My Poems to Unify
Here are poems I wrote — to unify. Enjoy poems for each of the four realms we can unify with: 1. unifying with the warring parts within, 2. unifying with “the Other,” 3. unifying with Our Earth Mother, and 4. unifying with All-That-Is
#1: My Poems to Unify with Warring Parts Within
Simply You
There are these layers.First there is the smileIt lies on the surface.It turns out forward its public.Then there is a moat and a wall.[expand title=”…”]In the moat is the black water of anxiety.The wall is a strong defense.Because on the other sideIs your wounded heart.Because no one got your essence.Next comes the barbed wire.It marks no mans land—Limbo—Death’s dark night of the Soul.A minefield to guard access to the next to last layer—You.Pure and simple.Unguarded, unbroken youThe you when you get your essence.And that just blursAround the inner perimeter. Periwinkle blueAnd you find you are reallyParts of star, quantum fuzziness, and instellar breathe.[/expand]
On Awakening
It can happen, like this,Even at an outdoor restaurant:You notice suddenly,God is breezing your skinOr is it the Light wafting throughThe eyes of the Tibetan server?[expand title=”…”]However it happensYou are released into the core MatrixTrembling, invisible, pulsing, sexual.A cock crows—must be time to wake up,A motorbike whine rends the supple silence,You slap at a fly—dead:Nothing disturbs this Texture. The vines slaw-spiral up the coconut tree,Even the decaying leaves,So shocking amongst such greenery,Arises within you,You are smell of Tibetan flat bread yeasting.You are pigs rooting in the garbage. The Beloved whispers to you(Is it in the breeze that you hear thus?Is that an echo inside?):Have I freed you yet?Now will you succumb?[/expand]
#2: My Poems to Unify with “The Other”
To Write a Poem About Gliders
With a Detroit burning andWhite blood boilingOver a black bloodThat is almost through with that history:
[expand title=”…”]That dying afternoon beat intoA boat’s hold like so much cargoBecause a captain gets beadsFor his tired woman—Tired of living on the jungle’s outskirtsInstead of in Belgium like her sister(And tobacco) And this modern morningHe might not get a glass of waterIf he asks the wrong whiteAnd whites resenting the troubleThe blacks are going toTo get that right to a glass of water(Trouble!—you call it, mister.Them boys are murdering for thatGlass of water) And a few people being reasonableBy pointing to a once clean,Now rotting Negro housing developmentAnd saying that Negros deserve their rightsYes but they must earn them slowly,Knowing all along or maybe caring to forgetThat he will eat his steak tonightAnd allThis quitting American late afternoonThe clouds like potherReduce the sun’s strength to read paste—Stinted, exhaling, impotent—Immolated to the grey of the greatBy a gutless sky Because a man got done through withBeing told what to do andNot about to earn right slowlyFrom nobodyAnd upped and left a homeTo be dragged to a distant continent And they don’t have nowhere else to goAnd maybe they’re beginning to realizeThat a cornered animal will fightWhile a haunting, dying tune going throughWhite American minds these modern morningsWhen a man may not get a glass of waterIf he’s thirstyWhen he’s black
[/expand]
Dachau’s “Museum”
I don’t forget
the ticket seller’s
stern holding-in-check
of a guilt. involuntary.
it costs to get a tram ticket;
nor its first tableau
bolting from the countryside—
impossible—
Dachau.
the barbed wire is still strung.
the place itself is spotless.
leaving,
I am the product
of a tearing apart.
as they rake the body
I become very quiet—
the still for these trespasses.
and I badly need to tone
the noises on my insides,
to see a glider lifting to the sky
or a death’s shadow rising, because
here it is:
this farmer, beginning
this morning 1943
to rupture his fields
to get his yellow bread
and return this night
to his important family.
he’s too tired to wash his hands or carry some grace in this eating,
or hear the train’s shrill whistle asking him
at what point does the pursuit of your own life
allow a concentration camp
and so, now
two miles from his food
the trains roll through
carrying these fatal faces.
its tracks laid on the vanity of indifference.
#3: My Poems to Unify with Earth Mother
On Catching the Holy
When you teach me to fly-fishDon’t start with the equipment.Don’t get me undulating some line.Don’t mention the secret lures at Orvis.Don’t teach me your tricks.[expand title=”…”]No:Sit me stillOn an ancient StoneIn whose lapSwirls a poolIn whose WaterSucksFallen Aspens. There We’ll see ThemTurned upstream,Their tailsConducting each change,Their gillsAwaitingThe next pulseOf the headwaters.Their four membranes(And don’t call them “fins”)Dangling dazzlinglyIn the ever flowLuminous colorsStraight from God. Then and only then, You can:Learn me how to enter FlowTeach me to call ThemMove me into the deepPulse me overRainbow through. There we’ll awaitThe next flow.We’ll be the undulationThe rainbow body of the headwatersWe are the bread cast upon the waters.We are that trout We are the line We are God’s secret lure.[/expand]
Ravished by Wilderness Water
You are drinking mountain oreAnd seleniumMossy waterfalls andGranite pulverized against granite, [expand title=”…”]Flicks of copper and melted snowstorm,Craggy stone peaks confrontingStormClouds charged with lightning. You may have only one questionAbout this impossible alchemy:How is it possible tat all this—ALL this—Distills to flowing crystal? You are drinking WinterAnd Spring thaw, Summer run-off,Atmospheric pressure and sun flaresAnd beyond: Silent interstellar star lightStreaming down,Mixed with blackNight and moon bath.[/expand]
In Love with River Silt
Now step barefooted unto river silt—Tumbled from glacier grinding rock,
Lying huddled together on the edge,
[expand title=”…”]Left aside, as rive shrinks toward Autumn,Happy to be constellated into form againAfter so many journeys of swirling WetSmashed into river boulderBanged on fallen birchPummeled into a trillion partnershipsAnd out again into singularity. Oh river silt! You who have riddenThe Mystery of Form—Teutonic upheavalsTo mountain to boulder to rock, stone, pebble, sand.Then into the Void of swirling cascades,Formless, gone into rage of turgid crevasses… Now laying breathless on the river’s edgeJoined again with your sisters in solidarity. Now SILT! Slowly re-coalescing,Dizzy from your orgasmic ride,Finally settled into one place,After so much shattering—ONE PLACE! At rest.Returned from the bucking Void,Only partially rememberingYour journey unto deathOf obliteration of All selves,Here ye lay,Panting,As if shot from ejaculation,Ejaculated from the torrential swirlGoing on thundering down the crevasse… Is it any wonder your soles burnFrom this buzzing, crackling, panting,Bubbly, boiled upFrom the Primal Depths[/expand]#4: My Poems to Unify with All-That-Is
Ode to Soles
You spring free,Splaying out of shoes,Socks,[expand title=”…”]Hunger for soils, river rock,Tasting Himalayan clover,Squishing wild goat turds. Into the icy glacier river:PummeledGalvanized. Inching along a fallen branchGripping paper-thin birch barkOver the crevice. Shocked by the buzzStill pulsing throughThe beached river silt. Soothed by the meadow soilAnd its caressOf “come unto me.” Night witness to dew grasses;Starlight rays reflected in toenails;Inhaling slippery fog. Growing supple, cracked heels,Sensitive antennae’sTurned to Planet’s scalp.[/expand]
How We Might So Shimmer?
I count the different wildflowersOn the way up Shimlee GulchOr at least my left-brain does(My right brain is too ecstatic to count).[expand title=”…”]24!Twenty-four different colors.Twenty-four specific designs, sizesTwenty-four unique expressionsTwenty-four singularitiesTwenty-four different ways of shimmeringIn the light breeze. Oh, and the trees are dancing—shimmering—too.Bushes, grasses shimmering too.How have I not noted this before:The entire Plant Kingdom around me is shimmering.The flowers in the next valley overThe wild gentians in Siberia’s summer tooThe flowers on the Ahuyasca vines in the AmazonAnd out on the ocean, the swells shimmering under the sunIn the air, the thunderbird’s wings glistenLo!If we be assembled from plant kingdom,Ocean swells, the air through which thunderbirds areHow might we so shimmer?[/expand]
Knowing God
If you want to know GodGo way up a canyon,In a maze of other canyons.[expand title=”…”]There you may hear the windStart a long way off,Start in fact as kindling Throwing log after logOnto its bonfirePouring fury into its whirl. Now try this:Stand out on the exposed dirt cliffOverlooking the ribbon of river. Notice the birds have stoppedNow the crickets, the insects stopThe aspens start to shimmer. Soon things are flying byAnd nothing cares about youWhole trunks are twisting in the air Sucked up and down canyon wallsUntil it hits the bluffAnd you are full blast. Starting back down the maze.The tree limbs settle downThe birds and bugs start up. You still standOn the exposed dirt cliffWhere the wind was God.[/expand]