Following a Conversation with Robinson Jeffers

How odd it is that by our mere attempt to witness beauty

Beauty is diminished.

(The larger the parking lot the less the need of parking).

Burn down your car, house, phone, camera in one starlit blaze.

Is beauty meant for eyes of trees alone?

Ears of grass?

Tongues of Flowers?

Loose your interpretation –

Wash clean your mind –

Listen to the prophesy of water.

To A Wandering Soul

Wrench out your eyes if you cannot see
          Sight without vision is a hollow tomb
Loosen your tongue with a blade if you cannot speak
          Speech without communication is a tumorous growth
Maim your ears if you cannot hear
Still the blood in your beating heart if you cannot act
But above all, poison your pride if you cannot kneel
You will find yourself taller on your knees

Scribblings

Each atom
is a bomb
exploding every inch
into a cosmos -
millions of proton planets
with whizzing electron moons;
the music of the spheres
bursting into symphony.

And here I sit
feeling the immensity of a god
and the smallness of a man
who dreams of stars.

Heartbeat

Bluish static licks through my arm
Bursts of lightning without a sound

Thoughts stray to dreams
          Cosmic prophesies of Joseph
          Mild mutterings of Freud

Thoughts diverge
Like the Nile in my arm

United by the rhythm of a heartbeat

Afternoon Vigil

trees point

            cathedral walls

to a sky

intangible

            fingers stretched

overcome by birds

chirping alleluias

            wordless doxologies

candles lit

            afternoon vigil

by sunlight ethereal

enthralled by

dancing atoms

only a

creator’s eyes

can see

Grace And Beauty Intertwined

In these fleeting hours I chase the sun

Both for heat and light

Before the rosy sheets are pulled for night

The light is flickering across my pages faster than I can read them

So I make my way to a tree where the last covering is the bed of the horizon

A couple is chatting across the way

His neon green sweatshirt offsetting the fresh grass

I whisper a prayer to the wind as it moves my hair

Back and forth

Back and forth

Back and forth

Until its sound is synonymous with the surrounding grass

I turn the page as the last lash of light whips through the horizon and disappears

On A January Evening

Some evenings, as the cool Californian air
licks through my wispy hair,
I see trees cloaked in blue moonlight,
and I have the distinct feeling
-almost dreamlike-
that I am standing atop the beaming sun,
gliding through a silent sea of stars.

Then morning wakes,
and I await the tasks of the day.