Every Path
Every path is as wide with compassion
as the planet that you're walking on
so there's really never any danger of falling off.
I didn't lie
and you didn't tell the truth:
two sins of omission
trying to fit lenses to clarity
like fashionable eyewear.
It's what people do
when they don't want to see too much.
And I'm sure you've recreated me in your own image long since
I discovered good-bye was older than eternity
and more absolute than space.
I remember you asking me once
after we'd finished making love in the red tide
as the breakers dashed their galaxies against the rocks
and we both sprawled there naked dripping with stars
what I thought a human was and I replied
an interpretation with a face.
And you asked why we were here
and I said to listen to the sea beside someone like you.
And later as we were walking back to the fire
you looked back at our footprints glowing in the sand
like tiny island universes following us
like dance-steps painted on the shore
and pulling yourself in tight against my arm
you whispered I think we're the music they're dancing to.
And ever since I've cherished
an ancient silence deep within me
whenever I've looked at the stars and thought of you.
I've burned a lot of bridges
since that night of doors
with thresholds that couldn't be crossed
and windows that turned their backs
on what they couldn't see through.
I should have thought by now
I might have forgotten you
but you're always the stranger
who shows up at the gate of the abyss
just as I'm about to enter
and throwing me a blindfolded kiss
says Here. Interpret this.
As if it were some kind of koan
you wanted me to break like a fortune-cookie
or Etruscan linear B
or the water of a womb that's letting go
like the dark night sea that still surrounds us
as if all these eras of time
that have driven past us like stars
driving past roadkill
on the ghost road of the Milky Way
could be clocked
by the heartbeat of an embryo
born posthumously in the past without a future.
And sometimes it comes to me
like a glass eye rounded by the waves of its eyelid
washing up at my feet like a well-spoken memory
that lost its edge to the bluntness of time
there's nothing natural about human nature
because there's nothing supernatural about the divine.
poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
So Many Stars
Maybe I didn't love you
As I turn onto Union Square
Maybe I didn't love you
As I slip my token into the turnstile
Maybe I only need to think about the past
You can understand
As I wedge myself between two boom-box boys
On the A train
Maybe I don't love you now
As I check out a brand new stove
Walking by a kitchen-wares store on Lex
Maybe I just needed to love
Anyone at all
Maybe I won't ever love you again
As I walk into Manny's for some strings
Maybe we won't ever be friends
Could I have needed to love the dark
As I try to avoid a jakey on Broome
Could I have conjured you
On imaginary avenues
Well maybe I need to merge with the all
As I stare at the sunset over the Hudson
And there you'd become one of
So many stars
What if I couldn't tell you apart
What if I couldn't pick out your face
What if I didn't love you
Didn't love you
There are so many stars
What if I couldn't pick out your face
Or find your hands
There are so many stars
What if I didn't love you
But what if I do
How will I know
What will you do
When I find you
There are so many stars
What if you're out there
And I just didn't see you
I could lose you just like that
Maybe forever
There are so many stars
So many stars
There are so many stars
There are so many stars
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And You Don’t Remember Me
I sat on the park bench
pen and notebook in hand.
I watched all the people
as they passed on by.
I wondered how in life
each one of them had fared
with their happiness
and their sorrows.
I looked for inspiration
for something to write.
She looked at me and smiled,
I smiled back
thinking that was that.
“You don’t remember me? ”
She said and sat down.
I looked at her again
as memories swirled
around in my mind.
She was right
I didn’t remember her
Her hair was mousey colour
with flecks of grey
starting to appear here and there.
There were thick lines
across her forehead,
crow feet lines
near the corners of her eyes.
The corners of her mouth
drooped just slightly.
Her blues eyes were striking
and I knew I had seen them before,
but they were with a younger face
a long time ago.
A face that lit up
whenever she spoke.
“You still don’t remember me? ”
She asked once again.
I shook my head,
but unfortunately, I did.
I could remember
all the beauty
she had had in her youth,
before time had ravaged her
and taken away her beauty
and her youth.
She looked so sad.
I wanted to reach out
like I always wanted to,
but something deep inside,
a little voice you could call it,
kept telling me no.
My urge to hold her
was trying to win out,
but I couldn’t do it.
She was no longer
a part of my life.
All she was now
was a memory I clung to,
a memory of my youth
so long, long ago.
With notebook and pen,
I smiled and bit her farewell.
I whispered her name
as I said a last goodbye.
I didn’t look back
or I would have looked back with regret.
She was a past,
something none of us can ever relive.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moonlit Day
I remember the moon staring back at us
I remember the stars holding our gaze
I remember the cool air that night
I remember warming you and holding you tight
I remember how it felt to finally be loved
I remember how I felt and what I couldn't stop
I remember the way you looked being lit by the night
I remember how fiery my passion became right then
I remember all the things that were
I remember all the things that couldn't have been
I remember all of this but it belongs to time's past
I remember everything and the feelings that wouldn't last
I remember most of all what I wanted to say
But it remains to another time
A time of a moonlit day
poem by Matthew Jenkins
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The Sun, The Moon And Stars
Ah-ooh, ah-ah-ooh, ah-ah-ooh, ah-ah-oh-ooh {2x}
It's late and i'm running out of clever things 2 say
The kind that will bring a girl like u 2 tears
There's only one more glass of this ros
Let's throw it on the fire with our past
And dance the night away until...
The sun, the moon and stars
Don't seem as far as they did yesterday
The sun, the moon and stars
In love we r - 4ever, always
It's late and i think it's about time 4 u and me 2 get closer...
2 get closer than we ever did before (ooh)
Whenever there's a tide u can let it ride inside your interior
Lay back, relax upon my shore (ooh)
Ooh-ooh baby, i wanna make love 2 u right here
One inside the other one - no fear, we're here until...
The sun, the moon and stars
Don't seem as far as they did yesterday
The sun, the moon and stars
In love we r - 4ever, always
Blow out this candle sunlight
And come lay down next 2 me
And paint another rainbow - ooh-wee (ooh-wee)
Eclipse this light with extasy
[...]
Come on, come on
Let's lay down
I'm walking out of what to say
That kind of lucky rhyme
Make a chippy wanna say:
whisper in the belly
2 me rocking ros?
Do u like i do
Come on and dance the night away
Let's lay before they get to close the door
U and me, we got 2 get down on the floor
Come on, let the tide ride in and off the shore
I wanna love u once again - and then some more
Lay your head back i got my hand behind your head
Like u do the limbo supple on the bouncy bed
Let's bouncing on the summer spring
And when u start 2 fall
U come like a cold winter due in montreal
(come on baby)
(the sun, the moon and stars) - hey-hey, hey-hey
(the tide ride) - hey-hey, hoo-hoo
(the tide ride - hou)
The sun, the moon and stars
Don't seem as far as they did yesterday
The sun, the moon and stars
In love we r - 4ever, always
The sun, the moon and stars
Don't seem as far as they did yesterday
The sun, the moon and stars
In love we r - 4ever, always
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sun Moon & Stars
Ah-ooh, ah-ah-ooh, ah-ah-ooh, ah-ah-oh-ooh {2x}
Its late and Im running out of clever things 2 say
The kind that will bring a girl like u 2 tears
Theres only one more glass of this ros
Lets throw it on the fire with our past
And dance the night away until...
The sun, the moon and stars
Dont seem as far as they did yesterday
The sun, the moon and stars
In love we r - 4ever, always
Its late and I think its about time 4 u and me 2 get closer...
2 get closer than we ever did before (ooh)
Whenever theres a tide u can let it ride inside your interior
Lay back, relax upon my shore (ooh)
Ooh-ooh baby, I wanna make love 2 u right here
One inside the other one - no fear, were here until...
The sun, the moon and stars
Dont seem as far as they did yesterday
The sun, the moon and stars
In love we r - 4ever, always
Blow out this candle sunlight
And come lay down next 2 me
And paint another rainbow - ooh-wee (ooh-wee)
Eclipse this light with extasy
[...]
Come on, come on
Lets lay down
Im walking out of what to say
That kind of lucky rhyme
Make a chippy wanna say:
whisper in the belly
2 me rocking ros?
Do u like I do
Come on and dance the night away
Lets lay before they get to close the door
U and me, we got 2 get down on the floor
Come on, let the tide ride in and off the shore
I wanna love u once again - and then some more
Lay your head back I got my hand behind your head
Like u do the limbo supple on the bouncy bed
Lets bouncing on the summer spring
And when u start 2 fall
U come like a cold winter due in montreal
(come on baby)
(the sun, the moon and stars) - hey-hey, hey-hey
(the tide ride) - hey-hey, hoo-hoo
(the tide ride - hou)
The sun, the moon and stars
Dont seem as far as they did yesterday
The sun, the moon and stars
In love we r - 4ever, always
The sun, the moon and stars
Dont seem as far as they did yesterday
The sun, the moon and stars
In love we r - 4ever, always
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Explode
Vera's face burnt as a memory of bedroom fun
With a lighter and some hairspray
Smoking in the girls' room
Not worse than Shelley's rape behind the McDonald's
By a man she thought was fine, didn't tell anybody
Or maybe back then we just thought that she was getting some
Now we look back and see that she didn't know how
We never thought that we'd get caught up
Stuck in the teenage waste
As we explode
As we explode
As we explode
As we explode
Then getting drunk in the bushes by the road outside the Kmart
Rolling around in them to see if you would get prickled
Slip the acid on your tongue rooftop mall parkade
We couldn't get enough
Then count the stars and the ten million woes
Just you and the universe judging each other
We never knew that we'd get caught up
Stuck in the teenage waste
As we explode
As we explode
As we explode
As we let go
It's a fight, it's a fight and you finally belong
Got a shiner now and it's more than a battle scar
More than a battle scar, such a good, good story to tell
At lunch break, lunch break, lunch break, lunch break
Such a good, good story to tell
You bully, you break, you bully, you break
You fake, you fake, you fake, you fake
You smoke, you toke, you want, you flaunt, you hit it and you're in it and it's spinning
And it's wild
We never thought that we'd get caught up
Stuck in the teenage waste
As we explode
As we explode
As we explode
As we let go
We're counting the stars
We're counting the stars
We're gonna go far, we're gonna go far
We're counting the stars, we're counting the stars
We're not very far, we're not very far
And it's you and me in the open air
It's truth or dare, we don't care
We're counting the stars, we're counting the stars, we're counting the stars, we're counting the stars
song performed by by Nelly Furtado
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Good Things Never Last
It's three in the morning
You're no were in sight
And all that I wanted was to be with you tonight
The love in your eyes
Is fading so fast
No matter how hard we try
Some good things never last
But what good is holding on
When you know
That all you can think about
Is letting go
They say if you love someone
Then set them free
If they come back again
Then in the end
It was meant to be
I thought we were lovers
I thought we were friends
I guess when reality steps in
It all depends
We live for the future
We learn from the past
No matter how hard we try
Some good things never last
When all you can think about
Is letting go
Be true to yourself my love
That's all I ever wanted you to be
Just don't forget to smile
When you think of me
I'll reach for the stars
I've got them in sight
There's someone who really needs me
Out there in the night
We live for the future
We learn from the past
No matter how hard we try
Some good things never last
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do You Ever...?
Do you ever think about the past?
Do you ever wish it didn't go by so fast?
Do you ever smile at the good times?
Do you ever laugh at all the silly rhymes?
Do you ever remember laughing so hard you thought you would pee?
Do you ever think about all the stories that start with, 'Remember when we...? '
Dou you ever think to yourself, 'We shouldn't have gotten away with that.'?
Do you ever remember how we were looked at?
Do you ever wonder why our parents always asked, 'What are you girls doing? '
Do you ever laugh remembering how we always replied with a laugh and a simple, 'Nothing.'?
Do you ever remember running around?
Do you ever think about us not caring if we looked like clowns?
Do you ever think about the past?
Do you ever wish it didn't go by so fast?
poem by Ashley Reese
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Were The Intimacy
You were the intimacy
of the things I loved
that were so impossibly far away
I could never reach out and touch them
except by touching you.
In the long silence of these past thirty-seven years
I have never been able to look at people again
the way I used to see them before I met you.
There's a fear in the way I love them
that I learned
from living your absence.
A deep black wounded space within
that has sadly outgrown the stars
like October outlives its fireflies.
And every threshold I've crossed ever since
has turned into a long road
with a precipice at the end of my spinal cord
swaying like the first night I met you
on the Capilano Suspension Bridge
and you said
the only way
to overcome your fear of falling
is to have the courage to jump.
And I laughed and said
staring into the gorge
and the thin silver water down below
what's to fear
if you know how to fall toward paradise?
And you knew right away
I was your kind of challenge.
And I knew you wanted
to sword-dance with razorblades
you laid out like the Tarot
later back at your place
as if you wanted to convince yourself
you were still silly enough to believe in tomorrow.
The candle beside the cards on the floor
didn't turn out to be
enough of a lighthouse
to warn us of the approaching storm.
We were sincere in the darkness
for a little while
astounded by the expert innocence
of our mindless flesh.
You shone like the sun at midnight
and I came undone like Icarus
to prove I was falling
without regrets
like a spent star
into the singularity
of a whole new universe
where everything that didn't happen in this one
came uncannily true in the next
for both of us
as if we were at last worthy
in each others' arms
of our own happiness.
When happiness is brave
it's bliss.
And when it's afraid
there's nothing sadder
than a gift that was never opened.
Joy is a warrior that risked hoping
there was nothing left dying for.
Sorrow comes up with a million reasons.
The only way of life
is not making a way of life.
Nor making
not making a way of life
a way.
One day you just get off the road
and start taking the long way home through the starfields.
You stop looking in the mirror
to see if you still have eyes.
For years after your death
no matter what I looked at
I always saw the same thing.
The black clarity
of your existential absence
staring me in the face
without turning me into stone
because that would have been mercy.
Try how I might
I could never quite
shut the lid on your coffin
or accept
that you were buried in me for good
or that my blood burned
like the infernal red
of an emergency exit
to show me the way out
of heaven and hell
by falling on them both
like a two-edged sword
that killed me deeper into life
than your death ever did.
Either life's unfair
or I'm not man enough
to live up to your suicide
but I remember how I used to love
feeling the weight
of the nightstream of your hair
as it poured through my hand
like a landscape that could feel
for the first time in a long time
water running in the dry creekbeds of its lifelines.
Things woke up.
And I saw the flowers
among the thorns
that had been guarding them
like the secret names of God
you had to know
to get past the burning angels
through the gates
of your sad return to Eden alone.
The eloquence of your flesh
when you walked on the earth
as if your heart danced to your blood
like an old song we both knew
now a broken harp of bone,
a wounded guitar,
someone laid down for good.
A prophetic skull
without a future
anyone can foretell.
The full moon going down
like a spare penny
into a dry wishing well.
Me looking at the dark hills
like the contours of your corpse laid out
under a collapsed tent
as they wheeled you into the ambulance
to spend your first vast impossibly long night in the morgue
among the dead
who don't catch their breath
or break their bodies like bread
alone in the stillness
that can't distinguish one death from another.
However I wept for you
all the hard bitter baffled tears
all the sweet radiant wellsprings
that washed the dust like stars
off the wings of the birds
that had laboured to carry the souls of the dead
far to the west
when I remembered
how blessed I really was
that things had been
so beautifully dangerous for awhile.
And all the dark fathomless watersheds of lucidity
I drowned in like a eye in a grail
looking for butterflies in a suicide note.
All the black pearls
the diamond skulls
the eclipsed chalices
all the precious jewels of my grieving
that death hoarded underground
nothing in the end
but nameless water
frozen between the cracks
of a gravestone as old as the moon.
I remember how I loved your ice-blue eyes
and how they burned with an Arctic clarity
you had to dress warmly for
if you didn't want to suffer from frost-bite
but there's more nightshade in them now
than chicory
when I look into them like tundral flowers
and the light turns hurtful and eerie
when I recall how the melting snow
washed itself clean of itself
all those years ago
when we didn't know
what all this meant.
It's of little relevance
that we once loved each other
the way we did
and once you've exhausted
the meaning of signs
like galaxies expanding
ever more deeply into space
less significance.
What does it look like from Mars?
Your death was a koan
not a fortune-cookie
and the koan broke me
like a man it couldn't understand
rationally.
There is no scar for you.
You will always be
this open wound inside of me.
When I look at the stars
I can't dissociate beauty from absurdity.
I cherish their clarity
as something that can't be
contaminated by my eyes
when they're nothing
but two black holes in space
a snake-bite of the light
in the middle of my face
like a colon without the following:
the kind of faith
that makes what little is left
so incommensurably greater than what's been lost.
I can see the blue morning glory in the garden
as if moonlight had turned to skin
just to feel what it's like to flower
but I can't forget the frost
that fell like your death over all of it
when I went so numb
space turned into glass
and time pulled the blind down on the window.
I closed my eyes like a mirror
content to let the stars make sense
of their own reflections.
I gave up on directions
and burned my starmaps
and followed who I was
without caring what I became.
Absolutes of ice
spread like cataracts
over the relativities of the river
that went on flowing
as if nothing had changed
and my life was still a dream without eyelids.
A ghost would be easier to deal with
than the fact
that you don't exist anymore
except as bare bones
denuded of the world
like yarrow sticks
thrown before the Book of Changes.
But then I expect
you'd exorcise yourself
at a suggestion of the night
that the stars would be so much brighter
if you only blew out the candleflame.
You'd do it just to see
if things got better.
You'd leave me in the dark again
staring at the stars
like white ink
on a black loveletter
you left unsigned
as you disappeared into death
like your last breath on a cold windowpane.
I've long since forgiven you my solitude.
I've long since forgiven you
the severity of the wisdom
that hardened my eyes
like diamonds in the darkness
that could cut through anything
except my attachment to you.
I have forgiven you
for the way I have grown through suffering
to realize
how much I owe your death
and the terrible eyeless abyss that followed it
like an enlightened insight
into the impersonal nature of compassion.
I have forgiven you
the way I am spontaneously compelled
to love a world that is so estranged from me
I feel like water on the moon
trying to imagine what it must be like
to fall like rain on the intimate earth
with a reasonable expectation
of coming up flowers
that weren't destined
to be laid on your grave.
I've gone grey gathering them up
and bringing them to you
like bouquets of paints and brushes
that are ready at hand
should you ever wish
to pick them up again
and show me what the world looks like
without a body for a picture-frame
as you play the part of the upstart genius
who lived the black farce of creative pain
like the agony of the wick
burning at the stake like a heretic
between the flesh of the wax
and the spiritual aspirations of the candleflame
thrusting spears into space at the stars
as if the only way you could ever know God
if you ever met up
was by the scars.
poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God Bless
In the mall one day I saw you
Walking past
And then I looked again and
You were gone
Well anyway I thought about
When I last talked to you
And how I prayed for you
And how I told you things would be fine
In time you would be okay
If that was you then God bless
[Chorus:]
God bless
You been on my mind
Thought I'd call you up and tell you
God bless ya
And I'm glad you didn't break
Under the pressure
God Bless
I know it's been a while since
We spent time together
God Bless ya
And I'm glad to see you doing
So much better
I remember when you made
A big mistake
And had to go away
and when your time was spent
You did all you could to prove
You had changed
So many people didn't wanna give a
Second chance
But you didn't let that keep you from getting on your feet again
[Chorus:]
I really wanna let you know
song performed by by Mary Mary from Incredible
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Constant Time
Time past and the future give way to this present picture,
But can somebody tell me how to recognize that gate that leads to the bed of roses,
We speak about the future like the past is a grain of sand on the shore,
Washed away by the ocean tide,
Giving way to new grains to make a portrait of the present,
These past memories stay deep in our heart like the depths of the ocean,
Though it gets washed back to shore ones in a blue moon,
Reminding us that our past is a standard measurement of our strength,
Time moves so fast making the past to fade away,
this makes us seem so secured about the present,
Forgetting the fact that our present becomes our past that was once a present from nature as a new day,
Some take the future to be a dream and a wish,
But I take my future to be what I see when I stand from the bottom of the mountain to look at the top,
And my past to be the depth of the ocean that can always be washed ashore …
The only thing I can control is my present,
Yes cos my mind controls my hands to give you a flash of what goes on in my head
Like this words i write to you was once my future and will become my past, making my future my past and my past my future..So ironical isn’t it?
Standing here I sure know 1 thing,
I will reach the top by that foot path,
Yes of course it’s not to mean that I wouldn’t fall,
But I have to break myself off my present past and walk with grace to stand where I belong,
There where I am the king of my destiny,
The past is just going to be a page of memories,
And my future will become my present making time constant in my head,
Because I stand on my past which was once my present and my present which was once my future, making time equal and constant
As I flip thru this page of life,
By: ade
poem by Adeniran Oluokun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once Upon A Time
The hours late and the lights are low
Im walking home just kicking stones
I waited at the deopt you never showed
You missed the last bus hours ago
I remember the first time
I saw you on the street
You looked so pretty my heart skipped a beat
I cant wait any longer but I still feel the heat
Im down but Im still on my feet
I walked on down the old fairground
Up from the docks blew a lonely sound
I sat for a while on the cold hard ground
Watched the stars slowly turn as the earth spun around
As the past falls behind up ahead theres a crack
Of light shining bright through the night so black
Like a runaway train rolling down the track
From here theres no turning back
Listen to me baby
Once upon a time
My heart was an ocean
You swam against the tide
The time is past for grieving
My tears have all run dry
Ill leave you with my love
And now I say goodbye
The bottles broke the glasses are cracked
The cards are all dealt and the chips have been stacked
The lamp shades busted and the curtains are torn
The door keeps knocking but theres nobody home
I stood by the road brushed a tear from my eye
Cursed the cars and the rain and the rolling grey sky
I turned around turned my back on that town
And I never looked back again
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Won't Mean Much If Your Eyes Aren't Open In Your Blood
Won't mean much if your eyes aren't open in your blood.
If the stars can't see you because you don't know how
to read them poetry in the small cafes of your heart
accompanied by spoons and plates and broken goblets
of the cheap house wine that smash just like love affairs
dashing your skull against the rocks, hoping the mermaids come back.
If you can't hear in the parking lot of a raucous industry
the colours of your emotions, you're a deaf chameleon
and who could make you listen to what you can't listen to
even if you had enough people who loved you around you
to want you to try to listen to your own tears when you cry?
Your ear on the same wavelength as a corrugated tin roof,
maybe you can see what I'm trying to say to you
if you close your eyes, and just listen to the rain without
trying too hard to make a big effortless effort to be
auditorily enlightened by the racket of your delusions.
I can't remember when my life stopped being my own
and I went to bed one night, and I was as human as my toes are
and I awoke, I was merely the afterbirth of a visionary
I didn't recognize, as my eyes were being igneously wrung
from a cope of dark ore like stars out of the distant hills.
Not a lot of self-respect from the beginning, maybe
it wasn't that hard becoming everyone and everything else,
and I was a prime candidate for effacement
but when I looked into the mirror of my
ten inch, equatorially mounted, clock-driven, reflecting telescope
I used like a canning jar to capture and mount stars and fireflies
on a black velvet starmap, all I could see
was this abyss staring back at me that couldn't say
where I'd gone, but the last I thought I heard
was that I got a job as a janitor in an hourglass
sweeping mirages out of a desert of private school stars.
I say what I see as it occurs to me spontaneously.
And I'm compelled to say it without hesitation
so the vision isn't tainted by the colour of the jewel
it's passing through, from one eye to the next, ad infinitum.
No light pollution in the shining, though there's something
about the idea of purity that continues to appal me
because I never had so much against chaos from the beginning
and I sense a deep hatred of all that is soiled and flawed,
in which case, I'd rather be an outlaw than one of these monks
who disdain me because I can't help seeing their discipline
as uncreatively redundant. Eventually, if they're blessed,
all our faces are going to fall off by themselves
like the scabs of sunspots that healed the wounded light
like a wildflower shedding its petals like nurses' caps
and deathmasks frozen like a moment in time meant
to last forever though we go on being estranged by them forever.
Uncanny transformations of the solid into the real.
Maybe it's time to let the mindstream flow as it will
and let the burning bridges of our delusions cross us for a change
to get to the other side of a life that's only got one bank
and it's as clear as space, we're not even standing on that.
Hang on. Let go. It's just your hand opening and closing
like a door in a dream, and you'll find your falling
just as fast as you ever were and if you were to ask your eyes
they couldn't tell in this vastness whether your were falling up or down.
When you've dismantled all you've desired,
post neo-deconstructionism sets in like spiritual rigor mortis
and you can't tell if you're sleeping with the living or the dead
when you haven't got your mask on. You can wear holes
in your shoes, and windows and carpets, pacing
like a waterclock of the heart in an hourglass of waiting
like a boy at the edge of the curb with his elbows on his knees
and his face in his glum hands, waiting for a parade
with sacred clowns throwing away free candies
like stars along the route of the mystic Milky Way.
Just be sure to keep your eyes open like a spring thaw
so the light can recognize you like the flower that brought it
to full illumination this time last year like a candle
that keeps blowing its petals out so you can see
the black matter of what you are not deeper
into the eyeless dark than you've ever bloomed before.
poem by Patrick White
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Gray Rain
Gray rain
but the trees
are teaching the stars how to break into leaves.
Good rain on the good earth.
Autumn's a long passage.
Spring is full of thresholds.
Rainbow bridges in the distance
over urgent streams.
Everything's in a rush to become something.
I thought I knew once
who I was supposed to be
but more and more it eludes me
like a future that's already behind me.
I leave it to the world
to finish what I began
and include myself in the mystery
and try to carry on like a man
who looks at a star he won't follow
through the branches of the burgeoning trees
as the history of who I am
now that I'm not anymore.
The less I am the more there is to be.
And one eye doesn't get in the way of the other as much.
There is just this as it is
and what am I beholding
if I'm not looking upon myself as I am
in common with everything
that's changing all around me
like a mind that can't contain itself
in any fixed mode of being
anymore than the eye
can decide what it's seeing.
Everything is burning with life in the rain
and change is the dangerous bliss
we feel when we cease to exist.
The trees might have fingerprints
graven into their bark
and you might accord them
an identity in the dark
and approve of their names
and let them pass as if you knew who they were
but that doesn't make them
any less of a stranger than you are
or the clouds carry passports.
Praise be to the abundance of oblivion
and the cornucopias of blackholes
in the hearts of the galaxies
that keep wounding themselves into life
by falling on their own swords
like a knife that heals.
By day the light gives.
But at night
it steals.
And the mirror lives
and pours water over the eyes of the blind
and suddenly the stars can see again.
And the grape hyacinth is drunk on blue wine.
And I'm walking on water on the moon
even as the moon walks on my tears
without knowing which ones
flowed from the bells of my sorrows
and which overwhelmed me
like birds in the fountains of joy.
First I am a man.
And then I am a boy.
Spring takes itself for granted.
And autumn comes on with regrets.
But they both know
this is as good as it gets
and nothing's missing
in the mind's lost and found.
It's just the way things get around
when you throw the world back in the water
like a life of your own
you gave up years ago
to be who you are now.
Praise be to the stars
that stop by the gate this late
to chat about gardens
and how to keep
the roots of the roses alive
when the ground hardens.
Even if you're a demon in steep descent
or an angel rising from hell
life has the power of a flower
and the genius of a universe
to turn falling into a calling
like planets and Canada geese.
You can walk out alone
into a wide open field at night like I do
and stand there under the stars
that have been staring at you since childhood
like someone they should keep an eye on
and say: This is me. This is who I am as I am
to the whole twinkling lot of them in self-defence
to uphold the savage dignity of the difference.
You can stand there in the vastness
of that one definitive thought
that goes on forever like a silence older than birds
and feel the sweet release of upending joy
trying to master its new freedom
when space morphs into a mouth for a moment
and says softly
o so softly
in a voice that's been singed by compassion:
No.
You're not.
poem by Patrick White
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Elegy For My Father
HLF, August 8,1918—August 22,1997
“Bequeath us to no earthly shore until
Is answered in the vortex of our grave
The seal’s wide spindrift gaze towards paradise.”
—Hart Crane, “Voyages”
“If a lion could talk, we couldn’t understand it”
—Ludwig Wittgenstein
Under the ocean that stretches out wordlessly
past the long edge of the last human shore,
there are deep windows the waves haven't opened,
where night is reflected through decades of glass.
There is the nursery, there is the nanny,
there are my father’s unreachable eyes
turned towards the window. Is the child uneasy?
His is the death that is circling the stars.
In the deep room where candles burn soundlessly
and peace pours at last through the cells of our bodies,
three of us are watching, one of us is staring
with the wide gaze of a wild, wave-fed seal.
Incense and sage speak in smoke loud as waves,
and crickets sing sand towards the edge of the hourglass.
We wait outside time, while night collects courage
around us. The vigil is wordless. And you
watch the longest, move the farthest, besieged by your breath,
pulling into your body. You stare towards your death,
head arched on the pillow, your left fingers curled.
Your mouth sucking gently, unmoved by these hours
and their vigil of salt spray, you show us how far
you are going, and how long the long minutes are,
while spiralling night watches over the room
and takes you, until you watch us in turn.
Lions speak their own language. You are still breathing.
Here is release. Here is your pillow,
cool like a handkerchief pressed in a pocket.
Here is your white tousled long growing hair.
Here is a kiss on your temple to hold you
safe through your solitude’s long steady war;
here, you can go. We will stay with you,
keeping the silence we all came here for.
Night, take his left hand, turning the pages.
Spin with the windows and doors that he mended.
Spin with his answers, patient, impatient.
Spin with his dry independence, his arms
warmed by the needs of his family, his hands
flying under the wide, carved gold ring, and the pages
flying so his thought could fly. His breath slows,
lending its edges out to the night.
Here is his open mouth. Silence is here
like one more new question that he will not answer.
A leaf is his temple. The dark is the prayer.
He has given his body; his hand lies above
the sheets in a symbol of wholeness, a curve
of thumb and forefinger, ringed with wide gold,
and the instant that empties his breath is a flame
faced with a sudden cathedral's new stone.
poem by Annie Finch
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Among The Skeletons Of The Sundials
Among the skeletons of the sundials
what deficits of time remain unlived, unfulfilled?
So much forfeited to what crowded it out.
And the more that was said, the more
fraudulent and incomplete what we wanted to sing.
Too many murmuring windows, too many
trashed doorways to the collusive shelters of the heart.
We saw the stars, and how few learned.
We went to war for reasons
that have forgotten us now
and though there were those
who sternly waited like iron gates
no one returned to their secret gardens
or the silence as they had left it.
I watched from an island as the sea flexed
into the muscle of my generation
to celebrate a dream that hasn't happened yet
and tear the veils off the multi-eyed spiders
and make them wince in a succession
of photo-op acid flashbacks
that stunted the weaving a moment or two.
It was what we could do, not what we did it for,
and the idealism of it all was merely
the afterthought of the alibi for the release
of so much sunamic energy that would sooner
walk on water in Jesus boots, than float
the way the usual bloated corpses did.
The earth shook and the bridges and cornerstones
sank into quicksand, and the black roses
of the La Brea tar pits swallowed their worms.
And then the profit margins of the corporations
went helical as a stairway to heaven
and heaven came down to earth, and money was made.
Love and understanding exploited
as natural human resources. Spiritual materialism.
Light My Fire became the enlightenment path to cars.
I was there. I still wear more scars than I do flowers.
And I can remember the day the sundials died
in aesthetic gardens of unconcern and though
I loved the colours and the creative efflorescence
of unconditioned minds here and there
who had avoided madness by an eyelash,
it was only our lack of years for a summer or two
that kept us from saying the word, pure, with filthy mouths.
Too early for the fountains to fester yet.
Too late to heed the omens of the sundials.
Alchemists of liberty, we had turned our iron cages
into golden ones and the doves shook against their bars
like philosophers who could still see the stars outside
that beckoned them to leave, the doors were open,
but stayed within the precincts of their lamps and candles,
like Luna moths and houseflies. And you
who see the tv sixties like the capstones
of ice bergs and pyramids, the all too human concerts
of the indefatigable music where the painted breasts
of the wild Pictish women from California
danced like the fruit of low hanging branches,
give some thought to the sweating horses of the past
and the number of flies that fell into the Milky Way.
So that purity doesn't appear like a ghost again
detached from the earth or swept clean of mirages
in a desert of stars that didn't keep our footprints very long.
You might have missed the greatest party on earth
but you didn't suffer the depressive hangover of the end
when the junkies sat up against the wall listening
to Jimi Hendrix kiss the sky for them all,
paralyzed in the shadows of their own gigantism
as the tragic heroes bemoaned how useless their deaths were
to those who were determined to live to the end of the play.
poem by Patrick White
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Looking for Encouragement in ICU
He's gone
I never saw him go
Surprised that he fell
I thought he would get up
At first he looked like he'd be OK
He was upset that he'd slipped
Confused that the legs hadn't held
The strength that steadied
The foot and braced the legs
Held at the smoker in 1932
When three solid lefts
Couldn't take him down
Held when the Hammond trim saw kicked
Held on the wet rocks of Redwood Creek
When the salmon jumped and were on
Held splitting a second cord of wood
While after loading the first
I thought I needed a break
Now when he needed it most
They didn't hold they gave
Yet he somehow still held on
Over the ledge I could see him there
He was pulling himself up
Or at least I wanted him to
I tried to talk to him
I got his attention
He silently shook his head
The same as when we hunted
When I thought I had a clear shot
And he knew I didn't
He always challenged me
No matter what I did
To be a better shot
'We're not out here to wound
Chase down a revine then
Drag bloodshoot venison through the brush.
We're out here to put meat on the table.'
He also knew when to fish
And where the quail hid
He always encouraged me
To know what I was doing
Before I did it
'Its real important you learn
The difference between your ass
And a hole in the ground.'
Was his way
Of putting it
I knew what he meant
Shaking his head I recognized his signal
I still wanted to help even though
I couldn't have gotten to him anyway
Then he stopped trying
The strength and gruffness were gone
I was mad at him
For the tears in his eyes
For not trying
For knowing more than me
He knew there was no way up
The others calling to him
Were of no use
I knew then what he wanted
To push away from the side
To be over and done with it
He was caught tangled held back
He couldn't even let go
When he wanted to
I looked and he was there
I couldn't help
I didn't want to watch
I looked again
He was gone
I never saw him go
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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One Moonlit Night
Once on the phone
me and you
we had a lot to say
i had just gotten a new plan
our conversation lasted throughout the night
similar interest that we had
things we couldn't wait to tell one another
and just the thought that we were together to listen and love
was enough for each of us
that one thing we both searched for
as the time past our conversations got shorter and started to fade away like the smell of a sweet rose in the orange afternoon
but each day when darkness creeps back in
i remember our talks that we had
one moonlit night
we will get them back
and the stars will wait again
as they hear the voices of the night chatter a soft lullaby
poem by PenelopeCrews Pitstock
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Shooting Star
Shooting stars, they blazed in the night sky,
As on the beach, didst two lovers stare into the sky.
She the princess and he her handsome prince
As they shared a soft moonlit kiss
Princess, beauty rare. To her prince without a flaw
Wanting nothing at all.
Whispers he, 'I love you always.'
So they live, happily ever always.
Alas, such a fairytale ending will never be.
For a small fire would change the princess you see.
No longer the soft flower of the meadow, in full bloom-
Now she was scarred and burnt - willing for death to take her soon.
She last remembered him, as they whisked her to the ER
His horrified face turning away as she was dragged from the car.
Weeks passed, she refused to see him, till finally he no longer called.
She no longer wanted to see the mirror, she was a flower that withered and wilted.
She ignored his messages, she didn't want to hear, his voice again,
To tell her that he could no longer see her like this again.
Now she stood trembling in a soft summer wind
Teetering on the edge of an endless abyss.
Staring out over a beach where so long ago,
Someone whispered to her, I love you, I really do.
But it was over now. Her beauty scarred beyond repair.
Some things you don't dream of, you wouldn't dare.
Her cold tears froze her face, carving down the scars that remained,
Wondering if she would ever live and breathe again.
An endless abyss, stretching in front of her, she felt herself falling towards the ground
When someone caught her arm and turned her round.
Her dashing prince was standing there. She looked away in shame.
He whispered her name as the heavens cried drops of rain.
Why didn't you answer? he asked, holding her tight.
Do you know that you've been on my mind every night?
He ran his hand through her hair, touched her face,
She felt her tears subside as he laid her fears to rest.
I'll always love you, he whispers in her ear.
And I'll love you forever still, as long as I am here.
I don't care what you think, he turned her face to the light,
I'm always going to be here for you, even in the darkest night.
No matter what happens, the damage and the scars,
I love you for who you are.
And as the shooting stars shot unseen across a stormy summer sky
He laid to rest her doubts and fears as he looked into her eyes
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Prom
Last night and great moments
For us seniors to go to
Prom
We going have time of our life
Last time we to have fun with each other
In this special night
One last time to dress up, good nice and
Have a good time with each other like this
Get music started
So I can dance
Let’s eat and drink from all dancing we all did
I need a break and get back to dancing afterward
Taking pictures, eat dinner, staying out all night and being at
Prom
Is just amazing feeling and there is no words to describe it
It doesn’t matter what I ride to get to
Prom
As along I am there with friends and enjoying my time
Tonight we can show what we got
I’m not going care, worry and just dance like I mean it
Let get this night going until midnight
Don’t let music stop, keep it going
We will look back on our
Prom
Night and look at memories we have
We didn’t regret it and glad we went and also didn’t miss fun
This is very important night for you and me
I can’t believe I was there and I glad I went
I will never forget it and I was smiling like I never did before
Even thought I wish I was with you baby dancing
This was such a blast time I have at
Prom
poem by Christina Phan
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