to a child

from a gleam in the eye
came the sky,
and the mountains,
and the oceans,
and the sun and the moon, too.
from the eye came all these.

yet, from a whisper in the night,
without sight,
without sound,
deep from the heart of us
came you.

-----------------------------------

this poem was written after the birth of a daughter,
not just for her but for her sisters, too. It's
from Volume One titled, `I won't remember
your name,' copyright 1977. I know I
promised to publish the poems randomly
selected, but this is a favorite and merits
being front and center.

illusion

you know as well as i that it’s illusion;
not life nor love,
not mountains nor spaces of dust,
not the trappings of beautiful women
nor moonbeams of flattering sight,
not wealth, not stars,
not visions nor history nor rust,
not the harmony of pleasure
nor the constant arrival of night,
not work, not time,
not houses nor the warmth of mine,
not fairy tales told at sleeping hour
nor the cascades of aging hands,
not pipes, not fire,
not faces kind and unkind,
not the teardrops of lonely mothers
nor wars nor all the dreams of man;
but the ultimate kindness of nature.

-----------------------------------------

From poetry Volume 2 titled, it's cold on top of the mountain, copyright 1979. Page 2.

friendship

when the ghosts of mem'ries are bitter
and the taste of friendless souls is
within your mouth,
when they hate you
and the fields of grain bend away before your eyes,
when the trees hang limp
and your enemies are everywhere,
i shall be your friend.


and when there is darkness in the land,
when all about do hate you,
i will hold your hand and be your friend.
nor the clouds nor a starless night,
nor the chilling of our minds
can ever alter that.


-------------------------

This poem is from the first volume titled, I won't remember
your name, copyright 1977. Long time ago, though not the
first of my poems.

the soul of technology

broken winds and agate sky whispering
some deep secret.
chilling breezes --
what do we see when we look
through lenses viewed and captured electronically,
zoomed and panned and scanned,
caught frame by frame for detailed examination
in our quiet, warm sanctuaries?
we agonize when it lies flat and unreal,
then race to the store for better equipment.

a quartet, a symphony close on stage,
tentacled sounds ensnaring us,
an audience snared by rhythmic bows and gowns
and suits and ties,
trapped sightlessly within ourselves.
what do we hear when we listen?
two-hundred rms watts, cable-driven,
perfectly shaped and electronically delayed
like an ambient cough.
agonizing over perceived impurities
and imagined flaws
we race to the store for better equipment.

we seek to manufacture reality in boxes
and wide screens,
yet remain unsatisfied.
while the reality of glens
and speckled shade and wind sounds go unheeded
and thoughtlessly crushed.
we walk in unrecognized gardens unaware
unless we view them on silver screens
and listen as the narrator limns the beauties
we so carelessly passed by.

------------------------------------

This is one poem from volume five, copyright this year. Others from the first four volumes (spanning 50 years) will show up randomly selected in the following day/weeks. Subjects wander.