You have been painting, and find you can still pray

clear-coat me, Lord
with carillon and birdsong
or peel through the yellowed layers
bubbled, of what has been

self-applied, find in me
that thing unfounded:
clear heart, clean brush, blank page

life is the network, 2

broad summer is no time for poems
not with sunflowers nodding, laden
garden spiked with color
dart of wings and cicadas singing

rather, all this haymaking over dreams
while the sun shines

some poetic justice though, heart-pause
for rabbit nestlings in the carrots

…and huddles in the marigolds

year of rest

The plum tree, puny though in full flush
of summer, all its neighbors lush in sun-glow.
Limp-leaved, drab. Last year—remember?—
its branches heavy-laden, juicy, buzzing,
a jewel among backyards, good provider
of jam. Winter, amber in promise. But now—
Rest, my dear. Dream away
these sunny days, rebuilding your strength.
Hold this green and gold reaching from your roots,
an encouragement.

contemplation 2

stunned, chained—where is this cog in the great machine,
this puzzling piece in the grand design? is my part beauty,
remembering, simple love? how does beauty stand
against a landslide? how does memory shine
in a millennium’s weight of darkness? how does love open
one fist, finger by finger by finger, and then the next?
can the chain be fingers clasped, my one hand holding yours
or the children I give, having built them of love?

Inspired by Hafiz, “The Heart’s Coronation,” translated by Daniel Ladinsky.

“The pawn always sits stunned, chained,
…
there is nothing but divine movement
in this world.”

on creating

everything fades in time, you know
how all was black before your birth
and after—you have nothing else to go on
clinging to every look and gesture
winding yourself into being

*

not every spark ends in a sun
transcendent, though
your hand is on the work
indelible

National Poetry Month is ended, but I still have pages in my Yes-Words journal…

let’s muse on the gray areas

Abundance

time now to stop apologizing
for having time to dance and play
at beauty-making (the gift
to be simple, the gift
to be free) to plan
plant and watch grow
my harvest
is free
(time)

 

puritans

the devil told that lie
we sold ourselves
for work is all and only
guilt comes of pleasure

these things we Should
Should Not be doing
always something looming
over what we’re dreaming now

it rides our joy weary
drives it to the ground