Friday, March 30, 2012

the sycamore tree

I descended, a tiny seed
into the dusty cradle of this blackened earth
and thence sprouted, swiftly unfurling
and broke through the greenish turf

in the sunlight and the rain
in the clouds, and in the dirt
I opened, permeated
my home a kingly court

I grew and I gloried
and cast a shadow underworld
in the cool winds I shifted softly
spreading seeds like feathered pearls

and so I lived for centuries
content within this wonder world
certain of a wisdom in small worries
attaining much for which I yearned

until the fates there did find me
and cast a spell upon lifeblood's spurt
and soon I rotted, sickly
my limbs falling upon the dirt

for all that live must die
within this mortal turn
and so too, did I
of death most ably learn

and yet within my decayed branches
reposed a treasure-house of wealth
for my past existence, so full and sweet
now enriched the soil with health

and though in life much was taken
to help my spirit grow
how soon in death, all was given
as others flourish as one goes

and this is how it shall ever be
as a forest springs slow forth
for out of dust and ashes
new life is given birth

Thursday, March 22, 2012

idle heart

this idle heart
has nearly stopped beating
blood's but a trickle
when there's no work to be done
for it takes exertion
to start our life flowing
there's no power in lethargy
no virtue in sloth

so do not think
destiny is just waiting
soon to be presented
to a king on a couch
no, it is the peasant
that spends his life toiling
who will true greatness
have finally won

Friday, March 16, 2012

heart of stone

a heart is made of precious stone,
flesh of rubies and sapphires
sinew of platinum and gold--

but few do her value true know,
refusing the heat of heart's fire
even when their skin is cold--

and poor heart just accepts as so,
to know her love is priceless
she cheapens, to ensure she's sold--

but still inside her gems do glow,
waiting for her to recognize this
she should be cherished, even though.

Friday, March 9, 2012

empty drum

Now that I am empty
my heart beat resonates
within me
like a hollow lambskin drum

my rhythm
and my melody
against this watery earth
against this darkened sun

and now that I quiver
with the intonation of its love
do you see how the whole world
ba dum, ba dum, ba dum

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


to the indecisiveness of acceptance,
to the bliss of which,
to the whether yes--
we must, in all humbleness,
our reverence lend,
for it is upon these selfsame moments
of decision,
that our destiny

Saturday, March 3, 2012

in store

why should we fear tomorrow?
not that each day will be unlike the past
no, we should tremble that tomorrow
the troubles of today may still hold fast

do not desire to live never-changing
never growing to love life the more
for it is in self-sameness that we falter
afraid there's not much more in store

Thursday, March 1, 2012


all children are made of porcelain
like vases--
handpainted with golden flowers--
perched delicately on a pedestal
and placed in a stately hall.

But so soon do we 
dash them carelessly against the wall.

And they
exploding into many pieces
are now like pointed puzzles
which take far too many years to solve.

And when they're glued together
into a shape
only vaguely reminiscent of that vase--

we call them grown-ups
and give them offices
and settle them into jobs.

And we make them stay there
until they do what they are told.

mostly glue,
not porcelain
now they fit into our mold.