Puritano

Posts Tagged ‘life’

Aleph

In writing on July 18, 2020 at 2:26 pm

Redemption peers at you wistfully

knowing full well that it can only be

sensed through the frame of your frail human body

as a broken symmetry

a miraculous aleph steeped in grace

soundless as a slumbering child

or a hunter in deep snow.

One cannot hope to evade such pristine absence

or escape the lure of a continent empty of all

save mute memories of water and stone.

This delicate torrent

this momentary millenium

crashes like the surf on

your dumbstruck, undeserving brow.

A caravel on her maiden voyage

a cracked Russian church bell

that still rings true—

how could you not be the lens

this universe is refracted through?

 

Once

In writing on July 5, 2020 at 11:46 am

The fiery musings of the prophets

tinkle cracked and cool as ice

in a bottle of bubbly soda.

No longer the dark mistress of a green

and growing world, the one tree

quivers wanly by the road like a

small-time crook in a police line-up.

Festival dancers, whose nimble flashing steps

once mirrored the light and warmth of

their ancestral village, trudge listlessly

across empty parking lots, through

endless anodyne cubicles.

What was that twilight-lullaby that sweet-voiced

Nature used to serenade you with;

what orisons did the Sun cheerfully grant

on summer days when the sky drifted

down with blue imperial ease just to

greet you as a friend?

You stand now on the dusty threshold of

a whole world’s death, idly fingering

the loose change in your pocket.

Haiku, 6/27

In writing on June 27, 2020 at 11:59 pm

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Little Deaths

In writing on June 21, 2020 at 12:13 am

 

All your  little deaths have piled up like dust

in the corner. Sweep them up and

toss them in the rubbish heap, along with

those childhood dreams and certain memories which

would wound like feral cats if one got too close.

A day is a terrible, orphaned thing, born in darkness

and slain scant hours later by the cold mace of the moon.

It staggers sightless through its mayfly realm,

searching for a place to bury its fear.

We too are bound upon the wheel, forever

arranging and rearranging the bric-a-brac

we call life.

Love, a penniless relative, waits meekly outside our door.

A Victory

In writing on June 8, 2020 at 12:52 am

Suddenly it all makes sense.

In the Imperial Palace gardens, on a day

borrowed from a slightly kinder universe:

Tawny June light, just arrived from

being hurled here from the Sun,

graces this glade’s shadowy Parthenon

of oak and pine,

runs like water off the squirming toes of

a feisty, picnic blanket-bound infant,

and pools around a couple’s swooning lips.

Time has taken the afternoon off

and is passing out raspberry lollipops

in mute apology to all those it has wounded.

Silence drifts regally in, a gift from the heavens.

Yet later we will seek, and strive,

like redfaced children in the heat of a game,

while the grass is clapping innumerable soft hands

in unison with the slow swaying of the boughs;

and the crickets’ love struck arpeggios melt

into the plangent chords of the earth,

which tell us patiently that victory

comes only to those

who have themselves already surrendered.BB9DC7C4-1FB5-49DA-BF8A-82D95A9CFBEA

 

Hospital Reverie I

In writing on May 25, 2020 at 12:19 am

The blessedly wide window

fronting my hospital bed

reveals as much of the world

as my weary human heart will let in.

A small, dun-colored hawk

the locals call a tombi

wheels effortlessly in the air,

waiting to swoop down and snatch

a bit of sandwich or donut

from an unsuspecting passerby.

It’s happened to me: once on a spring afternoon

alone on the square below with

the doctor’s words burning a hole

in my soul, I felt a light feathery shove

and there went my ham sandwich.

In  exchange for the loss of the snack,

one gets the rare thrill of seeing a hunter

in action, even if its primeval skills

are in service of scavenging.

”You’re welcome to it!” I  shout

as it makes its arcing getaway.

How wonderfully patient the hawk is,

how at-one-with-sky-and-wind as it floats,

immanent and free.

And how heavy, earthbound, and  altogether

haphazard I am in comparison,

with parts of my body fighting other parts,

Like Lear’s fractious daughters.

Yet, just like the hawk,

I want to live, and snatch someone else’s food.

 

 

 

Tapestry

In writing on April 28, 2020 at 11:19 pm

Pour the blue out of the sky

and spread it on the ground.

You shall walk on heaven then,

and you yourself be crowned.

 

Wash the green out of the sea

then hoist it as a sail.

Far-flung coasts shall reveal themselves,

beckoning you to enter the tale.

 

Dig the brown out of the earth

and weave it into a cloak.

You’ll glide through valleys and over peaks,

evanescent as smoke.

 

Pluck the violet from the rainbow,

the gold from an eagle’s eye;

take the silver from the moonlight,

and red from a setting sun—

turn these tones into a life,

a tapestry of hues.

Look

In writing on April 18, 2020 at 9:55 am

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Voyages

In writing on March 25, 2020 at 3:50 am

Every moment we return

from a journey mapless and obscure.

Ethereal dust blankets our martyred feet,

spirit muscles burn,

our souls sink fathom-heavy with

the weight of all we have witnessed–

last desperate campaigns of the heart;

cavalcades of swaying pilgrims,

lost in perilous forests of doubt;

solemn coronations of grey, imperial rain.

This immanence is vouchsafed to all

who wander in their dreams, night or noon,

across musing summer meadows, or

above cascades of never-trodden peaks,

with only the clouds for company,

a traveler and a seeker true,

bound for the unvanquished republic of the skies.

Today

In writing on March 21, 2020 at 1:13 pm

Dawn opens its saffron eye
And this day’s pageant begins.
The patient dog waiting by the door,
The hospice worker’s cheery Hello.
Trains sigh and grumble along;
Office doors open and close in a huff;
The million suns of the city blaze on.
Stunned by its own beauty, the
Sky bends far down to seek
Approval from the murmuring trees, as the
Wind hums its own sweetly sad song.
Men and women who could have been
Moon and stars to one another
Stand side by side expressionlessly on an
anonymous street corner.
Alone in a park, a winsome girl
Smiles suddenly at nothing at all, and
Resolves to slap her sister the
Next chance she gets.
Men, filthy in mind and body,
Each a magnificent failure and prodigal,
Play the odds for all they’re worth.
Women practice swimming in the deep water,
Their bodies and souls resonating to a
Deep chord no man could ever sense.
The whole world groans under a daily burden of
Momentary kindnesses, unbelievable cruelties,
Of words like daggers and heart melting glances, of
Unfinished novels, wildflowers at dusk, and the
Great plangent roar of the surf, the smallest
Drop of which will outlast us all.

This was the day, grimy and glorious—
Wait as long as you wish,
You won’t see its like again.