The Herb Of Grace

Theology and Poetry, Politics and Prose

Immature Poets Borrow, Mature Poets Steal May 28, 2010

Filed under: poetry — Joel @ 6:36 am
we are walking through sullen fields
 
bright skies burning like crows in flame
 
searching with our fingers, clawing dirt
 
for orbs of time, wrapped in warm wool
 
 
 
because all the time in the world
 
is loose and ill managed
 
there must be some extra
 
around for the borrowing
 
 
 
but T.S. Eliot said, “immature poets borrow, mature poets steal”
 
 
 
so i’d steal the forgotten moments first
 
the ones marked by string around pinkies
 
no one would miss them
 
that string theory never worked
 
 
 
next i’d slide into bedrooms all over the world
 
give millionaires one less hour of sleep each
 
i’d have a doctor’s bag, and i’d slip each hour carefully in between the leather walls
 
 
 
then i’d go to cemeteries where the dead have been misburied
 
where the wrong relatives stoop over the wrong graves
 
we could all use a little less grief
 
so i pickpocket five or ten minutes from each one
 
 
 
then i’d go where i should have gone first
 
to the moments of mental numbness
 
on the bus
 
or in front of the dryer
 
or on a couch in front of reruns of Lost
 
i’d take all those, with greedy hands
 
with eyes not looking for forgiveness
 
 
 
after all this, i’d return
 
to my secret lair
 
where i stash the orbs of time
 
each a different size
 
a different color
 
into their various sorted bins, labeled appropriately
 
i would fill my clawfoot bath tub with steaming hot water
 
light a cigar
 
and wait for the morning
 
when i will begin to spend
 
an orb here
 
an orb there
 
to ease the pain of being
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After The Monastery: Finding I Am Awake (A Poem) May 18, 2010

Filed under: poetry — Joel @ 7:57 pm
lay in the light
 
new born
 
breath forth
 
your first
 
 
 
all the fists
 
in every world
 
cannot break
 
these promises
 
 
 
my eye is on the inner landscapes
 
the twilight hills are commas
 
road blocks
 
on the way to delirious heights
 
 
 
my own mental ocean
 
rocks so quickly on its heels
 
back and forth
 
the bells swing
 
bellows
 
lungs
 
dew glistening
 
 
 
recline in the diving sun
 
reflect back to him
 
his own posture of mid-summer leisure
 
and then arch your back
 
as you spring from the board of your home-thought
 
and fling the meddlesome down through no-thought
 
back into presence
 
the savior of words
 
 
 
then mash up your power
 
crumple it up like high school paper
 
and leave it to be swept clean
 
by tides and brooms
 
and gargantuan tongues
 
who are all getting double-time
 
so don’t worry.
 
 
 
don’t worry about love
 
and its many angled faces
 
its scales of rainbows
 
and water piping through air
 
love can take care of its own.
 
 
 
Of its own cares, which are few,
 
love can sing every lullaby
 
and can bang every morning drum
 
so don’t worry about love
 
the lawsuit is pending
 
but its not strong.
 
 
 
the swimming stars are recalcitrant
 
calling back every opinion
 
back by the back way
 
the alley highway
 
the single lane way
 
 
 
I wonder what my last breathe will feel like,
 
if I think of it at all,
 
or if my mind will already be aiming
 
its thousand cannons
 
its fingers to the sky
 
 
 
never an accusation could I muster
 
never a foul trap could I construct
 
in the workshop of my soul
 
for You who give me life
 
You who gild life
 
You who make the rain fall.
 
 
 
I dream of faces I know
 
persons I share the time of days with
 
and this is strange
 
I am outside my skin
 
for the first time
 
and the society of men is gleaming
 
and is real
 
and stands in clouds of breathe
 
wandering in stillness
 
a hundred photographs
 
flipping into motion
 
held by invisible fingers
 

A Poem: In The Night August 10, 2008

Filed under: poetry — Joel @ 6:22 am
Tags: ,

In the night
I am alone.

I sweat through the days
so I can sit here,
like this,
finding you.