The secret life
of icebergs
(iceberg image)
©2004
For Elizabeth
and her much deeper self
CONTENTS
I WAKE EARLY
BONDING PATTERNS
IMAGO LOVE
FATHER’S SONG
SHAME
HANGUPS
BUDS
SAME OLD GARDEN
THE QUILT
LANTANA MANNA
HELEN
PREPARATION FOR ISRAEL
JERUSALEM
ISRAEL SHORT POEMS
JERUSALEM AND OTHER TRAVELS
WITCHES AND WARLOCKS
EGGSHELLS NEED LOVE
PRESIDENTS NEED LOVE TOO
WAR POEMS
THREE SHORT POEMS
BLOOD
POETS IN PEACETIME
MORE SHORT POEMS
ME AND THE DEITY 2003
OKEEFFE’S NEW MEXICO
See them cooly floating by
innocent and serene upon the surface
bump and grind below
I WAKE EARLY
I wake early and lie in bed
the air so charges with meaning
that I dare not rise to step into the day
What if I should lift a bitter sword
to cut my brother or my love
What if I make a careless jagged rend
in the sacred fabric of this day
How can I even dare to breath
when every breath may lift the wings
of butterflies or drive them to the ground
BONDING PATTERNS
Although it may not be apparent to you
the non apparent parent in you
is more than apparent to me
Although to be perfectly fair
it’s not likely I’ll mess with a hair
as long as it’s taking good care
But when it gets too big for its thighs
when it starts to guilt and to criticize
Something will change in the blink of our eyes
and it’ll be fighting with someone its size
Even though it may not be apparent to me
I’m gonna go running to the parent in me
If I tell my dad he’ll have something to say
and
if I tell my mom there’ll be hell to pay
IMAGO LOVE
And there shall come forth
a new way to love
And the turtle
shall like down with the lion
And the claw
shall be in the closet
and the shell upon the shelf
And the wound
of the child will lead them
home to the promised land
SONG OF MY FATHER’S SONG
I am the end of a long line
and the music plays in my head
feeling the need to sing the songs
of the silent living and the silent dead
To somehow feel and heal each one
right down to my grandfather’s son
To sing the songs of a slow gray man
who runs and runs till out of breath
chased yet by the swift dark wolves
of a long ago young mother’s death
With all his tender sores and songs
and all the stories he needed to tell
cauterized by a hard world’s fires
and the scabs on a private hell
And the part of him that I can’t touch
is the part of me that I can’t touch
the party of me I need so much
God help me reach that note
God help me clear my throat
A SHAME
It’s a shame that my shame
looks for someone to blame
It’s a shame that my shame
won’t be called by it’s name
It’s a shame that my shame
will kill to reframe
It’s a shame that my shame
can’t see through the game
Where my shame and your shame
are so much the same
HANGUPS
She had the greatest voice on the phone
someone once said, “a girl like that
should carry a phone with her everywhere”
I fell in love with the voice
the voice on the phone
and thought it was her
Someone gave her some of my poems
she fell in love with the poems
and thought it was me
The story doesn’t end there of course
and perhaps it would not have gone
so quickly great, good, bad, worse
If she had stayed on the phone
and I had stayed in my verse
BUDS
At the age of three or four
her bike hit a sharp ditch
pitched her into a fence
and broke her jaw
The tooth buds were damaged
and never grew in right
At about that same age
something else happened
She can’t remember just what
the family would listen then
and the family won’t talk now
But the trust buds were damaged
and never grew in right
THAT SAME OLD GARDEN
A lover sheds the skin of loving her
Bullsnake of fear blunt at both ends
poisoning without venom
as it crawls away
The snake of herself biting herself
as she watches
THE QUILT
(for Meri Walker)
You make it using
materials from all your old garments
Clothes that you have worn
for weddings, vacations, births and deaths
all the best days of your life and all the worst
When you give the gift, your friend says
“Thank you, this is perfect
it is sometimes very cold
where I am living at present
and this will get me through the winter”
LANTANA MANNA
(for Patricia Fiske at 77)
Trees and poets
grow from the inside out
The latest lines and rings
always
the greenest and most beautiful
THE MOST LOVELY HELEN
Poets are not saints
but by the grace of God and nature
and the law of magnets they attract them
If you believe in heaven she will go
If you believe that we come back
next time she may be the poet
blessed with one like her
Beloved wife of master poet Herman Nelson
who in his words “took one last gulp of time
and sank into eternity” in 2003
IN PREPARATION FOR ISRAEL
In preparation for Israel
I have the poems of Yehuda Amichai
If I read them I may need fewer maps
If I read them well I may need no maps
If I read them very well I may not need to go
JERUSALEM
Three days now on the Mount of Olives
watching the old city postcard change
from two to three dimensions
photo JERUSALEM, THE OLD CITY
JERUSALEM STONE
Church, house, grave, wall
no give at all
TEMPLE MOUNT
Seven Christian sects
can fight for a hundred years
on who has the right to wash a window
Seeming so in love with the questions
that any answer is the death of the beloved
A CALL
Five times a day
Moslems climb their towers
to interrupt my prayers
I STILL DON’T GET IT
When all is said
and oh so much is done
each side makes perfect sense
what they do to each other makes none
A TOAST TO OUR HOSTS
People of Israel
thank you for opening
we have fallen into your hearts
BACK IN AMERICA – NEWS OF BOMBING
Before we came to Israel
this was happening in our world
now it is happening on our street
JERUSALEM AND OTHER TRAVELS
I wake in the night
in a prison of my making
rattling the bars of might have been
and should and should not have done
Unable to escape I pace and I wait
For Buddha to melt the illusion
Or for Jesus to open the door
with sweet forgiveness
Or God to at least send along
a minor prophet with
a file in a cake
WITCHES AND WARLOCKS
I think
that the witches will win in the end
Independent as cats, stealthier than stealths
and higher than scuds they fly
every which, every which, every which way
While the warlocks are locked
into trying to rule
with the clumsy clubs of war
EGGSHELLS NEED LOVE
Lately I’ve been feeling so empty
and more fragile than ever before
Everything that I believed in is gone
Desperate I turn
my jagged edges to the world
Step on me
with sensitive feet, you will be sorry
with lumbering boots, I will be crushed
PRESIDENTS NEED LOVE TOO
If every statement
is either a please or a thank you
and it just might be true
Then maybe all George’s little Georgie
wants for Christmas is just to feel safe
And if that’s true, and it might be too
Than all I want
is for him to find a safer way to do it
WAR POEMS
Every poem
is an anti war poem
Although
people of prose
have often bent the light
to lead the young to their deaths
US
Each of us is them
each of us on every side
every bomb suicide
GRAVE
From every body dropped
into the not quite solid earth
ripples of might have been
MOTHERS DAY 2003
Civilization born
between Tigris and Euphrates
blood still running down both legs
BLOOD
The drums of war are beating again
and all the brave young boys
are leaving their mothers
to go off and be men
And they all will be changed
for the better or worse
and many a blessing
lies under a curse
And if they come back at all
when they come back from war
they’ll have friends on my friends
like they’ve not had before
Yes the friends they make here
midst the death and the fear
are friends that grow dear
and yet dearer each year
For a new family is formed
in the sand and the mud
where each man learns
blood is thicker
than blood
POETS IN PEACETIME
Poets like soldiers
are of little value in times of peace
But it is important that
they maintain their readiness
with a certain degree of discipline
some exercises with live ammunition
and long marches with heavy packs
AUSTIN AGAIN
Whenever I’m in Austin
I’m in a skin that feels like home
scratch me anywhere you’ll find a poem
WORLD POET
Thom in haiku sky
wringing rainbows in your eye
hanging them to dry
MY MAYDAY MAYPOLE BIRTHDAY
May children dance
laughter wraps with ribbons
spring opens heart
FOR THE HOMELESS
On a cold corner
flying signs of the times
may you land softly
INDECENT EXPOSURE
On city streets
hearts are private parts
close your coat
POETS PANTRY – FEEDING A FEW
Spooning the ocean
so little from the ocean
so much in the spoon
ME AND THE DEITY 2003
Bin Laden and Bush are bombing for God
tantric devotees are out humping for God
Hindus are sitting on peaks and lying on
nails and wiping out Moslems for God
In Ireland they’re still at killing their brother
in the name of the Father and holy Mother
In the Hold lands while the world overlooks
they are killing for land and two holy books
As for me
I’ve done nothing near so dramatic this year
to show the depth of my belief
Although I’m wondering if maybe the Deity
may be finding that a bit of a relief
O’KEEFE’S NEW MEXICO
In just this light
in about this place
The cuffs are brighter
because she painted them
back quote
By God, when you see your beauty
You’ll be the idol of yourself.
Rumi