~The poet uses the butterfly net of language to catch fleeting images in mid-flight~

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

A New Wrinkle

God throws rocks at me.
Actually, small pebbles.
I don’t know much about the misses,
But the hits get my attention.
At times, pebbles plunk
Into the pool of my being ness.
Yes, right there.
In the middle
In the heart.
They hit me in the heart
And reverberate.
The ripples go out from my heart,
Melting my reserve.
Collapsing my self-consciousness.
Mobilizing my vulnerability
And feeling full ness.

Like a little bird,
I have only one reason
To exist…
My song,
Whether I sing it out loud
Or just let it ping pong
Inside me.
This is how it is
When I’ve been hit
By one of God’s little stones.
Would you recognize this condition
If you were around me?
I think so,
Because it makes me goofy.
My world gets turned
Upside down.
Or maybe right side up.
I am be mused.
There is a Cheshire curl
To my smile,
A suppleness to my presence,
And a honeyed invitation
In the few words that I otter.

I wouldn’t hurt a soul,
Because there is nobody else
Out there.
The sun is my blood,
Keeping me warm.
The breeze is my breathe,
Testing my surroundings.
My eyes are God’s eyes,
Appreciating the beauty
That is all around me.
And maybe I am mistaken.
Maybe there is no outside God
Throwing pebbles
Or thunderbolts.
Maybe it’s just the inside God.
The One; no different than me,
Who, like the sunrise,
Is trying to illuminate
My inner landscape
With love, beauty and awareness.

In the Past this place
Was a bitter, but illusory,
A cemetery for fallen heroes
And vicious tyrants.
All of it is me,
The trauma,
The pleasures,
The journey.
I’ve been playing
A dangerous game
Of hide and seek.
And now the seeking
Is bringing me home.
Every inner sunrise
Who I really am.
More and more
It’s happening.
Every pebble blow
To the heart
Is waking up something inside me.
There is an effervescence,
An inner eruption going on,
A slow boil
In a pot of liquid love.
I am glad that my glasses
Are all steamed up.
Now I look through different eyes,
Through the eyes of my heart,
Where the songs of small birds
Make front page news.