Beneath the Alborz
I hear free birds a-twittering
In Tehran's green trees
Showing posts with label open poetry notebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label open poetry notebook. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Basta!
Having observed a discussion of the various titles used for ministers, and how various ministers don't care for them, or approve of them, or want them, or use them... or wish that there was one that was right... proper... acceptable...
Back to work.
Just, as the old joke has it, don't call me late for dinner.
Many titles, one heart.I'm struck by all the titles--terms of address--I bear, or have borne. They serve the needs and lips of others, and I'm fine with all of them.
Many objectives, one task.
All serving hands are these.
Back to work.
Just, as the old joke has it, don't call me late for dinner.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
The Words Are Dancing
Needing to write
--oh, needing to write!
The ideas lie there motionless,
Like beached sea lions, sunning themselves.
There, but hardly moving;
Just groaning and bellowing and posturing
--for each other.
No words.
What does it take?
Which Muse will tease them
into the water
where they magically change form
and dance?
Which Muse needs offerings...
(Coffee? Bonbons? A movie, read a book?
Perhaps a walk--I'll do some dishes, scan the mail,
pick a rose... stare out the window at the far off hills)
--something to conjure her fleeting visit...
To tempt behemoths off the beach.
(Wrote this months ago. Must have intended to come back and revise and edit. But as I'd forgotten all about it... I think it's time to just free it.... Posted it, and discovered that blogger interprets posting something written in February, but not posted, as being published in February. So, once again, with feeling.)
--oh, needing to write!
The ideas lie there motionless,
Like beached sea lions, sunning themselves.
There, but hardly moving;
Just groaning and bellowing and posturing
--for each other.
No words.
What does it take?
Which Muse will tease them
into the water
where they magically change form
and dance?
Which Muse needs offerings...
(Coffee? Bonbons? A movie, read a book?
Perhaps a walk--I'll do some dishes, scan the mail,
pick a rose... stare out the window at the far off hills)
--something to conjure her fleeting visit...
To tempt behemoths off the beach.
(Wrote this months ago. Must have intended to come back and revise and edit. But as I'd forgotten all about it... I think it's time to just free it.... Posted it, and discovered that blogger interprets posting something written in February, but not posted, as being published in February. So, once again, with feeling.)
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Peace, Baked Daily
We winnow ourselves of husks
That we may grind ourselves to flour
To make dough
Leavened by imagination
Flavored by the salt of our sweat--and blood and tears--
Rising (some things cannot be hurried much)
Baked hot
(Surely this will burn us, let us out!)
Emerging crusty
Glorious to the eye
Breaking bread
Ourselves, each other
Fed
That we may grind ourselves to flour
To make dough
Leavened by imagination
Flavored by the salt of our sweat--and blood and tears--
Rising (some things cannot be hurried much)
Baked hot
(Surely this will burn us, let us out!)
Emerging crusty
Glorious to the eye
Breaking bread
Ourselves, each other
Fed
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Dream Verse #1
Without much comment. Words from a dream; I'll see if it fills itself back in.
A life spent stacking stones for a great temple
may be as virtuous as
One spent [farming / feeding -- image indecipherable/words obscured]
A life spent stacking souls for God
may be as sinful as
One spent in war, counting bodies of the slain.
A life spent stacking stones for a great temple
may be as virtuous as
One spent [farming / feeding -- image indecipherable/words obscured]
A life spent stacking souls for God
may be as sinful as
One spent in war, counting bodies of the slain.
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