Summer Poetry!

Summer's here! And I adore its stillness. Which we all need in this world steeped in incessant action, and inane distraction. Two poems:

 

summer still   

 

 

                                                look

 

here. black butter

 

                        blue     dragon

 

flies.

 

                        look                            

 

                                                here.  wet green

 

                                                                        drips.  swift summer storm.

 

gray still

 

squirrel.

 

look                             where?

 

no                    white cotton

 

tails; heat beats.  hearts beat                           slow

 

ly. 

 

rain strains;  restrained.

 

so dry. yet all life

 

is liquid.

 

**

 

look                 here

 

            here

 

                                                there.

 

 

                        flying

 

fire.

 

 

**

                                    look up.           the       sun

 

 

                        eight                minutes

 

ago.

 

 

nothing speeds as fast

 

 

as stillness.

Light from the sun takes eight minutes to reach the earth

 

Here is another poem, quite recent. I've been reading Roberto Calasso's Ardor, hence the reference to Vedic thought...

Plenitude

My temple tonight

is crafted of chattering

crickets; their guttural night hum the invocatory Vedic verse hearkening the arrival of---

 

I open the sky, ring the bell

of the moon; its vibrations

of light fall upon the driveway as I fall

 

 

in prayer. I kneel upon the driveway,

my sanctum sanctorum—(not a soul is outside in our lane)—

 

the Sanskrit of crickets permeates nocturnal being

with meaning. I light night-incense---

 

a firefly flame erupts. Shining here                                                                         

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                there.

 

I circle it in front of the dead idol

of my oak.

 

I offer

to this enchanted chapel

my nocturnal truth

my sensuously sacred lunar secret--

 

and I ask:

 

Why isn’t this, enough?