Event Horizon

Over leaves of 
Heaven, this 
Galaxy rises,
Opens her arms
And draws our
Moon, Earth,
This light and
Spark of birth,
Around a star--
This ark, on
Which we are.
We Are.

Seeking Time

Our spirits rest in
Trees, seeking time
Between heat, cold,
New, old --as autumn
Nears its end and
Earth, still our friend,
In cooler repose, hangs
Raindrops on a rose.

Following Fall

Following 
Fall blossoms--
Smaller, yet all---

Petal to petal,
Each slow inch,
Unfurled on a
Route around 
The world.
 

Darwin Dangling: Universal Pool Experience

Between fiery air
And fountain edge
We dangle our feet
From a pool ledge,
Where air and heat
Divide --a margin 
We decide is right,
Our eyes in the
Business of light
And our toes in
The promise of flight.

Fishgate

It has been 30 years
Since I built 
Fishgate at our east
Fence, and through it
Have come the
Best things in life --
Things of love and
Wonder, my wife, our
Children, futures, 
Pasts --not bad 
Perhaps for a fish
Of hinges and scraps.

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For those readers who wish to learn more about Fishgate, please click to Evolution/Fishgate at Trainride of The Enigmas.

Clouds At Sierra Foothills

A big universe.
We are part of its size.
It takes time to
Realize,  lift in
Colliding winds--
Skies swept in needs,
In wills conflicting,
Until, as one,
Clouds pile high 
Upon the hills.

Rahima

 

Rahima

Unexpected always,
Like wild strawberries
Or lupine in dunes
Appear and hold earth together,
You walk with an open book
Beyond the brim of my hat.
I look.
"It's only a mystery," you say.
Yes, it is certainly that:
You on the path to
Rahima, bright day;
Me, trimming escallonia;
Detectives on separate ways
In an old universe
That still glistens.
You speak.
I listen.
"This, I am more.
Something else that is more."
Hair full of fairylamps,
Downward flutter of fingertips,
A gesture stirring stellar dust,
And I believe you,
I must.

Enormous Future

 

It's all here, isn't it?
This collection and
Dream upon the past--
What happens is
What happened last
Always shut in seamless
Suture-- gives anew
Onto wonders vast,
An enormous future.

Image Available

My compound eye
Spies old friends
Moving out --they go.
I shout: no, please stay!
Sadness, they have
Found some madness
And followed it away.

In Judgement

I have tried to do
As I should.
I have tried to be good
In this miracle of you--
This sphere of sea and stone.
We know we're not alone
But part of you, Universe--
Your heart and first
What your vision sees.
Overhead, the moon 
Gets snagged in trees.
This is understood.
I try to be good,
But nothing could induce
Me to climb and set it loose.

Cogito Naranjado Sum (2)

We  think, 
Therefore are,
And must be--
Here to think, 
And be, by asking
How: how is such
Thought defined 
As much by what is 
As what is not? 
Then all thought
That is not me,
I must also be. 

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 Cogito Naranjado Sum (1) appeared 4 years ago on this blog after decades of tinkering. I revisited it this evening with the intention of correcting a fallacy. I don't blame Descartes --beyond "The Substance of Dualism"-- but only myself. If we consider an entity, like a cat curled up asleep in a pie tin --as one of ours often did-- we see some existence is fluid, seeking the shape of its container. So is thought. That's really what this poem is about. Enough said. I welcome opinions, all opinions --and appreciate them without criticizing them.

Thanks Lisa, 7:27 P.M.

Each daffodil echoes the

Universe in explosion.

We're all dust from

The same flower. 

March, 2013

77000-Year-Old Bedding Found

[Prof. Christopher Miller sampling sediments. (Credit: Prof. Lyn Wadley, Science Daily)]

This is where they
Laid their heads.
They fell asleep.

We found their beds.
Between lines three
And four is a space,
Punctuation indicating
A pause of
Seventy-seven thousand
Years --amnestic mornings,

Nestled in settled stone
Waking alone, eager,
In love or sad, in
Their beds where they
Dreamed, worried,
Trysted, cried, laughed,
Whispered, petrified.

Here on prehistoric
Beds, this is where
They laid their heads.

Summer Snowflake

My head is strung to
Roots in earth; 
Body parachutes
Time from birth.
My feet reach into
Gravity and that
Is all there is of me.

Detail

At first it could be
A granite cliff but 
If we look closely,
Isn't --only a fallen tree.
What we see in 
Adjusted distance, moss,
Mass, is black wood
 Over grass,

                 which seems 
To rotate from
Simple plane  to 
Lemniscate, and at
Its tip retain spheres
Of recent rain. 
In neither garden
Nor brain can we
Find any better 
Signs for infinity.

Theatre of Season in Change

How did it get so cold?
It can't be I have got
More sensitive,
Which leaves Earth
Farther from its sun --
One and all need to
Get out and push!
Where rain-rotted tree-
Leaves fell and froze,
Bulbs are rising now
And those lift to  bring
This show of spring:
We clap our calloused 
Hands, our hurting 
Hands --intermission 
Complete-- and return
To our seats.