Beauty is my work:
to labor in spirit, letting life spill into words
which might move your mind
in ways that release that light
I'm love-drunk for: the light of the truest you,
all wet with wonder--fresh I mean--
a wise and wild child shining
through the intricate maze
of your soul; through your eyes,
all awake and wanting nothing but love
and loving; peering out your face,
beautiful with joy like the sun,
innocent as a breeze,
or calm with repose, like a rose,
soft and sleepy on a summer's day.
When we rejoice
with a child's complete joy
and pour forth our wonderment
we forget the miserable ones.
It is not possible to do otherwise.
So, we must keep to the rhythm
of ecstasy and compassion:
the first, like rain-slicked petals
slipping into a silky sea;
the second, a gleam of light
squeezed out of dark, hot
visceral organs--love's ooze--
pure in the melt down
ashamed of its frivolities--
to drink nakedly of whimsy
and forget again.
A POEM IS A PLACE
A poem is a new friend
that was an old lover you'd forgotten.
It is written to be companionable:
even if it jerks you upside down!
It's a spurt and a spout,
a prink and a dazzle—
moistness in your pants.
Or, barking dark in God's light!
a ribbon of silky smoke
unwrinkling in the sky;
a spacious place to pass into:
like a opening soul...
or lithe wind hidden in a stone.
It's a room without walls
and a ceiling of spattered stars.
It's a slow excretion of color in your mind
as the universe in you sings.
It's your own primal voice speaking
from a simple flame of empty silence—
the naked Christ.
Enter a poem's heart with your heart.
When you come to its wordy doors,
throw yourself open!