Sunday, January 3, 2010

A Pillar Poem

Saturday, March 21, 2009

It drew me to itself

Like a room reserved

The song of surprise

In the spring of simply

Non-winter when the

Weather is cold and

Raw and undecided

In its efforts to allow

The sun a more prominent

Place. The bird, this

Morning bird whose

Ancestors have known

The time and no matter

The feel of spring; there

Is a subtler urgency

That moves beyond this

Human ability to know

Just where the demarcation

Line is --

Not air not flame not sea

Not ground

The lark has returned

And so too the robin’s song

There is nothing grander

No orchestra, no concert hall

Can remand, in this time, us to

Our prison cells of info-tainment

Where distribution of gems that

Court the ego’s restoration may

Calm the nerves of a higher order

Of tantilation. It will not happen

Now that we can be reached

On some soul level except

Maybe the lark and robin

Who hold on to a stronger

Claim of flame and sea and

Ground and air --

Yank my heart of all despair.

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