Into the Soul - Spiritual Poetry

These poems are what arrive when I invite that "something deeper" to speak - that blessed madness that spins planets and curls toes. Feel free to share your thoughts on them. (...and thanks for all the great feedback. I don't always have time to comment back -- but know that I am most grateful!)

Sunday, July 06, 2008

The Taxonomy of Sound

the licking and lapping of a pomegranate --
a crimson yearning for the condensation
of the morning dew

a dog barking in the distance
is a yet to be unearthed miracle

mitigated against silence,

the creaking of millions
of houses, still making
their decision to settle
in one spot

or the beatific coronation
of endless car horns against
a beleaguered but

undulating ocean tides
lap and lament the births and deaths
of a billion sea creatures --
saline musicians
conducting their underwater symphonies
that push against continents
and the occasional
floating landmass

it's the sound grasses make,
rubbing up against their cronies --
the scratch beats of countless
slender green drums

or the startling absence of sound
as a moon careens, hovers,
then scatters across a
bewildered sky...

one lucky soul
will have discovered sound,
as if for the first

and that will have been enough.

The Mud Flats

Once upon a time...

We lived in mud flats --
shallow organisms
ringing that bell
inhabiting the land
white water liquid crystal displays
pledging our loyalty
by photosynthesizing
a planet

time passed...

sunset madness,
then the moon songs --
campfire meadow cries
echoing across canyons
meandering through valleys
sheltering the young and old
from the Great illusion

Ganymede makes love to jupiter
and grass warms the feet of trees

while in the stillness
the wise ones steal heaven
and share it with the strangers
still living inside
of you and me


Dear Lord,

Give me a poem --

A poem that will shatter my mind

and rip open the ebony doors of my heart

may my chest explode from your heavenly light

ablaze in rainbow feathers

I wish to be like Belize,

with its winged ones

that circle the canopy of jungle

to alight next to the soft cool

chatterings of waterfalls

humming the tune

a forest sings to newborns.

Sometimes, like a poem

I can't help but bleed into the God around me

No memory of being separate

circling like sages

in the dawn mist

dancing to the Ocean

begging to be drawn back in again

awash in the foam and the crackling rocks

to ebb and retreat...

ebb and retreat...

spending eternity

brushing up against

my own skin