Folks say that it was God,Himself, who bent the sunalong it’s track,sent the other starsand planetsfrom or to then back. A store-front preacher,whom I know,reads from a bookthat’s very old,breathes a quiet soliloquy. The ancient talesdo comfort him andI don’t flat-outdisagree, ‘causethings more strange thansomeone’s super powers,science says, must be. If Quarks with charmdon’t ringContinue reading “The Guest May Never Know”
Tag Archives: Poetry
The Clock Alone Has Time
Time,the shining mother ship,transports our trusting souls,aloft, a-sail,across the dome of space. Wind and circumstance,by strong or gentle motion,bend what they are passing,so can time be proven.(A thing was here that nowis there. I am baldwho once had hair.) Contrariwise,I true believe,we never leave the moment.There is no was andwill no futurecertain be,though ebb andflood,Continue reading “The Clock Alone Has Time”
The Proof
Suppose it true,our solitary home a spinning rock,flung across entiretyat fantastic speed. I can almost feel thewind of it,loose hair much likea comet-tail of frozen bitsas timeand every precious minute lived,flows out behind. This is a dazzling idea,whereGod and love andpower and fortune,win and lose andmighty oceans,taxes and war andconstitutionsmeannothing.The proof of paradiseis imagination.
The Invention of Plastic/Sleeping In
I’ll betcave men caught forty more winksat the end of a night.Og may have said,as, at this moment, I yet might,“Hell with it, today!”since the breakfast firewas a bitch tolight. In cave days,folks had basic hurdlesand nothing more to dothan eat or make loveand sleep until the sleepingwas through.In this day,with complex social machinery,we makeContinue reading “The Invention of Plastic/Sleeping In”
Gaslight Gratitude
I have: Gentle birds and twitching squirrels, spare trees, winter chill, clouds, fresh air, moon over the hill.I desire: Sun to shine and a day or two extra time.
Moon Is innocent
What shines as moon isdead rock,in science theory coalescedof material cast from earthby the violence of agespast. Its surface cold,at core, like earth,the moon boils hot.That is, perhaps,why Shaman, priest and Gypsy claimthe moon has soul.It does not. The moon’s an empty mirror,round, reflective…staunch opponent to theover-heated sun’shurled invective.Between these twoare push, pull and season,jealousy,Continue reading “Moon Is innocent”
Revelation
Tired summer stripped off,quitting the trees earlier each dayuntil a disguise of green droppedin bold patterned,bright coloured skirts downaround bony knees. The hidden places are shown. It now appears to the naked eyethat beast and bird, by nature knowing how,built nests high,collecting bunches of warm things,dry twigs, torn fur, used feathers and,stolen from the nearbyContinue reading “Revelation”
Revelations
Flagrant summer strips offand the hidden places are shown,collected bunches of warm things,dry twigs, torn fur, used feathers anda plastic bag or two,floated from the nearby grocery. Beast and bird, by nature knowing how,built their nests secret, high,out of sight,safe against dark times, yet no matter how innate construction skill,all hopeful gathered homes aremake-shift, temporary,notContinue reading “Revelations”
Parameter Study
I thought I heard thepoet sing, the chanteuseand the preacher, too.Harmonic moments, I supposed,held music that had much to dowith love. I posited love’s point might bewhere song and heart collide,far from me, a mystery, beyond, below, above, outside, forunder my researching lens,the heart turns into meatthat only electricity canever urge to beat.
The Finch
I saw one Finch dressed sweet grey,belly puffed white,face of crisp dark charcoal,today. The wholeof some minutes,I watched the birdclutch a nervous branchof nature’s nondescript tree,ten feet from me. I did not know the birdas an individual,its self and shadow newto me,but the imageof all fast beating heartsand warm plumagesoftened any brutalsuffering.For a paused moment,IContinue reading “The Finch”
Robert On The Air 