Our reward is reaped, and heaped upon the harvest table.
But our comfort, as our breath is, once is not enough.
Poems and Pictures
Our reward is reaped, and heaped upon the harvest table.
But our comfort, as our breath is, once is not enough.
We think that we are in the flow, but are simply set adrift.
We think that we have found some peace, but are simply resigned to endure the doldrums.
“What use a sail, without the breeze to fill it.” I cried.
And God spoke, “With a notion comes a mighty wind.”
“Oh Lord, how can I, think of things unknown?” I begged.
God offers, “Simply think of me.”
Everyone thinks they’re good at sex.
And I assume they are.
But it’s time we face the fact
It’ really not that hard.
Happiness is a dead end street
You’ll sooner have to back on out
But once you know the way there
You can return where, ever you want.
A question, once answered, will never wonder again.
The only way, to keep wonder alive, is to pose more questions than answers are.
People ask me what I do all day.
I sit quietly, and I weep, is my reply.
So sad, they guess.
Yes – a bit of that. But mostly I am still, to think of things that move me.
And when I’ve moved myself to tears I know, I’ve rubbed up against some truth.
You have so much potential, they say.
I say, and patience too.
For me, you see, the yet is best to come.
I am but a page of paper
marked and stained just so
Turn the leaf
a page unspoiled
I’ll paint myself anew
Sleep well
Dream sweetly
Sing with the first morning’s light
Dance in long shadows
Till the earth weighs
Good night
I am the torch
That bares brighter
With each step in the dark
Everything is random, by the forces upon them.
It flows, then it hurdles and cascades, heedless of the rocks.
It scatters, then gathers a great wave.
It crashes, it corodes and creates it anew.
We are the pebble, caught in the wash.
If we’re still as we tumble we can only just hear, the roar of whatever was, and the hiss of what will become.
And know, for a moment, that we are the where, where it all came to be.