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POETIC FLIGHTS 2

Page 14

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Poems about death and dark love poetry are listed on the index of poems

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poems of hope

Gray eye of gneiss,
Without allegiance
To the living
Or dead,
I envy you,
Witness to the past
Envoy to the future;

My moment here
But a glint,
A smudge
A carpenter's mark,
A firefly lurching
Through the dark.

Yet even so,
A silent humming
A benign transmission,
Its origin within me
And yet unknown,
Shields me from the deadly cold:
Whatever comes
Whatever may never be,
Once our atoms
Wriggle apart
And
Disperse in protean
Dances of time,
Whether in large-bellied
Oceans
Or the fertile fields
Of swirling sky,
A flower's flirtation
Or a dunghill
Of fervent hope--
Not one will rot
Or lose itself,
Each
Will find abode,
Yes
Every single one,
No matter how large or small its cloak,
Will keep on ringing
Its eternal note.

poems of hope
More and more in my life and in my work
I am guided by the effort to correct our old
repressions, which have removed and
gradually estranged from us the mysteries
out of whose abundance our lives might
become truly infinite.
—Rainer Maria Rilke

My head weary of words,
I gaze out into the rift,
Somewhere beneath the ultraviolet fringe
An indistinct vibration
A deep-rooted resonance
Secretly sustains the fiction
Of natural law,
The faintest twitch of intent,

Its sublime note unlocking
The spider's silken dance,
Electrifying
The magic trees of Assam
The clouds of honeybees,
In sweet streams, its call
Mouthing home the hook-nosed
Chinook--

I kiss the electrons
Obediently bolting
Through my midnight lamp,
Naively submit
To Bernoulli's tidy Principle
That defiantly rides us high
On particles of air--
The world sleeping far below

It radiates upward
Into my secure causal lounge--.

Page by page Occam's rusted razor
Slices deeper into doubt
Toward some theory of everything,
Except the murmurs in the grass.





poems of death
Love and Beauty distilled
To pure, bittersweet sadness,
My self-claimed soul drawn
Like every other
Back into its eternal womb--
The sheer weightlessness
Of no solid or imagined
Earth-scented thing too great--

Uncharted, untouched
By breath of highest beast--
Only the living can still leap--
What philosopher or poet
Ever endured
To embroider
That final, endless moment?

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