Self Portrait
Mar 23 2011 Filed in: Poem
This poem came to mind to me as Michael/Sundance was telling us about his commitments and path. It speaks of the unqualified Yes, that is the call to this level of being available and open to love. Or...So it seems to me. Other thoughts?
It doesn't interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.
I have been told, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.
It doesn't interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.
I have been told, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.
LOVE AFTER LOVE
Mar 23 2011 Filed in: Poem
This is the poem Richard cited for us.
The time will come
When, with elation,
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror,
And each will smile at the other's welcome,
And say, sit here, Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
To itself, to the stranger who has loved you
All your life, whom you ignored
For another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
The photographs, the desperate notes,
Peel your image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
~Derek Walcott
The time will come
When, with elation,
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror,
And each will smile at the other's welcome,
And say, sit here, Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
To itself, to the stranger who has loved you
All your life, whom you ignored
For another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
The photographs, the desperate notes,
Peel your image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
~Derek Walcott
On Faith
Mar 23 2011 Filed in: Poem
Mark W. said something about faith last evening
that made me think about this...
Especially as faith is so often longed for, and so hard to hold sometimes.
Sometimes, just wanting to have faith is the necessary opening
I want to write about faith:
About the way the moon
Rises over cold snow
Night after night
Faithful
Even in its fading from fullness
Slowly becoming
That last curling and impossible
Sliver of light
Before the final darkness.
But I have no faith myself.
I do not give it the smallest entry.
Let this, then, my small poem
Like a new moon
Slender and barely open
Be the first prayer
That opens me to faith.
~David Whyte
that made me think about this...
Especially as faith is so often longed for, and so hard to hold sometimes.
Sometimes, just wanting to have faith is the necessary opening
I want to write about faith:
About the way the moon
Rises over cold snow
Night after night
Faithful
Even in its fading from fullness
Slowly becoming
That last curling and impossible
Sliver of light
Before the final darkness.
But I have no faith myself.
I do not give it the smallest entry.
Let this, then, my small poem
Like a new moon
Slender and barely open
Be the first prayer
That opens me to faith.
~David Whyte
Duet
Mar 21 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Duet
If I were a rock and you were the sea
Would your sea bosom swell
If I fell into thee?
Would I drown in your arms,
As your love swallowed me,
If I were a rock who fell into the sea?
If I were a bird and you were a tree,
Would you spread
Your leaf covered arms for me?
Could I nest in your treetop for others to see,
If I were a bird, and you were a tree?
If I were you, and you were me,
Would we still want each other’s company?
What is that other thing we would see,,
If I were you, and you were me?
If we love with a love that is all it can be,
Will love be a cage, or will love set us free
To fly like two birds to the top of a tree,
And sing with a love that is all it can be
As we laugh and watch rocks splashing into the sea.
If I were a rock and you were the sea
Would your sea bosom swell
If I fell into thee?
Would I drown in your arms,
As your love swallowed me,
If I were a rock who fell into the sea?
If I were a bird and you were a tree,
Would you spread
Your leaf covered arms for me?
Could I nest in your treetop for others to see,
If I were a bird, and you were a tree?
If I were you, and you were me,
Would we still want each other’s company?
What is that other thing we would see,,
If I were you, and you were me?
If we love with a love that is all it can be,
Will love be a cage, or will love set us free
To fly like two birds to the top of a tree,
And sing with a love that is all it can be
As we laugh and watch rocks splashing into the sea.
Suppose I Told You
Mar 21 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Suppose I Told You
Suppose I told you
You would die today,
And that I
Would also die today?
Would you read anything sinister
Into my comment,
Or assume my dying
Had anything to do
With your dying?
Would you even believe me?
And would death mean to you
What it means to me,
And dying mean to you
What it means to me,
For death and dying
Are not the same.
And I’m not sure which
I fear more.
Suppose I told you
You would die today,
And I would not?
Would you stop
To ask for details,
Or would you run from me,
Quickly,
As if panicked by a dog?
But have no fear.
I don’t know
If you will die today,
And if I did,
I would lie about it.
Suppose I told you
You would die today,
And that I
Would also die today?
Would you read anything sinister
Into my comment,
Or assume my dying
Had anything to do
With your dying?
Would you even believe me?
And would death mean to you
What it means to me,
And dying mean to you
What it means to me,
For death and dying
Are not the same.
And I’m not sure which
I fear more.
Suppose I told you
You would die today,
And I would not?
Would you stop
To ask for details,
Or would you run from me,
Quickly,
As if panicked by a dog?
But have no fear.
I don’t know
If you will die today,
And if I did,
I would lie about it.
Ce Plus Ne Change Pas
Mar 21 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Ce Plus Ne Change Pas
The more things stay the same
The more they change.
Like the stubborn cliff
That will not
Get out of the way
Of the ocean.
Or the long, gray
Changeless winter,
Disguising the hypothermia
Of slumbering spring.
Winter is the heart
That cannot love,
The unspent sperm,
The cold testicle
Lying low.
The dead who lie still
As they gaily putrefy,
The infinite within the infinitesimal,
The seemingly quiet egg,
The still life on the gallery wall,
The glacier roaring down the hill--
Know what I mean.
They stay the same
To disguise change
Until they can spring it on you.
So did that still life on the wall
Move just now? Did that
Dead pheasant or the fruit
So carefully arranged
Move just a bit?
Is not the frame askew?
Can you be sure of it?
The more things stay the same
The more they change.
Like the stubborn cliff
That will not
Get out of the way
Of the ocean.
Or the long, gray
Changeless winter,
Disguising the hypothermia
Of slumbering spring.
Winter is the heart
That cannot love,
The unspent sperm,
The cold testicle
Lying low.
The dead who lie still
As they gaily putrefy,
The infinite within the infinitesimal,
The seemingly quiet egg,
The still life on the gallery wall,
The glacier roaring down the hill--
Know what I mean.
They stay the same
To disguise change
Until they can spring it on you.
So did that still life on the wall
Move just now? Did that
Dead pheasant or the fruit
So carefully arranged
Move just a bit?
Is not the frame askew?
Can you be sure of it?
Tubercular John
Mar 21 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Tubercular John
Tubercular John
Lives in an alley
Just off Mean Street,
Where he smokes and coughs.
And spits all day long.
His lungs are full
Of bad blood
And bad air.
His spit lands everywhere,
And when his stare
Lands on you,
All he sees is his own anger,
Bouncing off the mirror
Of your eyes.
Tubercular John
Lives in an alley
Just off Mean Street,
Where he smokes and coughs.
And spits all day long.
His lungs are full
Of bad blood
And bad air.
His spit lands everywhere,
And when his stare
Lands on you,
All he sees is his own anger,
Bouncing off the mirror
Of your eyes.
The Secret Life of Jesus #972
Mar 21 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
The Secret Life of Jesus #972
Jesus had a friend
Who loved to be the first
Kid on the block
To have everything.
So when he waved Jesus over
To see his new iPhone,
Jesus just smiled
And listened to his friend
Explain his latest toy.
But he winced as his friend
Showed him the new app
That was a teleprompter.
For going to confession.
Jesus could not believe
That anyone would spend
Good money to be reminded
Of their sins.
Jesus had a friend
Who loved to be the first
Kid on the block
To have everything.
So when he waved Jesus over
To see his new iPhone,
Jesus just smiled
And listened to his friend
Explain his latest toy.
But he winced as his friend
Showed him the new app
That was a teleprompter.
For going to confession.
Jesus could not believe
That anyone would spend
Good money to be reminded
Of their sins.
The Secret Life of Jesus #635
Mar 21 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
The Secret Life of Jesus #635
Jesus decided to give up drinking,
But he was having a hard time.
Mary was no help,
Dragging him off to weddings,
Asking him to make wine
All the time, hoping
He would meet a nice girl.
Saying no to your mother
Would take a miracle,
Jesus said to himself.
It was easier
To keep drinking.
Jesus decided to give up drinking,
But he was having a hard time.
Mary was no help,
Dragging him off to weddings,
Asking him to make wine
All the time, hoping
He would meet a nice girl.
Saying no to your mother
Would take a miracle,
Jesus said to himself.
It was easier
To keep drinking.
Fortune Cookie
Mar 21 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Fortune Cookie
If I were a fortune cookie,
I would watch you
Eating your fried rice,
Biding my time,
Deciding while you ate
What your fortune would be.
Then, your future
Would break open
Like the slightest of desserts,
And you would puzzle
Over fortune,
As we all do.
If I were a fortune cookie,
I would watch you
Eating your fried rice,
Biding my time,
Deciding while you ate
What your fortune would be.
Then, your future
Would break open
Like the slightest of desserts,
And you would puzzle
Over fortune,
As we all do.
Drop By Drop
Mar 21 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Drop By Drop
I came to life
Like a rainstorm,
Drop by drop.
Imperceptible.
Until one day,
Like a burst cloud,
I rained down
In all my fullness,
Watering everything,
Demanding
Reluctant flowers,
Demanding
To be gathered up.
I rained down
Like clear water,
Washing the world,
Exacting a little fear.
But the end of the storm
Grows near.
Soon the rain will pass away,
Hopefully leaving rainbows,
And a little clarity,
Drop by drop.
I came to life
Like a rainstorm,
Drop by drop.
Imperceptible.
Until one day,
Like a burst cloud,
I rained down
In all my fullness,
Watering everything,
Demanding
Reluctant flowers,
Demanding
To be gathered up.
I rained down
Like clear water,
Washing the world,
Exacting a little fear.
But the end of the storm
Grows near.
Soon the rain will pass away,
Hopefully leaving rainbows,
And a little clarity,
Drop by drop.