Eve and Adam - that's where it all began, they messed up God's beautiful plan. Before them lay a life of ease, heaven; but why not instead of two, twenty-seven? Let us stop and think - why just two, they'd share the Earth and sky of blue, God would have given unto them all their wants every single whim. All but that wish - which we call a tree, really tho' - it's something called family. So that sin they performed, first two then three, and so it has gone throughout all history. Here I sit writing this pungent poem, thanking Eve and Adam for my home. I was going to write on the blessings of sin, when I started to write, when I first begin. I was going to say that on this Earth, if it wasn't for sin there'd be no birth. That means no Bible, Rome, Egypt or Christ, no murders, kidnappings or mailtruck heist; No Cain, Neros or men dying on the cross, to think that all this would be a loss, If it wasn't for sin; God gave all a free will, and at the beginning it started downhill. It is easier you must agree to go down than up, we drink empty, not full, a cup. Sin will go on forever as will eternity, God will forgive us, yes, with serenity.
How tightly we close our eyes against the light of dawn as we lay warm in the bed of night drawing over head its coverings anticipating what dawn brings How early we retired to its comfort in the wintry days when the sun leaves us
Do we not find then alone day to be but an interlude, Do we forget, dividing our sleeping the bed shall yet remain awaiting our return when day has exhausted us to sleep
I found something new, which I alone can view, From my cellar's tiny window, I secretly watch, here below, The passing of many feet, between my window and the street. Some are polished and very bright, others seem to have been in a fight. Some are gay and a happy red, others are black as if they're dead. Some are small and very little, others seem to fit a fiddle. Some go by very, very fast, others are slow as they pass. Maybe I can also someday, with shoes, pass along this way. And when that day I can, they will not be red, black or tan. Mine shall be of a pure white, laced with the blackness of night. I shall walk proudly in my shoes, past people, doors and other's views, Knowing that I have a place to go, and no one else but I will know. That I was once haggard and poor, and walked bare footed on the floor.
Time is as the flow of a river The water is what carries the flow The river bed is where we are The banks the bounds of it The immediate surroundings Of drainage The realm of one Rivers are met Thus become is more Till an ocean is The source met There intermingling Ferment Death And Birth Become and rise to heights Within all this - man Cries out -- "Destiny" And the rippling waters Laugh softly As the rain falls Again On the mountain top.
My steps had taken me deep into the wooded hills having followed trails, Trails used not by man but the runs of various rudiments and predators. And when it was a long bend did come, skirting foliage dense and deep, I Found myself impelled therein to go though I saw no ready way there in. So I bent and crawled 'neath thicket, catching, tearing both cloth and flesh. I assured myself it was a must price and laughed at a scampering rabbit. Shortly though the bush did thin and I could stand though yet crowdedly. My boots a blessing against underbrush, I had nothing though to fend branches. They snapped in quick blows and further tore and shredded my remaining wear. Small drops of blood mingled and ran with sweat stinging minor wounds. At this point I paused both in rest and thought, wondering at my actions. But started soon enough, knowing I would but pay twice the price for nothing. For what I sought or thought to find I had absolutely no idea whatsoever. Knowing the fool I was, I sought no answer but gave over to the urge. My thoughts lending to what surrounded me, at it, its density and variety; reason. About was every sort of bush and berry, here and there a fern or mushroom grew. Well robbed of sun and light by trees, of pine, cotton, birch, maple and oaks. All seeking their place and more room, in some unknown contest or pitting game. As I continued inward, it did appear their struggle somewhat slackened, but Nay, perceived was a change about them in that they stood less bent and twisted. Tall and strong, their circumference of increasing size; bush, fir and fern
Even mushrooms grew expandedly now and I sought rest there near a larger tree. Picked berries from a near bush that my thirst; and hunger as well, be quenched. I must have dozed for a short time, for I awoke in a start from something. Again a flash, 'twas a high noon sun... breaking the heavy canopy high above. Standing, somewhat rested now, I set out once more now less encumbered. Tho' no hope was in the vegetation, as I reached deeper into the woods. For shortly after starting out from the stout trees and brush, I found Those beyond to be in various stages of dying or stunted in growth, life. As if denied some source of life force, or crowded by those I'd just left. I saw no reason; though seldom I had ever, for what I saw, tho - sometimes - So I journeyed on thinking an end or perhaps even a path would be near. Such hope is seldom filled immediately, no surprise came at further encumbrance. Branch and twig lay dead, felled in no certain order upon the wasted ground. I found myself having to clamber over trees, somehow felled with yet green. Facing no less of the same far ahead, slipping at times, once incurring a gash. Which I swiftly wrapped stopping blood but not the anguish shooting now within. My body began to numb; I found myself wanting to stop but somehow went on. At last sight was caught of a clearing, and strength returned to aid me on. Soon enough the dead and dying began to clear; my way now was hastened. What trees there were were all stunted, brush was twisted upon stony ground. Less larger branches and more twigs lay, and few were any of the smaller shrub. Wiping salty sweat from my eyes I saw, saw something I thought a dream, illusion.
page 7 So haste was made over the forest floor toward what was the apparent center. Caught in sight was a titan of a tree, its size that twice of any redwood known. Its branches seemed horizontal trees themselves stretching far and heavily. That one tree in its whole commanded half the clearing; near six acres... That one tree in its height only surmised, stood possessing the heart, the center. Daring any to challenge its held claim, stopping, downing all who even so dared. 'Twas then I knew the why of the density of the woods I'd just managed through. All the daring and young crowded, surged, to reach, meet its test; their fanaticism. And more knowing ones stood their ground attempting to hold back all others. Sending their spawn to challenge, best, or die trying, so the last encountered. Under its immensity I stood now bared and bloodied, weakened and paining. No thought of else but the knowing came, came and went in slow tripping measures. I then turned to leave, to find again the trail which coursed clearly on. Which heard the song of birds, shared the hoof, paw and fleet little feet. The trail which ambled yet bound all the woods, even the secreted meadows. To there I sought my way, knowing it offered balms and cooling waters... There I could share in the harmony and flow, never driven, never stopped. For though one might grow broad or high it lays no jealous hold or testing. But catches the winds and heavy storms that the lesser might thrive and grow. That is its power and it's shared by the sprouting pine, the birds and flowers. I've cast my boots aside and loosened my belt as I knowingly amble along.
The tree stands tall oak hard and branching shading, catching wind and rain and tiny feet Your arms stretch wide fingers pressed you hold that leaf to your heart
your eyes seeing but the tree Upon the forest's bed knowing the warmth of thy womb in my napping standing tall catching wind and rain and storms tearing the cool of air the warmth of day and life Know me thus and in all ways never close your eyes or fail to hear as I stand near, near the warmth of thy soul.
A leaf budding upon a tree leaved full is heard not nor is it seen or known to none 'cept perhaps the tree yet you saw and heard me as I passed aside of you
The air alone does feel the falling of a leaf and perhaps the earth upon which it does alight so, too, I know you felt the love yet remaining within and as clouds which passed that day you touched it No softer bed than the forest floor and I did sleep upon the pillow of your lap
Called are hands to shapeless clay spinning timely upon the wheel where foot pumps so vigorously Called and though the two are of one The guiding of the hands The gentler more cautious As formed is shapeless clay and a vase becomes.
Called... 1 A leaf budding... 2 Reason 3 And don't forget... 3 Everything isn't always... 3 The tree stands tall... 4 Loneliness V-VI 5-7 We saw in that time ago... 8
Through the windows... 8 Softly 9 Shoes 10 It was south of Berlin... 11 How tightly we close our eyes... 12 Peace came... 13 The Wall 14 January 15 Ledge 16 Unchanged 16 A Need to Be Needed 17 Our Future 17 Lie I awake at night... 18 Begin may we, to feast... 18 Where the there that was then... 18 Crickets played 19 The Blessing of Sin 20 A candle's light 21 Remembering is at times... 22 Life in a Cup 23 Revolution 24 A wild rose... 24 The old full branched tree 25 Afraid, you say... 26 Arrested Progress 26 Good for Nothing 26 Heard... 27
A candle's light bright by which to see in day or night truth and knowledge inseparably one.
A hundred thousand million I image to be maybe more and in life it is one at least we might see need one see more numbers do not exist in and of the light of truth knowledge extends not beyond itself A candle's light bright, carry one may I by which to see in day or night truth and knowledge, inseparably one in life
Old man where, where do you go? your tracks cover in the deepening snow, You carry no baggage; nothing of the kind, all your past, your present, in your mind. You are dressed poorly for this type of weather, you walk bent in sadness, in happiness never. What is this place you are about to enter? is that your shack placed in the center? It is empty and cold just a picture on the wall, you sit and hold it - what do you recall? The face is faded from the years long past, someone is coming, the turn of the hasp. 'Tis a little girl, a basket on her arm, you look up surprised, as if in alarm. She comes to you - the basket placed on the table, you look at her, smile, on the basket a label. It reads, "Happy New Year" - plain and simple, Oh, what a smile, on your face a dimple. She starts to leave, you call her back, she turns smiling, words you lack. In that moment you think of a past year, when your little girl you held so dear. Rising, you walk to her, your hands are bleak, touching her, then kissing her on the cheek. You rise, then she reaches up on her tips, her hands are warm and so are her lips. Leaving, she says, "I'll return tomorrow," your eyes follow her now, in sorrow. Slowly you walk over to your bed, pulling the covers up over your head. The sun setting, shines in golden hue, a beam through the window engulfs you. Then the moon with it's pure mirrored light, glows within your dwelling all the night. This was once a mansion where your were born, you lay there now, will anybody mourn? She comes, enters, then she goes to where you lie, she speaks, you are gone, she knows, she does cry.
The centuries old country road carrying progress's heavy load, did watch and weigh the meeting of two: a speedy white car and a man in blue-- a two-minute gain became a fifteen- minute loss. The balance is; "speedy progress isn't always boss!"
GOOD FOR NOTHING
To be good without pay or a thank-you for what you did today. To do it and be done and move along your way, good for nothing.
The old full branched tree must fall one day, if the woods themselves are to grow. That it loose a branch unused and bend the sun's light the sapling may grow, so one day break it's fall. What was ours may last if given, held we'll never know. The old full branched tree must fall one day, if the woods themselves are to grow.
Unused branches fallen allow the sapling room to grow breaking wind and ease the falling. What was ours may last if given held we'll never know.
The old full branched tree must fall one day, if the woods themselves are not to die. Yet, neither need stand alone in time in the waiting of; That youth receive what age gives Pending view of the sun. Unused branches allowed to fall help the ancient oak to stand, fallen the branches nurture Youth breaking wind.
The old full branched tree must fall one day, if the woods themselves are to grow. Yet neither need stand alone in time in the waiting of. Unused branches allowed to fall help the ancient oak to stand. Youth standing near break the wind
When we are young just after birth we need - our mothers. When we grow older we shy away from our mothers - not knowing. They look and want to console us in times when we are lost. We try to do without their comfort and care forgetting when we were young. Not realizing the want of mothers, their need to be needed by us. But when they pass away in sad memory we think of how we left them out.
Yes, time will pass, as it has gone before. We'll strive for peace, it will only end in war.
LIFE IN A CUP What will it be, she says, just a cup of coffee, just coffee. Do you want cream, pream, or none, no, just black and hot, black. She served me my cup of coffee, I looked at it--steaming, black, hot. I sip it from a spoon at first, because it is bitter without taste and hot. Slowly it cools, the bitterness seems gone, I drink in gulps til' the last. Then I slow my drinking pace, enjoying those last cold bitter drops. The cup is empty now, gone forever, She comes to me, saying, "A refill." I tell her, no it was just fine, winking, She smiles and gives me the check. Oh what a small price to pay--a dime, I wonder, does God pay a dime, or more? He gave us life, hot, creamless, and black, Hot, steaming with energy and life. Creamless, yes, but we can still dream, Black, yes, but filled with hope and faith. When we were young we just sipped our life, as we grew older we drank in gulps. Then as age came we thought of how, the prime passes so fast, freely. And we sip those last cold bitter drops, then--our cup--is empty, life is gone. God comes to us asking, "a refill," we say--no--thank-you, it was just fine. God pays the check for us--smiling, and takes us to his home in heaven.