Piano Lesson

Tiny vibrations crowd
the roof’s peak,
slide down
and splash across new-leafed trees,
midpoint of the half season.

In the beholder’s eye,
colour is rich yet,
a wet thing whose
layers are exposed,
shady green under excited yellow
under washed out, delicate blue.

A human, passive witness and
amateur scientist,
imaginary note pad in hand,
tries to understand this,
perhaps as sheaves of
impossible music,
wondering,
“Who authored bliss?”

God just sits,
pleased by its invisible grand piano,
tickling strings
via keys and other contraptions.

Birds and Stars

Sometimes, still,
I sing to hear the sound
and wonder if
our dusty-brown
birds do this, too.
Though worksong’s of
utmost import every day,
I’m sure birds also
play.

I’m certain they
might call each other
silly names at times,
sole to hear an
echo back
as summer’s sun
climbs.

Further, yet, my theory is:
life keeps an hour divine
to step aside
and game at love.

The proof of this glows
high above
home’s often sorrowed lane,
where all the million stars
remain,

patient until eventide
allows a twinkled shine.

Conversations About God

Earlier,
the birds had conversations
on the rooftop edge adjacent
to our window casement.
My simple heart imagined them Christians,
setting about their Sunday reflections
not
complex nature’s gentle wings,
whom,
feathered in a colour of complacence,
dusty brown,
communicate in private terms.

…then one
and two
and three flew down,
resumed their search for worms.

A day’s carefree dreams fly away,
as my talking Christian birds did do,
when splashed by cold-water fact.
For example; that sky above is empty black
and our atmosphere’s what sun lights blue.
…the garden of eden?
…probably not true.

Action Master Plan (partial instruction) 

1) Creating Stuff.

    To create something, assemble the necessary

     elements.  

          A) Elements Of Life:

               All life requires Earth, Air, Fire, Water.

  Human specific life needs specific sperm and egg.

               Chicken life, s s + e.

               Dog, s s + e.

               Whale, s s + e.

               Plant specific life needs bee and pollen.

       1) assembly of required plant life elements may

                         benefit from clever use of imagination.

                         For plants, modify the b + p arrangement as             

                         individually indicated.

  NOTE TO A):  See Addendum B6 for guidelines RE:

                             situations of autonomous same-sex

                             attraction.  There have problems

                             in the laboratory.

          B) Elements Of Art.

               There are two elements, the Maker and the Witness.

               Art is subjective and requires the

               eye, ear or tastebud of a beholder,

               in order to exist at all.

               Art is an endeavour of the Human hand, the human heart.

               Birds, trees, etcetera do not require art,

               their souls burn without synthetic flames.

                     1)  Art Is Love

          NOTES TO B):  1) Don’t over-think it.

              2) Be cautious RE:  psycho-active plants and art creation.

Act Three

You are still,
almost part of the chair,
before a drawn curtain
and wondering, “Is there not an act three?”
while those around are standing,
offering applause,
putting on coats,
gathering purses,
hats,
scarves,
excitedly chattering about
what a great show it was.

Over time, the theatre clears
of friends and neighbours,
dear ones,
lovers, dreams,
but you remain,
for what must be an eternity,
pondering.

Have you not
understood the joke?
or learned the lesson?
Are you expecting
cleansing fire
when only houselights struggle to life?

Me, Pussycat, God

If I were the Pussycat
and He
were
me,

I wonder exactly
how that
would
be.

I might sit,
contented,
my own simple business
to mind and,
suddenly,
find

my whole self lifted in air,
to be cheek by jowl
and ear pressed to ear.

I’d struggle,
push, lean,
and rather
not be there

but I’d have nothing to fear.

All powerful,
the Pussycat’d
have no reason to be mean,

I’d feel loved
and He’d rub my chin,
whispering, “Tell me, Pussycat,
where have you been?”

Fred Sits Down

Fred feels thoughtful – says to the waiter,
“I’m but a short while here.

Your warmth and sun against
my precious wind and bitter
do battle,
deconstructing as they’re able,
the space I live within,
where I clutch at old things,

familiar and dear.

You offer me slowed moments,
an island vacation,
a time to set aside the immediate
of past and future busyness,
a chance for
relaxing blindered obedience.

I am doing nothing,

knowing nothing’s to be done
more than savour this night of sea breezes,
squawking radios,
languages other than my own.
I see dark humps in the distance
which sparkle,
perhaps lit by candles, laughter and
the tinkling wind-chime cocktail glasses
of someplace else.”

“As well,”

Fred notices and to himself muses,
“above, shines the quartered moon
as if it were a fault in the dome of sky
where light effuses, betrays another world,
maybe one from which we came
or another which we go toward,
if we ever die.”

Turning his head
enough to view the enclosing cap of
star-chipped black,
with its obvious crack,
Fred thinks,
“I didn’t end yesterday,
or today.
Though I have witnessed loss and sorrow,
the hour I finally disappear,
is distant, uncertain as tomorrow,
a bright light that is outside, teasing,
not truth yet,
nor proven yet a lie.”

He leans forward, says,
“Hell with it! Make mine a Mai-tai.”

Where Did It Come From,Why Is It Here,Where Will It Go

The great river is alluring chance,
it’s old, graveled edge
an over-one-shoulder
seductive glance.
I am teased to wanting 
for sunny days and bright sand
that some folk say, 
“lies further south, around a bend, 
where each may go one day.”
 
Hushed rushing quickens the hour. 
I fear inertia’s awful power
to draw this weak swimmer, unready,
from the sheltering, familiar eddys.

Through western history,
the same books bore three great prayers
as cross-sparred boats
true enough to stay afloat,
steady
against the deep, rolling simmer
of liquid ambivalence.
I have little breath for those nor confidence
for the eastern sense of
layers.

My wandering heart beats timid,
its toes testing the water.

The river’s source, explained by science, 
is frozen things that thawed once
and a big bang made it all begin.

The ancients, equal as me, stood awed, 
gave massed water a sturdy name
based on its nature, understood as God.

Neither worship nor in-depth study
make swift currents the less muddy,
illuminate what’s ‘round the bend.’

In the end,
we’ll ride each cresting wave’s crown,
destined, born to and bound.

There’s a moment for each to decide,
to trust we’ve at least three times down
before we drown.

Plunge in, set hesitation aside.