Saturday, September 22, 2007

Other Poems...

The Frame of Perception

Eyes see the earthen frame;
Look out unto sky and the tree leaves filtering my view.
The meaning attached to what I see is chosen;
Habitually, given my current qualities of perception.
The frames, the scafolding, the filters of how I see the World,
Need my constant attention.

A cool breeze, brushing my hair,
Skin tuned to the waves,
Inspired by Palms waving in harvest moon light,
Gratitude swells to the surface.

How I think, what I focus on and fill in mental space,
In my head,
Is what creates the experience.
Emotion generated, calls forth the sensate field of my experience.

That is what is meant by I create my reality.
I seek Divine guidance, I appeal to His providence.
It is Simple, as I open my Heart to this Earth.

The Guides, the Angels--His Emissaries, they listen and respond.
Counting on that truth, I then sit in a pleasing, hopeful awareness.

I am guided by what is Beautiful and True.
My part is to listen.
My part is to partake in Creation's flow...
In mind, in deed, with arms open,
As I be who I want, do my part, and have a harvest.

It is Gold He offers me.
I want to see that each day of my Life.

I am his Heart-Mind Son.

September 22, 2007.


As I wait, you sweep away the person's hair before me.

Who were they before their turn was taken?
And who are they now after their turn?
They look, smile or not, then busily take leave.

Expectantly, eagerly, I sit in your chair of wondrously Whirling shears and Snips.
Entranced, I drift back to the time as a boy
When you Electro-buzzed my head,
Tuning my whole body to a gleeful hum.

You always wait until I've gone, then you sweep my hair.

Where do those shreds of hair go?
Those curly colored textures, encoded with one's vanity!
Silky-soft or straight, with months,
Years, or decades embedded.

The hair falls like thoughts from my head that I no longer kneed.
I'd like to see where it goes.
I'd like to rub my fingers in it from a neat pile,
Just once more.

Don’t mix my hair with another's…it’s like mixing my
Thoughts with a stranger's.

Who, in me, did I bring for you to shed this time?
While I look, who am I now after I’ve taken my turn?

I smile or not, and then busily,
I take leave.

Originally, Waiting My Turn At The Barber Shop was meant to convey the basically sensate, passive, and rather blissful experience of having my hair cut as a young boy, growing–up in St. Louis. As an extension, with the continuum of life development in mind, the added dimensions of self-identity, introspection, and existential angst were meant to reflect the tendency, and often the fallacy, of affixing one’s primary identity to one’s outward reflections. Hair, or lack thereof, is conjoined with the head and the realm of thought—the pattern maker of self-identity.

Bay Tide Estuarine

On-looking…quiet glaze,
Mirrored sheet of soft fire-pink hues,
A dusky tided recession.

Here, my mind’s field is dotted with these
Supping, winged,
Tropical creatures.

Sharing in plenty, they are endlessly sustained:
Fat floating Mallards,
Staccato Pipers dragging the sand,
Huge gulping Pelicans.

Masterful Herons meditate
In languid,
Silent strides.

They dot the Bays cape
Like dreamy tranquil

In this sublime space,
A single feather,
Floats by…

While, in distant sight,
Man’s noxious powering spew gushes Eastward,
For all creatures to absorb, Subtly…In their breath.

Bay Tide Estuarine came to me one early evening at dusk, on a secluded Florida inlet bay shore. It speaks to the omnipresent pull of the natural world upon human consciousness, where integration of mind, body and spirit can occur. In this rather Taoist moment, a sense of merging occurred, as if Nature itself spoke of its divine presence in contrast to the more base and encroaching side of man’s economic development.

Winter Sky

Now that winter is here,
the Sun welcomes in
more notable periods of warmth
and pleasure.

The Body, eager to have solace,
leans into, and is readily comforted by,
the Sun, and its fruits.

We listen to the air in winter,
The wind, the cold breeze,
wakes-up consciousness--
We notice Nature's voice, we become it.
The Body responds and is invigorated.

The Mind, now soothed,
is able to know Peace.
You look to the blue cool sky,
you breathe-in brisk air,
the Body knows it is alive.
Comforted, you know you are
Her child, as well as His.

You stand under a winter's
purple Mackerel Sky,
and time stops.
If a snows cape is in view,
you may weep.

In presence of true Beauty, in awe,
a gleeful cellular song surges forth.
The body tunes-up.
The song is to Life,
It says, YES!

Our connection to Earth,
placed upon Her lap,
gifts to the Body--Peace.
Then, allowing Serenity,
the Mind's corollary to Peace,
Winter brings us closer to Home
...once again.

The Florida View

Moon glow, half blown,
Floating in the summer sky.
Stencil stars spark
Amidst an ambient urban night;
Umbrella Palm overhead.
Look-up and through,
Look-up to these things--
They form the Florida view.
You smell the dew,
It drops from Snowbush leafs.
Frogs and Geckos
In chorus, sing together.
This summer night is enough for all.

Ole Gulf Waters

Florida miming, Sunshine go!
Washing, rinsing from head to toe,
Ole Gulf Waters ebbing flow.
Sun Bath on whiteness sand,
I smell a heavy salted hand,
And feet, and lips,
And bosom taut with seaweed grit.
Heads in deep--bottoms-up,
Immersing in her warm womb cup,
Calling all to her lap,
Ole Gulf Waters,
A nectar-sap.

Ode to the Sensitive Man

The man who feels deeply,
Also loves deeply.

As he looks upon his world,
And hears the sounds of its voices,
He perceives more richly
And sees more clearly, than many.

He is attuned to the Great Mother’s
Voice—She also speaks through him.
His is the voice of the Earth.

His body knows the pains of the world, and
The higher planes of Beauty and Truth.

His deep river of emotion may rise,
And its banks overflowing, yet,
He is delicately aware and intuitive.
He is the Passionate Man.

He is provided with the privilege
Of touching Love’s vast essence,
And of weaving Love’s rich fabric.

Through his vision,
He holds great Power.
In speaking his truth,
He vibrates in this Power.

And with this Gift,
There are no apologies.

It is Earth Power.
It is Warrior Power.
It is His Power.

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