....From The Tree Of............Sudden Joys
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_______________________________________________________ What It Takes There are things that fill me with desire to stretch the limits of belief: tornado taking one house leaving one next door. The hush of crowds when someone great stands up along with hair on arms, that crush of love every platypus, every dragonfly right angling into view, and every dove- the way they held the urn after the services and thought they felt a life I want that too. Life Is Calling Despite the fact the world has tilted slightly on its axis, there are daffodils to pluck, and fawns- and every manner of tender ones to touch or stroke, and I still have my fingers. If I poke my nose outside- there is the tangy ripe of juniper on the rain. Standing Here Thump, thump, bone to skin stretched on a drum signals boom boom- muscle to rib, that's life- I know it says that here I stand alive. So very aware- you, this air against my skin, and oh these stars. New There's nothing good as your smell. Your flesh against my cheek, the beating boom of you. The furred and frantic sound of almost in me- length of limbs, strong thighs and shins; arms cradle me back to bunting, never so close to peace as this or dis assembling either. You make me in to something new. The Miracle Rider Moods come randomly these days, the dark devourers hungry to eat light are spotted traveling with hopefulness- its donkey bearing that slight rider almost as a sigh. Picks its way with patience through the rocks. Jostled over bumpy days and nights like Mary coming on to Bethlehem, her belly full of Christ and something won drous. The Mu Face The poem I want to write, the poem that bites my finger tips, sends up smoke while typing even in the rain shorted out keyboard, is the one- the one deep down that will come up fast like laughter wearing the startled new wet face I've always known I had -but never kissed. impact the man in the dark suit, dark like no moon no stars no heat, danced; his collar perfect, edge sharp, white like sugar his hair slick, his tongue slick- he smiled razors, offered thorns; ran though me like water- the screen blue, the room empty save the wire that held us in connected 220 current line ungrounded, me like water, all the way through he went in then out again Shaker Hymn What does the babe think ablink in dust motes strung in sunlight, quietly fingering a button on his shirt, small mouth upturned, each object a miracle unwrapped? The lack of tension in his smile says there are no dark blue desertions in those eyes. It is a time of life when nothing's yet gone away; he's saying Howdy Do to everything and carefully, thoughtfully, learning to be alive, sitting on the throne and pure success of it. Bathed in sun inside and all around him and to look at him is to see the world as uncomplicated picnic, where even ants are invited to partake. When do we stop noticing how perfectly buttonish a button is, or how a smile's the most appropriate response to pert near everything there is. What Winter Brought Asked to write a winter poem I thought of snow- cold, serene, still. Seeing breath, wanting warmth but what I see shows through the grain-white flake of dying year: I see a face rise from dark lake. So dear, so calm, I bring it to my lips. Press lips as features blur; they may have been my own, but in this dream of white some bell of me rings out in frost and flume of whooping love. This love that comes in winter, thing that saves us, you and I. Not christ come in his infancy, but we do as reborn, we twine and twine- accept what is and feel the tenderest spring fingers in the heart. Apples The smell of apples makes everything o.k. When I was small the sour mash tart meant autumn paths to school were green smashed crab apple that crinkled up my nose. Made my saliva flow- those days of golden light- like syrup laced with sour, all cased in honey. Apples are a start- we carry the past as much in the nose as in the heart. On To Page 11 .............. Return To Contents This site sponsered by 
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