Friday, March 23, 2012

Sand

Sand through an hourglass
times our days away,
sand lying on a beach
stretches to eternity! 

This tiny cove, I do not doubt
will open up to ocean's broad expanse.
But I prefer to stay within my sandy shelter
and on this beach to dance to dance to dance

The ancient quarrel

Time is what comes later, now is where we're at.
Measure each moment or live your life --
which will bring you happiness, and which will not?

The ancient quarrel that we of Earth hold with Fate:
whatever we accomplish always seems to come too late.

we can see the picture

See my list of poetry.
Written for me?   Written for you?
Whoever likes them best is welcome
to claim the thought, whatever I do.

Hasten to scribble, rush to write,
get it all down by sun or lamp.
Once the document's sealed and sent
is plenty of time for the hand to cramp.

The future is always clearer once it's past
and we can see the picture at last
that smeared across the canvas of our lives
as we performed among an ever-changing cast.

Illusion

Poet, or pagan, or wandering Jew,
battling the world for a place, for a view,
for a chance to see farther than ever before,
a chance to rise up and walk out my front door.

The universe turns within a dark mind
with nirvana to come when we leave it behind,
as if anything matters but what we believe,
fruit of a shriveled and infertile tree.

Tilt my hat and set my feet to walking
till I found the front door open and went in.
The bar was packed but the band was playing
so I found someone and we stepped out to dance.

Let the light within you shine
and never mind the sun and stars
whose distant warmth is metaphoric
while conversation here is so euphoric.