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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476579" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>First Yellow Leaves On The Black Walnut Trees</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">First yellow leaves on the black walnut trees. <br>The original digits on the wristwatch of the sun. <br>Waterproof to any depth you want to drown in.<br>The trees are homesick. <br>You can tell by the way they’re giving up. <br>Comes the season of the dead in harvest time. <br>The dark abundance of the light <br>inspired by the muse of the earth<br>to write poetry <br>that touchs everyone <br>like water and wine<br>whether the apples are gathered or not. <br>The mystic grape finds enlightenment <br>in the mouth of a human <br>when it breaks like a koan <br>that tastes of something older than the truth.<br>It’s good to walk through an open field by yourself<br>as if home were just over the next hill <br>as the night comes on. <br>It’s good to feel fulfilled <br>without knowing much about why <br>as if some subtle stratagem of the sky<br>had worked out a truce with life for awhile <br>and everywhere the armies of the grass<br>were surrendering their shields like flowers.<br>It’s late August <br>and the cedars gather on the hillside<br>like old testament prophets <br>come down to the river <br>to baptize their roots in fire. <br>Chicory in the eyesocket <br>of a baby muskrat’s skull<br>half-buried in the earth like a small moon<br>that returned to its mother’s breast<br>several autumns ago. <br>If the medium is the message <br>then the message of life <br>is its timing <br>and the whole of its content is now. <br>The dead don’t walk among the living <br>squawking about things <br>they’re missing in paradise.<br>Ten commandments might be good advice <br>but there’s one bit of wisdom<br>that wasn’t written on a gravestone <br>that threatened to bury you<br>in the valley of the shadow of death <br>like an avalanche down the world mountain<br>for ever and ever and ever <br>should you ever wander off the beaten path <br>by as much as one black sheep away from the flock: <br>It’s not your door if you have to knock.<br>Your life’s the key to your own lock. <br>You can ask the flowers. <br>Beauty isn’t enslaved by its own powers.<br>Clarity sees through the brave <br>as easily as the cowards<br>as two sides of the same fear <br>and no river’s flowing the wrong way to the sea. <br>Autumn is a lonely voice <br>that sadly rejoices in what it must be<br>but what mad wonders <br>it hides under everyone’s breath<br>like marvels it keeps to itself.<br>The best place to hide <br>is out in the open<br>like being and seeing and thinking. <br>And if you smell the wind<br>at this time of year <br>you can tell that it’s been drinking<br>to drown its wanderlust in words <br>heading south with the birds <br>who carry the souls of the dead away <br>like fires that ascended to heaven <br>on a ladder of bones <br>and a spinal cord <br>threaded through the eye of a needle. <br>A snake sheds its skin and vertebrae at last<br>and turns its scales into wings <br>to become a dragon<br>that burns its bridges behind it<br>like waterbirds without directions<br>disappearing from their own reflections <br>before the first ice.<br>I reach the top of an old hill <br>and I can see what I look like <br>a long way off from here<br>as Venus breaks like a mirror <br>low on the horizon<br>through the black mascara <br>on the eyelashes of the backlit pines.<br>And there are spirits of the air <br>summoned by the darkness<br>with eyes that glow <br>like charcoal on the fires<br>of yesterday’s myth of origins <br>to look up at the stars <br>and make up some kind of a story <br>about what they’re doing there in the first place<br>like the afterlife of the mystery <br>of the night before time and space<br>as if the history of our prophetic skulls <br>could still foretell the future <br>of an advanced race of cannibals. <br>You are what you eat. <br>But the time is long past <br>when I could tear my heart out <br>and offer it up to the unappeasable gods <br>like the fruit of a human <br>who has wandered the earth <br>like a rootless tree <br>true to his own homelessness<br>like a fire that kept faith with a heretic<br>who made the ultimate sacrifice. <br>Who would be there to receive it? <br>If I wrapped it up like a foundling <br>and laid it on the stairs of the abyss <br>late at night when no one was watching <br>or sent it down the river<br>in a basket I wove from cattails <br>like a baby in an empty lifeboat <br>drifting down its bloodstream<br>on its way to something better<br>than a promised land it couldn’t enter<br>what life on what distant star <br>would bend down and pick it up <br>like a message in a bottle <br>from life stranded on an island galaxy <br>waiting to hear the likeness of its own echo<br>in the voice of the light that answered<br>help is on the way? <br>And that sword’s been long drawn <br>out of the barren stone of the moon <br>that gave it back to the waters <br>like the blade of an old perfection <br>it once fell upon <br>like the reflection of a man <br>with a noble calling<br>in the absence of volunteers.<br>I haven’t sacrificed my innocence <br>to that invincible agony in years. <br>And there’s more than one crown <br>I’ve thrown off a bridge <br>like a trinket of my powers <br>to self-destruct<br>as if I knew somehow<br>you can’t keep <br>what you won’t give away.<br>You can run deliberately straight as a highway <br>or weave spontaneously like a river<br>but if the first <br>just regard the extreme chaos <br>of conditioned conciousness<br>and if the latter <br>you’ll shed many lives <br>like skies and skin you’ve grown out of <br>following the long journey of yourself <br>all the way from your tail to your head <br>passing like a serpent through the grass<br>as if you had a secret <br>you keep to yourself <br>that were better left unsaid. <br>But there’s a third extreme <br>that just as intense as the others<br>which is the way I stay the course. <br>I put wings on a horse <br>that’s never known a saddle<br>or been bruised by the stars like spurs<br>and we’re up up and away <br>as if we’d never heard of the Medusa. <br>The Great Square of Pegasus <br>going down behind the pines <br>like a card up my sleeve. <br>I don’t want to turn anyone into stone<br>or blind them with my shield <br>as if the light knew judo <br>and how to use my enemy’s strengths <br>against it. <br>I don’t want to decapitate anyone <br>who was once the priestess<br>who fed sweetcakes and honey <br>to the oracular pythons of Delphi<br>and long before that <br>along with her two Gorgonic sisters <br>was the virgin wife crone phase of the moon <br>shedding her graces like skin.<br>I’ve jumped into enough snakepits<br>for one lifetime <br>to know how easy it is to get in <br>and how nearly impossible it is to get out.<br>One fang of the moon kills you. <br>The other heals you. <br>But you’re never the same after that<br>and there are scars that hurt worse than the wound.<br>But you can see things before the arising of signs <br>and there’s a crazy wisdom that embodies you <br>like a candle in the darkness<br>talking to itself. <br>And I can hear what the serpent said <br>quietly to Eve <br>just before it offered her the apple<br>from the forbidden tree: <br>Don’t lie to anyone you’re trying to believe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476579" data-title="First Yellow Leaves On The Black Walnut Trees de Patrick White" data-description="First yellow leaves on the black walnut trees. 
The original digits on the wristwatch of the sun. 
Waterproof to any depth you want to drown in.
The trees are homesick. 
You can tell by the way they’re giving up. 
Comes the season of the dead in..."></div>
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