Poem (& video) The Present Tense

____________________________

You wake up and the room is empty
the light is out

There’s that high-pitched ringing in your
ears or in the air of cosmos

Somewhere a crescent-shaped boat is
rocking back and forth on triangular waves

in pale moonlight

Somewhere a child is growing a new tooth
a salamander a new tail

Someone is making up a story to fascinate women
mislead the police or

write a book

Everything comes clean in the end
even the end

and the end is near
at both ends

which meet
under God’s tablecloth

where the feast is being set out
in golden ewers on sparkling trays

fruits like you’ve never seen
sweetmeats of indescribable hue

shimmering as they transform into the
most gorgeous music and

back again

Come on there’s still
time to catch it

Your life hasn’t gotten
that far away from you

The room is empty
but your heart has a pillar of flame

from which a phoenix launches its
renewal in a fireworks of ashes

Worlds within worlds
in this empty room

in the present tense
that never slackens
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5/11/2010 (from In Constant Incandescence, published soon)

Five Short Meditations on the Virgin Mary

for Abdal-Hakim Murad

1

The Virgin Mary sat on a rock that was not wholly rock
in a world that was not wholly world

in a light that was Light direct
in the echo of a Command that came from God direct

whose womb was now to house a halo more than she could
possibly long for

and which made her fear
and caused her angel messenger to comfort her

as he stood at the door and mentioned how
God had designated her the hallowed hall for His pure breath to enter

to make a child with no seed but Himself
to show mankind His holy fatherhood over all

within the physical
but without physical union

2

The pen is hardly lifted

The penalty for birth is death

But he who would be born without coitus
would slide out of death without its mortal coil

Would be taken up to God without entering death’s womb
as he had entered Mary’s womb without birth’s usual folderol

She clutched a tree to steady herself
and dates fell to the ground around her

And he spoke to her from herself
to steady her

Rings of tumult sang around her

The Garden’s tree was now there to strengthen her
her nearing it part of God’s ordained structure

to redeem Adam and Eve’s descent to earth
by new prophecy through standing under
the virgin birth-tree’s sacred agency

Adam of no visible parents
Eve of no mother but father Adam’s rib-side
being both mother and father

now terrestrialized again in Mary’s husbandless pregnancy

though all of us are actually children
of much more than our mere mother’s earthly sympathy

3

I saw Mary board a bus at Broad and State
her head covered and her face radiant

small and held within herself
careful and preoccupied

a heaven seeming to be wrapped around her
her cheeks red her lips dry her eyes lowered

interior moisture her preferred cloister
the bus passengers sudden ghosts before her

her shoes small and tattered
her hands carrying a book

If any had spoken to her she might have become lost

If she had spoken to anyone
they might have become saved

4

None can be Mother of God but God
nor Father of flesh but God Himself

Jesus begat in light sat in light and was transformed into light
beyond light’s shapes of dark and light

his salutation from where he is continues to excite us
just as Mary’s humility brings us home
to where impossible things are true
and true things impossible or possible by our own lights

to submit as purely to God’s sheer command of: Be!
more than enough to be

in Being’s age-long mystery

5

In Ephasis is Artemis
with multitudes of breasts
and legend says where Mary went
and where she died and rests

Teets our forms are fed from
virgin light that salves our souls
the two eternal females
through whom our life unrolls

The Virgin ever virginal
in modesty extreme
and Artemis whose many breasts
supply an endless stream

One statue standing among rocks
the other in her cave
whose house of stone is all alone
within the Light we crave
____________________________

NOTE:
Walking in the woods as is my wont in the morning
June 9th 2005 Philadelphia Pennsylvania after strong storms and
all the trees dry now creaking in the heat and humidity
thinking of this poem and the editor of this chapter’s request for it
thinking of Mary peace be upon her
walking along the trail
I suddenly hear a crack like horrendous thunder seemingly from
far away but look up above me in time to see a
huge bough break from the top of a tall tree with a giant screech and
hurtle down toward me at seemingly supersonic speed
I step aside yelling “Allah!” automatically heart thumping
and the heavy branch crash-lands exactly where I
stood a split second before and breaks into four or five
raw pieces cracked and shattered and me shocked and grateful
thanking Allah over and over thanking Him with all my being
my position just under it one split second before happily not there for it to
crash onto me now safe and sound at the side of the trail
I wonder at the force of it as I continue now to wonder
Allah’s full and Awful Power exposed to me direct from the
core of the universe as if sky and earth and mortality itself were
opened up in the blink of an eye
and my life actually only a literal hair’s breadth away
from death

At the Thursday night Sufi meeting I describe it in detail
to Baji our Pakistani shaykha and first thing she asks is
“What were you thinking just before the bough broke and fell?”
and when I tell her I was thinking of the Virgin Mary
she says without a moment’s pause
“Just as Allah protected and saved Mariam
so Mariam protected you
and saved you!”

6/7-6/9/2005
_______________
(A shorter version of this poem first published in the book: Mary, The Complete Resource, edited by Sarah Jane Boss, continuum books, 2007)

Poem: Soap Bubble

Soap Bubble
(Click for audio version of poem read by author)

A soap bubble the size of space itself
slid over space but no one

noticed the difference

The iridescences seemed sharper
that’s all

The music of the spheres slid in on all
our audio frequencies replacing the

musics we listen to and except for the
angelic coefficient now a

billion times more powerful no one
noticed the difference

The presence of a benevolent presence
nearer to everybody than their own

selves slid in behind everyone’s self
and said and did things in

various harmonious fashions listening to
our own voices and hearing divine

nuances and because it was so
utterly and seamlessly complete

no one noticed the difference

No one noticed the difference when instead of
sun and moon we saw a fiery sea of

God’s ocular energy flaring across space in
leonine leaps reflected in the still face of

mirror-like receptivity and silvery
baths of a sweet illumination that gives our

nights the lamp we need enough to
approach God’s most intimate precincts

And space itself as glistening as a
soap bubble and music that of

distant planetary places and our

own selves now totally transformed and yet
by Merciful Compassion exactly like

ourselves at this very moment though less
violent and bad tempered and

just as miraculous
__________________________
5/27/2009 (from Sparks Off the Main Strike, just published)

Poem:Picture of the Garden

There is a picture of The Garden
as a garden within a garden
(by which I mean Paradise),

one state enclosed by another state,
one embrace folded in the
loving arms of another, greater,
deeper, greener,

more far-reaching, with
heavenly valleys, gorges, golden
sunlight everywhere,

laughing children, rare

flowers.
________________
(from Chants for the Beauty Feast, soon to appear)

Poem: Name of God

1

The Name of God came haunting down the hall
and dazzled all our eyes and ears and
hearts, and made us

swoon into this hard physical life,
and we’ll be wakened and called back

and then we’ll leave this world as
things departing from shadows
leave their shadows in heaps like
old clothes at the
door

through which we’ll all depart to go back to that
chanting school, those corridors of
pure reverberation through

pine woods, mountain cloud, egrets hovering in an
updraft, sunlight on
rock, sun twinkle on

stream gush, that exquisite

Name of God again, repeated by God’s own
speech on the tongue of everything.

The Name of God foghorns
out at sea where
blackened darkness deepens within darkness.

The Name of God suspended in amoebas hovering just below
the surface tension of a moonlit lake.

The Name of God in the first movements of an eaglet inside its
high shell on a cliff beaten by
wind, its brother and sister eaglets
starting to stretch inside
their shells at exactly the
same time.
The Name of God in the high wind beating against them.

The Name of God in rigging out at sea
the high wind beats against.
The Name of God in the audible beats that
accompany the wind, in the
silent beats as well as the
ones sounded out, the lapping as well as the
silence as the sea recedes.

Laughter followed by the silence of death.

The Name of God in them both.

2

And who hears the Divine Name being
recited over and over with each
pump of our blood through the
Tunnels of Love of our veins? Each

drip of ice water off a glacier into a
pool so translucently clear
the entire sky of the world is reflected
with all its gnats and all its
migrating birds? Who

hears on the tip of its tongue the Name of God being
told? The first shift of
glance of a newborn, and
no sharp sound was made?

The doctor leaning in with his
stethoscope is the Divine Name’s
heavenly P.A. system into his

own ears from every pulse he hears?

The billionaire leaning closer in to his
telephone receiver in penthouse
solarium as the deal is
clinched, who hears the Name of God so clearly
spoken, but may
mistake it for a sum?

The baseball outfielder who hears it as the
ball zooms by, or the thunk of it
into his mitt?

The chipmunk who hears it as an acorn
falls from highest oak
branches into his paws?

The mud slide in Venezuela heard by the
shocked villagers below?

The butterfly’s flight pattern as God’s Name on a
breeze shifts ever-so-slightly to the
east?

Entire populations as they scurry to their jobs?

Entire populations of underwater denizens
as the natural booms and creakings in the
deep
resound in their bones?

A single diamond miner as his axe slips
uncovering a gleam?

An ancient derelict who positions her head on her
pile of rags and slips into dream?

She hears it. It

reaches to the bottom of her toes.
It leaves no stone unturned.

Audible by all,
it takes no prisoners. It’s

audible now, cricket in the

silent center of night, cricket out

in the night

under a

starless sky.
_____________________________
10/7/97
(from Chants for the Beauty Feast, soon to appear)