not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Friday, April 19, 2013

loving creation at the knobbed top of the farmer's field

solitary bone,
the pink underbelly of the fractured eye dipped in sunlight, ruptured upon the thorn,
the empty field,
the aftermath of the downward staccato call swept out and cleansing
of the slow ruminating striding sandhill crane,
the hungry, yet patient seagulls;
less, not more to fear but less, only less, always more less, please.
dumped out and squalid, obvious and flesh, fetal upon the knobbed hill:
and the earth picks up her heavy skirts
and spirit blows silver blazon through her threaded hair.
shell of seed, solar flare, fingertip;
less, not more to fear but less, only less and always more less, please


  1. i have been here over and over today, trying to say something adequate, and finding myself in sharp need but unequal to match this feeling properly ... i hope i will be able to come back and write more deeply about this prayer (i say prayer) for always more less ... for the moment, i lower my eyes in silent assent and gratitude that you have drawn this wish that is beyond/under/beside any possible knowledge into being, here in this reality where we are too often buried under more and then more ...

    and let me say that i find this to be one of your strongest poems: each word placed carefully like softly coloured pebbles into the hand of a child who is thereby beginning to guess what the world is, or might be ...



  2. I for one like your bravery in acknowledging a fear of the physical, it is "new" and it does evolve your poetic gift towards an ever-more realized place. I'm also reminded in the struggles you often express of these words from AA Michael, which I quote because I so greatly appreciate the healing words you share:

    "Many of you came from the lofty planes of the higher dimensions bearing so much love for the Creator that it has been very difficult to adjust to the material world and the physical body. You are the ones that have denied all things in the realm of physicality, rejecting material comfort, wealth and desire, as well as the bodily form, in the belief that you could not enjoy or accept the sensations of the physical world and still be spiritual. But that is why you came, dear ones. We know you are capable of being pure Spirit—following the Will of the Creator in the higher realms. Remember, your assignment was to cocreate a heavenly Earth and to experience all the beauty and wonder of Spirit in solid, physical form."


  3. I thought I had left a comment; but no!

    Fear in the face of death is the hardest thing to face, embrace, come to terms. I love the image of earth's gathering skirt, an image that softens the brunt of death that had just occurred, and yet...

    How you circle around here, mimicking the birds, collecting movements and bones to display.

  4. I realize only now, remembering, that when I wrote a poem (just now) I meant to include the image from the morning: a tulip leaf piercing a leaf, an old leaf from winter [ruptured upon the thorn].

    To love the hunger, the rupture, the bone, the same as the new green sprout, to long for more less [please].

    Yes. I love.


"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))