CHILDREN OF SNOW

          

              for my children

I try to stay snow that my children wish
would come hard in Missoula, come hard
in me. There is fun in me like children
of fox and geese, sleds without tracks,
without worry. Yet this winter weighs heavy
as wet snow as I visit Welch and ramble
wishing for right time for ripe snow.

Sing a song for all children
who know that snow is holy,
falls holy on us, we, who should rejoice
in this time of work, of play, of holy
laughter that rings at crisp stars.

                       Victor Charlo

........

.

oft i dream during day

My love is in a light attire
Among the apple-trees,
Where the gay winds do most desire
To run in companies.

There, where the gay winds stay to woo
The young leaves as they pass,
My love goes slowly, bending to
Her shadow on the grass;

And where the sky's a pale blue cup
Over the laughing land,
My love goes lightly, holding up
Her dress with dainty hand.



                                 James Joyce










...

the boys i mean....

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night
   

one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined
   


they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite
   


the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss
   


they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance



                                       e.e. cummings









...

avian ontological musings

      ONE HEART                                     

Look at the birds. Even flying
is born

out of nothing. The first sky
is inside you, open

at either end of day.
The work of wings

was always freedom, fastening
one heart to every falling thing.

                                Li-Young Lee

...

sydney carter song

      

                     Judas and Mary

Said Judas to Mary, “Now what will you do
With your ointment so rich and so rare?
“I’ll pour it all over the feet of the Lord
And I’ll wipe it away with my hair”, she said.
I’ll wipe it away with my hair.”


“Oh Mary, oh Mary, oh think of the poor -
This ointment, it could have been sold.
And think of the blankets and think of the bread
You could buy with the silver and gold” he said,
“You could buy with the silver and gold.”


“Tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll think of the poor,
Tomorrow” she said, “not today,
For dearer than all of the poor of the world
Is my love who is going away,” she said,
“My love who is going away.”


Said Jesus to Mary, “Your love is so deep
Today you may do as you will.
Tomorrow you say I am going away,
But my body I leave with you still,” he said.
“My body I leave with you still.”


“The poor of the world are my body” he said,
“To the end of the world they shall be.
The bread and the blankets you give to the poor
You’ll find you have given to me,” he said,
You’ll find you have given to me.”


“My body will hang on the cross of the world
Tomorrow,” he said, “and today,
And Martha and Mary will find me again
And wash all my sorrow away,” he said,
“And wash all my sorrow away.











...

to be an existential question

   

                OCEANS

  I have a feeling that my boat
has struck, down there in the depths,
against a great thing.
                    And nothing
happens! Nothing...Silence...Waves...

    --Nothing happens? Or has everything happened,
and are we standing now, quietly, in the new life?

                                                 Juan Ramon Jimenez

                                                       tr.  Robert Bly

....

NEITHER HERE NOR THERE

An airport is nowhere
which is not something
generally noticed

yet some unnamed person in the past
deliberately planned it
to be there

and you have spent time there
again
and are spending time there again
for something you have done
which you do not entirely remember

like the souls in Purgatory

you sit there in the smell
of what passes for food
breathing what is called air
while the timepieces measure
their agreement

you believe in it
while you are there
because you are there
and sometimes you may even feel happy
to be that far on your way
to somewhere


                   WS Merwin    (+ Ides of March 2019)






....