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The Journey to the West

Though we journey to the West We pray to the East More or less that's the way Each day begins and ends It’s a tale everyone ...

Sunday, October 28, 2018

Ode to Depression

To speak of it
Is to loosen the spell
To admit the truth
To oneself is
To take but a sip
From a cool
Restorative well
But no less unceasingly
It's a flat expanse of earth
Where I have come to dwell
No more than a sandbar really
Sic transit the gulls and herons
From one day
To the next

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Poem for the End of Summer


Where are you?
A cricket cries
Again and again
Under the light
Of the waxing moon

Over here
Comes the
Irregular reply
From the edge of
My perceptual field

Above the fan's
Whoosh and whir
Ever so faintly I feel
The heavens wheeling

The still point
Of the turning world
Is turning still
Every cycle and season has
Its beginning middle and end
Over parsecs and eons
Of continual forgetting
Every something becomes
Nothing and soon enough
Becomes something again




Saturday, September 15, 2018

Nature's First and Last Green is Golden

Nature's first and last green is gold
The hue to which all life is beholden
With eyes open or closed the warmth
Within and without unfolds
From seed to flower to sheaf
Howsoever it may seem brief
We are transported beyond
The confines of a single season
As from dawn to dusk to dawn
It is gold alone that endures



Vincent van Gogh, Soir d'été, 1888.




This poem is in reply to Robert Frost's poem which I have copied below.  Much as I admire Frost's poem I think he rather misses the point, which Van Gogh captured on a summer night altogether much more clearly.



Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf’s a flower
But only so an hour
Then leaf subsides to leaf
So Eden sank to grief
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay