorer insight regarding America's characterthan I once believed, because I would have expected such actions toprovoke -- speaking metaphorically now -- mobs with pitchforks andtorches at the White House gate. I would have expected prouddefiance of anyone who would suggest that a mere terrorist threatcould send this country into spasms of despair and fright soprofound that we'd follow a leader who considers the law a nuisanceand perfidy a privilege.Never would I have expected this nation -- which emerged strongerfrom a civil war and a civil rights movement, won two world wars,endured the Depression, recovered from a disastrous campaign inSoutheast Asia and still managed to lead the world in the principlesof liberty -- would cower behind anyone just for promising to``protect us.''President Bush recently confirmed that he has authorized wiretapsagainst U.S. citizens on at least 30 occasions and said he'llcontinue doing it. His justification? He, as president -- or is thatking? -- has a right to disregard any law, constitutional tenet orcongressional mandate to protect the American people.Is that America's highest goal -- preventing another terroristattack? Are there no principles of law and liberty more importantthan this? Who would have remembered Patrick Henry had he written,``What's wrong with giving up a little liberty if it protects mefrom death?''Bush would have us excuse his administration's excesses in deferenceto the ''war on terror'' -- a war, it should be pointed out, thatcan never end. Terrorism is a tactic, an eventuality, not anopposition army or rogue nation. If we caught every person guilty ofa terrorist act, we still wouldn't know where tomorrow's first-timeterrorist will strike. Fighting terrorism is a bit like fightinginfection -- even when it's beaten, you must continue the fight orit will strike again.Are we agreeing, then, to give the king unfettered privilege to defythe law forever? It's time for every member of Congress to weigh in:Do they believe the president is above the law, or bound by it?Bush stokes our fears, implying that the only alternative to doingthings his extralegal way is to sit by fitfully waiting forterrorists to harm us. We are neither weak nor helpless. A proud,confident republic can hunt down its enemies without tramplinglegitimate human and constitutional rights.Ultimately, our best defense against attack -- any attack, of anysort -- is holding fast and fearlessly to the ideals upon which thisnation was built.Bush clearly doesn't understand or respect that. Do we?

We are the good guys!

We don't torture?http://www.truthout.org/docs_2005/121705C.shtml

Spirit Post Mortem

What was this unarticulated joy
that beat inside my chest?
That was both expected and is past,
reflected numens chanting
to my spirit, as if subdivided
in my superconsciousness--I may not
have borne them as a whole
though holy they may be...one mystery
selects a lifetime as its drum
and makes the years crescendo
poco a poco from its infancy
unto the crashing storm of age
when breath itself implodes.

I think it is too much--
a joy the mind at quest must know
and not to be endured.
I think a man must shake his fist
in protest as Beethoven did,
unable to sustain it to the end.
It is the depth and height of ecstasy
of which its single aim
is to expire.
~

This too, shall pass

There is an unseen magnet in the lure
of solitude. I seek it hungrily.
In it, I draw down silence as
a cover, insulating truth, but I
deny the need for joy. For as a boy

I sought too often, all the places that
my friends avoided, sanctuaries that
would give the groping spirit in the heart
of me some rest. Of all my friends it was
and still remains, the best. Yet finally

as age invades this shell, the mind has learned
to swim in consciousness, to question and
to laugh, to know that truth alone,
while still supreme, will also reach about
in love, and also with the cosmos that
it rules, may celebrate its restless peace.

I chase down thoughts, and wrestle with them now.
I make them work; they may not get away
with merely tantalizing fantasy.
They are the mortar of a spirit house
I'm building from a curious design
some spirit architect passed on, but it
is mine, and will bring smiles, I think, at its
grand opening.

The years are good, the friends as well, for as
they came along I saw at once that they
were not a mirror for my greed nor just
a sounding board for some vain homily
my ego had prepared--no they were sons
of God! I laughed again, but now the joy
is sung in concert in a universe
without an end.
~

To December

Racing in to us, dull season
short on daylight, long on endurance,
that for once I do not dread,
although I do not know
just what severity may come--
I laugh at old presumptions,
tattered hopes,
sophisticated fears
that seized their own close skies
and pulled them down like shrouds
around me...not this year.

A wiser soul may welcome cautiously,
arriving wnter,
tolerated for its piquancy,
its stinging air,
enough to foil the colorful bravado
of the schoolgirls' scarves,
uncompromising skirts
and blushing, sensuous knees.
And should that soul retreat to kneel
before some stodgy saint in penitence,
the stuttering shame it bears for looking
may become salvation
if indeed its god still smiles.

Mine does.
He understands old men like me
who suddenly, like frosting on the years,
will notice pleasure seeping in
between the breath of one more tomb
or its cessation in the death of gloom
that mortal skill alone creates...
Audacious men, indeed,
who sit at wizard keyboards
punching out the will of God

...and graciously forgiven.
~

For Children Only (revised)

The gentle monsters
live just over there across the hill,
and there are those who will attest
to their unerring skill
in the selection of their kill,
for they are kind, and wise and good.
Their weaponry is sanguine sweetness,
eyes upon the prize of triumph;
burial is for another's tears, not theirs,
for buried consciousness is quite enough.

And though the stain remain
upon the yellowed pages, there is more,
for war in constancy insures
a generous, perpetual supply
of heroes.
~

My Impossible Dream

To find and elect leaders who will not lie to us. Is that unreasonable? Is that too much to desire? Here in the land of the free, what kind
of freedom is that?

Reflections on Spirit Reality

If life is just what it appears
and that which we may test,
then we are just the lonely ones--
looking out between the bars
of bones, and dressed
imprudently in softest armor
spun of flesh.

A spirit may not laugh
at such a spectacle--
may not collapse in tears
as wonder such as this
is contemplated...years
of such illusion form
the phalanx of our refuge,
make our outer gates secure.

The camp is pitched upon
the edge of darkening days.
The loss of sunlight only marks
the end of fading time; one may
crumble it between the fingers
as grave dust, and turn away
to consciousness like reborn youth
inside unending day.

Perhaps we need not turn away.
It may be just remembering
that we are visitors upon the earth,
each one a changing chrysalis
beneath the light of changeless love.
Another metamorphosis is ours,
and ours again to be.
~