Friday, February 4, 2011

"one thirty"

The night,
it calls in quiet refrains
and I listen,
With ears attentive
and a soul laid bare.
The murmurs and hush
of crickets
tides of wind
mourning of bark
distant hum of the earth,
spiral around in the air
in a symphony of solitude.
To exist
to revel
in this simple
unparalleled wonder of being,
it deserves the highest recognition.
There should be
grand awards,
international conferences,
late night specials,
on the innate power
of doing absolutely
but enjoying the whispered seduction
of one in the morning.
Where the world
takes a kind breath,
and you can talk
with the landscape
around you.
It's a nice visit
with old friends,
and they like it when you
come by.
And when the sun
steals into your eyes,
and the roar of the day
with the sun,
and the world
smile with a secret understanding,
as time cuts through the air
once again.


I walked down to the tree in the back
My mind was a burden, my thoughts off track
So I laid down in the palm of the earth
I let my eyes close, and dreamt
of rebirth

I counted the pebbles etched in my skin,
They outnumbered the scars of where you had been
And as the ants carried me away,
I smiled at their tracks in the clay.

I thank the nights
I thank the days
They carry me where I laugh at my body,
oh they may, they may, they may

A hummingbird sang and told me a story,
about a boy made of bark, a real forest glory
I laughed at the thought, but to my surprise
a morning dawn shown through my eyes,
Bury me soil,
bury me soon,
show me the way to the moon

Paul DeMerritt

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...