One in Many

One sun, many rays,
One time, many days,
One world, many lands,
One work, many hands.
One moon, many tides,
One truth, many sides,
One God, many faces,
One man, many races.

To Boris

Well we remember Boris,
With a little sigh;
He stayed through fall and winter,
This daring old fly.
Through the house he would caper,
Tagging all he'd see,
Blithely swooping and curving
In flight so carefree.
We called him Boris the Strong
When the first frost came;
And he buzzed the winter
Worthy of his name.
Soon Boris grew fond of us
And we of him too;
He would light on our shoulders,
Watch what we'd do.
Some breakfasts, he would join us,
Luncheon found him there;
At dinner he'd be waiting
For crumbs under chair.
His wings reflected rainbows
His eyes were gem gold,
His feelers stretched silken,
His feet tinyfold.
Oh true, we all loved Boris,
Except Tangerine,
A big redheaded tomcat
With eyes of mean green.
And one morning it happened,
Boris forgot fear,
And jumped on his enemy;
That's why he's not here.
Well we remember Boris,
With a long sigh,
Who thought he was immortal
When only a fly.

Past Past
If I could call back the hours I sulked,
Or recapture the days that I cried,
I'd fill them with hope and smear them with smiles
And tear out each moment I sighed.
And yet if I could I doubt if I should,
For would it be worth all the try?
If I took all the struggle and squeezed it to joy,
Would the person performing be I?
The Dark Rib of Knowledge
Adam, what would you have wrought without your Eve?
Would you have wearied of your ever blooming bliss?
Would you have found a way to grieve?
Would you have sought for a stolen kiss?
Ah Adam, what would all the joy have brought to your brain,
Existing endlessly in a prison of green,
Never feeling the fall of the white cloud's rain,
Never questing for mysteries unseen?
Ah Adam, would not the angels have been bored to tears,
Watching but you and your days of happiness,
Unaware of the passing of hours and years,
Never probing the wide wilderness?
Ah Adam, how empty would have been your life,
With no knowledge to darken the light,
With no woman to take for your wife,
With no end, no goal in sight?
Adam, lift up a prayer unto high heaven,
Fall down gratefully upon your knee,
For the most precious gift to thee given --
Wise Eve and her unholy curiosity.
Open House
Hold, do not discount heresy,
Mother of truth,
Grandmere of superstition.
Grant heresy her heritage,
Haven for a runaway child,
Reception for a rebel seed.
For twenty years he gazed upon a wall,
For twenty years and that is all,
The Emperor Woo,
For twenty years the truth he did pursue.
And when he lifted his eyes
To look upon the high blue skies
The Emperor Woo
Found the wall was all he knew.
If you would shout; whisper
If you would cry; laugh
If you would find God; wait.
If you would talk; be silent
If you would have; give
If you would know; watch.
The curtain of truth is thin.
Sweet Scent
Yesterday I wept.
Now today I cannot find my tears,
Neither can I find yesterday.
Laughter is like jasmine.
The scent clings to the memory.
To find,
To search,
Of the mind.
Last night the moon was round to the rim,
And we drank the wine 'til the depth was thin.
Ah yes, last night our laughter was young
But today we have aged and are overhung.
Soon, I will have passed the future,
And the future will have passed;
Soon I will meet the past
And the riddle will be free.
It is sad,
Yes my dear,
No matter how you split it.
So learn to laugh,
My dear,
A belly laugh,
And you will outwit it.
No, no, no
Don't, don't, don't,
Shh, shh, shh!
Never, never, never,
No, no, no,
Stop, stop, stop,
Go, go, go!
Later, later, later,
No, no, no,
Quiet, quiet, quiet,
Oh, oh, oh!
You naughty child,
Don't you love Mother?
Does the bird know he flies in air;
Of water is the fish aware?
Can the worm describe the earth,
Or the insect name his leaf of birth?
Seems he who is already there
Will be the last to discover where.
You took my heart with tender promises,
You left me blind with bright belief.
You broke my heart with artifice
And turned from lover into thief.
I gave you my love for a tuneful of words,
I tossed it to a sweetmouthed swain
And he as flown with the fickle birds,
His memory a pyramid of pain.
Oh give me back my heart again
And take instead my hoarded grief.
Send back the love you did disdain
So another may bring it relief.
Return Bend
Caught in the crowd
Pushing, pleasuring,
It may suddenly come
A desire to return
To the house of truth,
To the center of thngs.
It may suddenly come
A desire to refind
The link between forest and rock,
Flower and fruits;
A desire to awaken
The sight of wind and mist,
Cloud and space;
A desire to belong
To the center of things,
To the silent casualness
Of time
Joining all opposites.
To a Young Artist
What has been done,
Do not try to do.
Search the past,
Then make something new.
Heed the master,
What he has to say.
Then step out
To find your own way.
Night, Sunday
I like to think as I walk
along the dark lane,
That tomorrow the black
trees will be green again,
And that shadows will have been
melted by the sun,
And that a new week will
have begun.
At Nightset I'll Meet You
At nightset I'll meet you
By the old cedar tree
But you must come bearing
Moon flowers for me.
In the shadows we'll whisper
Love words in tune
With crickets and land frogs
In Riga-doun-doun.
Come goblins, come wee folks
Bring pitch pipes and Puck
A honeymoon's in planning
Come wish us good luck.
How lonely the stars,
When my love is away,
How dark the nights of the moon;
And the winds seem sadly to say,
"Will he come home soon?"
Moment Mystic
Strange, so today,
The sun in its sky
And I, too, so strange,
Eye to eye,
Made change,
And I, the sun,
Caught in the sky
Looked down to one
Sunning on the sands
Asparkle with laughter.
Treasure in Hand
He who has come,
And he who has gone,
May never know the joy of this,
This very moment.
So why are you weeping,
Forgetting this?
It's all a laugh, all a giggle,
The worry of last year;
A foaming glass of breaking bubbles,
A frothy cap on fear.
It's all a dream, catnap troubles,
The pesters of the past,
A Coney Island fun house mirror
Made but to flabberghast.
A Spell
About, about, about my love goes
You, and you alone is all it knows
Ever returning, ever yearning
A flame constantly burning
A witch's song, chanted over and over
A child's game, echoing Red Rover
A sacred spell, a demon's dream
An angel's hell, a love god's gleam
A golden cord tugging tight
A gravitation to your sight
A blinking star nettling the night
A world beginning, a pinwheel spinning.
Martin, Martin,
Purple Martin,
Are you on the way?
Spring is here
Come my dear,
Your tree is green and gay.
Martin, Martin,
Purple Martin,
Fresh painted is your house,
Pink and red,
Come bring your bright-eyed spouse.
Martin, Martin,
Purple Martin,
The insects wake from sleep,
Lead your flock,
You needn't knock,
No door this house does keep.
Martin, Martin,
Purple Martin,
Hurry else you may
Be too late;
Martin's fate,
A blue jay called today.
Up in other rooms the work is done
The life is laid, the loom is run.
In other rooms, dreams drift and wait,
To be wound into another fate.
Endless energy ever creating,
Countless centuries climbing,
Towards tomorrow trailing,
Yesterday yearning yonder
Wonders when woe was absent long ago.
If in the ten thousand ways of conduct
You would seek advice,
Be polite,
Then one way will suffice.
The Lemmings
The lemmings are coming,
The lemmings are coming,
Down from the mountains they march,
Row by row,
Side by side,
Under the town's stone arch.
The lemmings are coming,
The lemmings are coming,
From out of the Norway hills,
Row by row,
Side by side,
Search for chlorophylls.
The lemmings are coming,
The lemmings are coming,
Agreed they will march by night,
Row by row,
Side by side,
Oh what an awesome sight.
The lemmings are coming,
The lemmings are coming,
How foolish can they be,
Row by row,
Side by side,
Marching straight into the sea.
*To H.G. Wells --After reading The Eye of the Beholder by Lance Sieveking
Ah, my dear,
I loved that man,
I cannot help it.
I loved him,
His squeaky chuckle,
His shrill high-pitched voice,
His smile kindling kindness,
His gusty English humor.
Ah, he was a man, he was,
So the ladies did say.
"His body smelled of honey."
and she should have known, that one.
But his mind smelled of honey too
And it was his mind that gave me my worship.
All in one he was
Kipps, Mr. Polly and George Pondevero,
George Pondevero himself.
He didn't take to the hereafter,
He didn't have to.
It was what was here that mattered.
And it did matter, for he's still here
Just as if he were twirling his mustaches;
Small, round, genial,
Still charming, still charming, Mr. Wells,
Mr. H.G. Wells.
"When, oh when
Shall I find freedom,"
Begged the disciple.
"Then, on then,"
Said the sage.
"Ho, ho, ho,"
laughed the disciple.
Showed the sage.
Under now lies long ago,
Wthe water frozen in the snow,
The seed embracing the giantly treee
The mind making you and me.
Under tomorrow lies today,
The vase shaping the clay.
The forest encircling the tree,
The all making you and me.
Tender Time
Like the day
It will pass away
That little tear of yours.
Like the night
It will come to light
That darkling fear of yours.
Like a dream
It will only seem
The trouble that does task.
Like the snow
It will come and go
The question that you ask.
Wild Worry
Worry, worry, worry, worry,
Runs a merry race,
Round and round about it goes,
Itself it loves to chase.
Worry, worry, whirling worry,
Sweeps along all sense,
Catching up all wisdom's caution
Gviing woes as recompense.
Worry, worry, willful worry,
What will stop your spinning?
Naught but turning back a bit,
Seeing self and grinning.
Probe a pretty puddle,
Full of waiting rain;
Find the world within it,
How it came, explain.
Look into a mirror,
See yourself at bay;
Tell me who is nearer;
Truth that's turned away.
Listen to the moment
As it speeds along;
Can you tell where it went;
Is next an echoes song?
At times I see a fairy form
     On a far-off shore
     At another door;
But if I beckon,
Alas, 'tis there no more.
At times I hear a strangely song
     Seeming so near
     Yet never quite clear;
But if I echo,
The strains disappear..
At times I sense a sweetly scent
     Haunting the memory
     Of a past dreamingly;
But if I reach,
It fades tauntingly.
At times I feel another me
     Watching over shoulder
     Someone much older;
But if I turn,
Gone is the beholder.
I always say if it wants to rain,
Let it rain.
The sun will shine again,
The same.
Why deign to complain,
In vain.
Let it rain in Maine,
In Dusquene.
Let it drip and drain,
On the weather vane.
While I abstain, inane
To the weather, so insane.
'Tis said when thirty times a thing is tried,
It turns into a habit, true dyed.
Longer than thirty days I have loved you,
Thirty months and thirty half years through.
By time, you have become a habit, love,
A bad one, I must get rid of.
Let's not talk about it,
The mystery,
The futility,
The absurdity,
Let's have a cup of tea.
Make haste, merry maid,
For the morning soon meets night.
Waste wisely, merry maid,
For the rushing hours curb not their flight.
Fritter frugally, merry maid,
For time takes with it each day's delight.
I walked upon a nightspun dream
Its land was laid with light
I saw the ancient Gods of Color
Adancing on the white.
I stepped across the human barrier
And broke the bonds of sight
I saw the fire of revelation
Aflaming with spectacle bright.
I found a timy conjured candle
Clutched in my left hand tight
I held it to the radiant glow
And watched its tip ignite.
I stole away from the sacred scene
Carrying my second sight
And when I opened up my eyes
The light had turned to night.
Fond Traveller,
Quaff deep the stirrup cup
Sparkled wishes
From friends filled up.
White Magic II
Snow swishing down to earth,
Flakes whirling, dancing on their way,
White ladies of the ballet.
Silent, smiling snow,
Gay, full of mischief, none of woe,
Hitting this and slapping that,
Kissing cheeks and skidding noses,
Little pale pillows of the way,
From heaven to eternity.
A Procession
Let us leave the low ground and make to the mountain,
Where the great tree grows in the grasp of strength,
Fathered by the five fingers of fate and blessed by the seed of the sun.
Let us hang our cares on the supple boughs
Stretching to the seven seas of space,
Shading the exposed breast of the earth.
Let us become as a round golden cup
To catch the dazzling drops of wisdom
To carry to the parched lips in the valley.


I looked upon a fading star
And wished that you loved me;
But soon the star went out of sight,
And in the light,
My wish seemed so silly.
And soon this too shall pass,
And you shall step out of your life;
Look back and laugh, laugh, laugh.
And a voice shall say,
"See, it wasn't too bad now, was it?"
You'll shake your head and laugh, laugh, laugh.
And on a smile you'll answer,
"If only I had known,
How different I would have acted."
And the voice will laugh, laugh, laugh.
There is no end to the dreams of men,
No stop to the song of the soul;
No tyrant can bind
The stretch of the mind
Weaving its own barcarole.
There is no end to the quest of men,
No stop to the search of youth;
No age can sever
Wisdom forever,
The sun creates its own truth.
There is no end to the saga of men,
No break to the beat of the heart;
No drums can allay
What life has to say,
The song was set in the start.
Jelly Fish
A body made of jelly,
In all but a belly.
A brain of nothing,
But how you can sting.
Hidden Message
Can you smell it,
The flower hiding on the green?
Can you feel it,
The wind in passing by unseen?
Can you hear it,
The rhythm of the rolling sea?
Then you have it,
The secret of inner beauty.
At Sea
Deep in the sea,
A fish
No more than we
Where he's going.
Answer II
Measuring the universe,
Finding the "I".
Think of the morning glory
And the blue of the sky,
Think of my love
And how it won't die,
Think of the years
That have gone by the way,
Think of tomorrow
That will not stay
Think and then think no more,
The time has come to close the door.
Find, oh find,
When the wind scatters the snow,
What moves --
The wind,
The snow,
The mind?
When time scatters the day,
What moves --
The time,
The day,
The mind?
Find, oh find.
Riddles Riddled
Tell me,
Where fell the fears of years ago?
Do you know?
And the tears?
Where did they go?
Can you see
What used to be
Before your parents came?
And the same?
What will you do
When this life is through?
Fancy free,
The original state of mind,
Can you find
Who first
Your thoughts did bind?
One, two, three
Plus infinity,
Evened to equal now.
This is how
To square the quest;
The answer to the test.
But I forgot,
I forgot,
In May.
How they
Life small elves
Golden in play.
And I forgot,
I forgot,
On grass
With shadows
Clouds pass.
Yes, I forgot,
I forgot,
The smell
Of sweet Spring
Rare scents rising,
Cyclic charm
For Seekers
Free are the tokens of truth,
Free as the air in the sky.
Fleet are the visiions of truth,
Fleet as a bird passing by.
Few are the seekers of truth,
Few as the springs in the sands.
Deep are the roots of truth,
Deep as the depths unscanned.
Sweet is the sight of truth,
Sweet as the bright bee's queen.
Two is the sum of truth,
Two the seer and the seen.
The Dragon
In what room swells dire discontent,
In what pocket of the body hides she her ugly ferment?
What hypnotic power has she with my soul,
That once she shows, nothing but weeping is my goal?
Where gets she her strength to rout with one blow her bent,
Joy, ambition, love, happiness and sweet content?
Does she spring from some evil sphere unknown,
From a dark devil's home blown?
Or does she mount from the mind's muddy mire
Dragging forth all her dreadful desire?
If I know not from where she comes or why she appears,
I find one lone weapon to rout her after the tears.
Discontent, dreadful discontent, with discontent herself,
Discredit, dismay, disarm, and disgorge the dragon from herself.
Tick - Tell - Time
The tirl of time tells the tale;
The stillness of the past screams the secret;
The flicker of the future frees the fable.
And so in man's heart
There beats the echo
The measured stride of the till of time.
A White Spring
Sweet snow of first day of Spring,
What last message of Winter do you bring?
Is Winter loathe to leave the scene?
Would she with kiss cover first sign of green?
What says Spring to this last symphony of snow?
Does she with the bird cry, "Go, go, go?"
Or do Spring and Winter meet in one fond embrace
Before realigning into seasonal place?
The Heart of Time


The pink is on the blossom,
The sun is nectarine;
The birds are singing love notes,
The trees are leafing green.
The breeze is glad and gentle,
With whisper of shy Spring;
A glow of midnoon magic
Entangles everything.
The dogs are barking wildly,
Might break the pulling chain;
A child laughs at the wonder
That surges in his brain.
The day awakens small things
From Winter sleep in start;
A tingle at the root ends,
But the memory's in the heart.

The gold is on the jewelweed,
The tree is plump with fruit,
The earth is sweet with Summer,
The warmth is absolute.
The crops are ripe with harvest,
The berries blend with bees,
The day is long and lazy,
On air lifts not a breeze.
The ambush bug is waiting
Might come along a prey,
The cat is crouched in shadow,
The robber fly's at stay.
The calm is on the grasses,
A spell in on the bird,
The primrose moth is sleeping,
In the heart a song is heard.

The mornings break with chillness,
The nights cut off the days;
The cat moves from the hedge bush,
To catch the cast sun rays.
The ants march in dispersal,
The birds slip off in flight;
The insect chirps are acarcer,
The glassworts tinted bright.
The wind tugs on the treetops,
The leaves give up the grip;
And brown and red and golden,
They swoop and whirl and slip.
The garden beds are crumpled,
Browned out of pink and blue;
A strange and changing landscape,
In the heart, enchants anew.
Spring Sounds
Day in dapple, Pan at play,
Sense seducing, sylvan sway;
Sunlight spotting over trees,
Music wilding echoing breeze;
Sprite and sybil seventeen,
Sprigging myth in May of green;
Dance and dimple revelry,
Druid rites, look on Oak tree.


Even lovelier than the sun is its sparkle dancing on a dark floor,
Like the faint fluttering of God's presence at my soul's door.
Even more mysetrious that the moon is its pale shimmer in a pond of rain,
Like the ghostly memory of another shore mirrored in my brain.

The Golden Ghost
Beside the brassmouthed me stands a silent, watching one;
Inside the scoffing self kneels a praying, pleading one.
Shadowing the smiling sham shows a saddened, weeping one;
Whispering to the wanton woman is the wise, wary one.
Like a dumbfaced doll is the role I take,
While the child of truth sees through the fake,
And when the dancing doll one day will drop,
The waiting saint will rise, her recording stop,
Pass judgement and for a new body bid,
To weep again, wait again, as ever she did,
Until one comes who will listen to her prayer
And heed the holy ones standing there,
And release her from her vigil on earth,
Break of the bonds of human birth.
If I were the queen
Of next Halloween,
Off you would go
With one witch blow;
So proper and prim
Of outlook so grim,
Off to the Graham Isle
I would so you bequile
To reign with your no sins
Over two million penguins.
Take Wonder
The leaf will drop,
The stone will roll,
The hand let fall its gold.
And time will take
Along the days,
Not one a wish can hold.
The laugh will fade,
The tear will dry,
The story will be told.
So fill the cup,
Wake wonder up,
Before you've grown too old.
A Reminder
You cannot skin a star to find out what's inside
Or mount the sun upon a stand to study fierce fire's ride.
But you can look into yourself and catalogue what's there,
Passions, pain, pity and pride, heavily hoarded with care.
God gave you not the sun and stars, for you to move and mend,
A heart and soul is all you got and is world enough to tend.
Acceptance - I
Take the world
Just as it is;
See it
Without adjectives;
Follow it
Without verbs;
Know it
Without nouns;
Nothing long or short,
Acting good or bad,
Neither he, she or it;
Then, perhaps,
Of the Nameless.
In the Living
What if then no hand sprinkles the rain,
No whisper to make birds home again,
No stoker to feed the sun's flame?
Weep not the, my sweet, you lived and knew love.
What if then no angels to stroke the cheek,
No Fields of Elysium for those who seek,
No memory of the strong and meek?
Regret not, my dove, you felt the wind and
       saw the clouds above.
What is then God does not wait out there,
If there is no father to care,
No one to say what was right or fair?
Falter not, my faith, you believed, you were aware.