THE PRESENT

THE PRESENT

They broke the early edge of morning,

Filling the positions of the day almost

Immediately.  Great platoons of moments

Forming ranks, files, minute by minute,

Hour by hour.  There were so many

Ready to greet the dawn that it became

Impossible to predict what might occur

Between morning and evening.  Love

Songs rose spontaneously from myriad

Places, decisions and resolutions assembled,

Sure of success.  It was as if everything

That could happen on any given day

Would happen today for certain.

This went on every morning, no matter

What; Winter, Summer, Spring and Fall,

A seemingly endless parade.  Surely there

Must be something to all this activity.

We stood on the hilltops watching.

We looked from out our windows.

We greeted one another and discussed

Every event as it unfolded itself.  Each

thing seemed new. We hardly noticed

How it all worked until it became

Necessary to remember where we

Were and what was happening to us.

By then our joy had moved to the children.

We continued this way for an indeterminate

Amount of time and then it was over.

At first this seemed strange.  Later we

Involved ourselves in the making of it.

We became the things we observed.

I WOULD MAKE NOISES DEEP

I WOULD MAKE NOISES DEEP

In my throat that sounded

So unlike anything I knew

That I would scare myself.

I became ceremony in sound.

A whirl of phlegm, crackling

And sputtering up from the

Rooms I guard against time

And her dancing princesses.

A quaking, as if a bear suddenly

Came into the room on hind

Legs and performed the crushing

Of an arm as if it were a

Dance and she the music.

Now, as autumn pushes clouds

Ahead of itself with a yard

Full of leaves, I hear these

Same sounds again issue

From their scraping across

The drive and think them

A familiar music, something

Treasured, like a Nocturne by

Chopin remembered by the fingers

Long after the mind has forgotten

The specificity of the notes and rests.

It is a rustling of lace

In a room draped with silences.

A SAILORS DREAM

A SAILOR’S DREAM

I have plans for you and have

The names of ships you may board

That will take you to islands, to lands

Where strange things, there the Bong tree

Grows or fairies might gather

By fires at night and warm the

Long ropes of their noses, they do,

And warm the long ropes of their noses.

I will teach you to spell, to light

Saint Elmo’s fire on the top of the mast

And loose it from your mouth

To frighten the birds of the far lands

Who will cluster in toward you

To hear your stories,  If you 

Come to the places I’d lead you,

If you’ll sail on the ships of the night.

Their voices will rise and mix

With the chorus that rides

From the waves to the sky.  There are

Legions that dwell in the depths

Of my body and serve the

Legends of men.  Yes, they do,

They enhance all the legends of men.

And yes, I will go, for my breath

Has the salt as the eye of the dawn

Is blood red and I’ll notch

My footsteps to the heave of the decks

And I’ll sail on forever and then some.

I’ll sail us on through the doors of the night,

You shall see me as a ghost on fogged mornings.  

I’ll be sailing us on through the doors of the night.

Let this dream of the sea be your warning. 

THE LITTLE STAR OF CHINA

THE LITTLE STAR OF CHINA

The one with the broken mouth.

The one who used to put her hands

In the water, lift them  back to her mouth,

Speak into it and put it back in the stream.

She was the one.  We saw her many times.

Once she was a hill just outside of a small town.

Once she was a squabble of birds in a tree.

It was summer. It was almost dark, but it was her.

Those bay colored horses with the darker spots

On their sides and their perfect eyes.

We saw them standing in the moonlight.

There was barely a breeze.  We were waiting.

It was her, no doubt.  She was the one.

It was her too that time we were driving

Through the jungle at night, trying to get

Matt to a hospital.  He had mangled his leg

While cutting wood.  It was a bad cut.

We passed about a half mile wide fire

That ran almost to the edge of the road.

We knew it was her.  Ramon said, “it’s her.”

Once there was a ship leaving the harbor,

Easing through the morning mist.  The trees

On the far side of the river, all pink and wonder.

It groaned and creaked and moved into the river.

She was called The Little Star of China.