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Occasional Poems

As I recall, these brief poems occurred at various moments throughout the years almost without effort, as though they were simply discovered, and then recognized. They live with me as old companions, rather than as my children: familiar, but originating in another and more mysterious place than my longer work.

How like the mind is the sky,
that for us its greatest worth
is to shelter what we let fly;

and how like the gut is the earth,
which, ravaged by our part,
still digests, and still gives birth.

And how like the sea is the heart,
whose murmurs along the shore
never quench the Fire at the Core.

Find beauty in
each thing you see,
And Beauty will find
its place in thee.

You, my mouth,
a gaping wound,
a battlefield that roars;

are unaware that
a bird soars.

This valley's our Cathedral, Lord,
with trellis'd pews,

from which the virtues of
Your Vintage rise;

Your Harvesters of Men abuse the fruit
to love the Juice that secret lies;

Your longtime Bruise of Alchemy
lifts us above the human size;

as we now reach toward
this Wine You've pour'd.

Although these things
we think and feel
are merely symbolic
of what is Real,
it is terribly important
not to be overawed
by these consistantly simple
statements of God.

Be neither limited by discipline,
nor inflated by a credential—
nor dwarfed by global interests,
nor condemned by great potential;

know Who you are, and how,
know your Source and Destination;
know you cannot leave your Path,
and that the Journey is your salvation.

Don't fall in love with him or her,
but with your entire world and life;
and love that one you share them with,
as husband, or as wife.

We're here at first
but to receive,
and then to have,
and then to grieve;

and with that grief
we start to live—
only having
what we give.

Thunder rolls across the heavens,
Brilliance flashes through the skies;
Power pours up from God's Gut
and out the Hazard of His Eyes.

The sun has set,
the moon also;
the stars spread out across
these skies I know.

My heart is quiet,
my mind is still;
my body's found and
climbed upon this hill.

I find I'm in
an open space
within my life,

where healing
may take place.

Suns set, angels rise;

we're already perfect
in God's Eyes.

This home we build
has its own dangers:
we do not dream
about strangers.

I've never died nor given birth,
but know what lies beyond this earth;
in giving birth and facing death,
Something Large inhabits breath.

Robbie is old and ready to go
where gifts come from;
she's waiting up alone tonight
for Santa to come.

And you will know
when your mind is still:
I've always loved you,
I always will.

What little of
I know is love.

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