In a World With No Time for Poetry
In a world with no time for poetry we still have to die. It would be so convenient if we could just turn in…
BUT IT IS WE
A ship is laden with pearls each one
previously strung and it’s going to dock
in your harbor and they’re yours
what will you do?
A face is waiting to be kissed that belongs to
someone you’ve not yet met who knows you from
head to toe who will lead you down the
mountain to safety
will you follow?
The sky is moving closer to you by ultra-dimensional
increments with all its celestially roaring sounds
and all you need do is take one step to
be totally transformed
how will you respond?
These and several other miraculous cataclysms
are taking place each moment under our
gaze and under our fingertips and inside the
accordion music of our heartbeats on a
rainy side street in Paris where no feet
completely touch the ground and the
heady drink is perfectly admissible starlight
The grateful watch floodwaters rise and are
amazed
The ungrateful live in a universe the exact size of their
last suit of clothes complaining of their tight fit
and each speck of lint
Swan lands are always sailing into view
Welcoming signals are always being waved to us by their
friendly inhabitants with no ulterior motives but generosity
from very nearby
God has set the table with hundreds of
personal touches and will be
our attentive Help as we order
unfamiliar dishes for the first time
But it is we who will taste them
1/12/2005 (from Cooked Oranges)
Categories: Poems