poetry File 1

                              opened August 1996

                              (last re-write June 10, 2001, La Lunette, France)




                              ANOTHER MORNING!

                              ANOTHER WHAT A BLESSING

                              A RIVER MESSAGE BEFORE THE WEDDING

                              A TREASURE FOUND

                              A WET AND FIERY DESTINY



                              BRIDE BREAKTHROUGH

                              BRIAN'S BREAKTHROUGH



                              II. CORINTHIANS 3



                              DRINKING FREEDOM



                              FLOWING GOD OUT




                              GIVE UNTO THE LORD THE GLORY OF HIS NAME...

                              GOD'S DRUNKARDS

                              GOD TEEMS WITH LIFE



                              HE WHO MAKES MOUNTAINS STAND

                              HE ONLY TAUGHT THEM ON RADIANT DAYS

                              HIS EARTH IS RADIANCE



                              I AM A BIRD SPECKLED

                              I AM SECRET AND HIDDEN

                              IF YOU HAVE NO REASON FOR JOY

                              IN ACTION SPEAKING

                              IN GOD'S HOUSE



                              LAMB SONG

                              LOVE LEAPS UP

                              LOVE'S GREAT BLESSING



                              MEDITATIONS FROM PSALM 104

                              MY PEACEFUL FREEDOM



                              NEGATIVE FAITH COMES EASY

                              NEW SHOES

                              NO TEACHER

                              NOTHING IS SEPARATE FROM NOTHING



                              ONLY LOVE

                              OUR ESSENTIAL JOURNEY NOW



                              POEMS VISIT ME IN THE NIGHT

                              POETRY IS LIKE

                              PURITY OF HEART IS EMPTINESS



                              Q & A



                              RELIGION MUST BE TRANSCENDED!

                              REST AND ACTION

                              RIBALDO AT THE MARKET

                              RIBALDO IN GEHENNA

                              RIBALDO IS DRUNK

                              RIBALDO IS DRUNK AGAIN

                              RIBALDO IS WEEPING

                              RIBALDO'S MORNING DEVOTION

                              RIBALDO THE FOOL

                              RIBALDO THE TROUBADOUR

                              ROCKET MAN



                              II. CORINTHIANS 3

                              SELF AS WORM AND ROSE

                              SOUL-SOIL AND WORMS

                              SURRENDER'S FRUIT



                              THE DIRTY FILAMENT

                              THE OTHER LIGHT AND RIVER

                              TWO CHRISTS

                              THE HOLY CHILD

                              THE RIVER TEACHER SPEAKS

                              THIS GIFT

                              TWO MORNING REFLECTIONS BY THE RIVER

                              THE PATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS

                              THE REVELERS DRINK

                              THE UPSURGE

                              THE WORM AND THE LORD OF HOST



                              UNIVERSAL ZEN



                              WRITING WITH GREAT POETS



                              YOUR PASSIONATE MOUTH

                              YOU WALK ON WORDS


                              69 POEMS

                              LAST POEM IN THE FILE: GIFTS




                              THE POEMS.....




                              Q & A


                              What is the look of God in the eye?

                              Young joy!

                              What is the music of God

                              in the soul?

                              Belly laughter!

                              What is the deed of God?

                              Freeing creation into reality!

                              What is reality?

                              Harmonious, deathless,

                              fluid, relational Love.






                              A WET AND FIERY DESTINY


                              There is a wet destiny

                              to be met in water

                              and wine:

                              a destiny of fire

                              in extreme obduracy

                              and love.






                              RELIGION MUST BE TRANSCENDED!


   Religion itself must be transcended   Religion itself must be transcended

          by reality that birthed religion!   by the reality religion points to!

                We must simply surrender   We must simply let us go

                            into wind-fullness,   into wind-fullness,

                               water-lushness,   water-lushness,

                                green-riotness,   green-riotness,

                                    overflowing   overflowing 

                                       emptiness   emptiness

                                           of love.   of love.

                                               Yes!   Yes!








                              ANOTHER WHAT A BLESSING

                              (AFTER RUMI)


                              Freedom depends on nothing

                              to be free...

                              What a blessing.


                              All Life flows out of

                              the free center...

                              What a blessing.


                              The free center is everywhere.

                              What a blessing.


                              It is wind-like freedom

                              that builds mountains

                              and molds stones.

                              What a blessing.


                              All things at their wind-like core

                              love God, the compassionate,

                              joyous freedom!

                              What a blessing.


                              Words from the free core

                              call to the free core.

                              What a blessing!


                              With enough freedom

                              filling the body, it is possible

                              to fly.

                              What a blessing.


                              At the core

                              we are all Awake!

                              What a blessing!





                              SELF AS WORM AND ROSE

                              (Two poems)


                              I. SELF AS A WORM


                              The self is a worm

                              in a rose.

                              Both its pride

                              and humility

                              are obstacles

                              to God's freedom--

                              being eaters

                              of the fragrance.



                              II. SELF AS A ROSE


                              Self in Christ

                              is a rose

                              of constant bloom

                              rooted in the central sea

                              of the Sun.





                              POETRY IS LIKE


                              Poetry is like

                              painting a colorful picture

                              of music

                              with words.





                              TWO MORNING REFLECTIONS BY THE RIVER



                              We are the expression

                              of God

                              we have been seeking.



                              Before the world was,

                              this instant is.






                              THE DIRTY FILAMENT


                              Satan spreads

                              an illusive



                              in the mind,

                              an illusive

                              dirty filament

                              spun of lies

                              to catch twisted

                              little things,

                              smudges, warpies,


                              The broom of Christ

                              cleans those cobs away!


                              Such a pretty little attic

                              above a clean room!





                             MY PEACEFUL FREEDOM


                             My full, fearless peace

                             is in the Lord

                             who is a flowing, radiant river

                             of creative being.




                             I AM A BIRD SPECKLED


                             I am a bird speckled

                             with the blood of Christ

                             flying in an open sky.

                             Black feathers speckled red.

                             A white breasted bird

                             in blue sky

                             singing a freedom

                             dependant on nothing

                             but the blood on my body

                             and wind.







                              BRIDE BREAKTHROUGH


                              The light breaks through!

                              and the sky throbs around us,

                              humming like a blue bee..

                              God touches a word

                              and it flows like yellow oil,

                              ringing like monastery bells

                              on a clear morning.

                              The heart opens:

                              God's yellow oil

                              gathers in clay cups.

                              Christ the ladle bearer

                              spoons the liquid out.

                              Everyone drinks!



                              DRINKING FREEDOM


                              Drinking naked freedom

                              from the free core,

                              the wind makes a coal glow.

                              Deep in the heart, a yellow coal

                              glows in the blue night.

                              Suddenly our bodies ignite

                              in God's hands.

                              We are torches

                              burning in the wedding chamber,

                              illuminating the Bridegroom's face.






                              GOD TEEMS WITH LIFE


                              God teems with Life

                              and pours out all Creation

                              in His Son:

                              the speaking Word,

                              the Word that reveals

                              the unfolding Holy

                              in the Feminine, nurturing flow.

                              All creatures are potentials

                              of glory

                              in the unspoken potential

                              of Love's creative beauty:

                              brimming up, pressing

                              against dead hearts...

                              spilling through

                              opening ones.







                              LOVE'S GREAT BLESSING


                              Blessed, all Creation

                              waits for blessing

                              to be the blessing

                              of Life! for life

                              in Life.






                              IN ACTION SPEAKING


                              We pour out a rich action,

                              like love's silver oil

                              on a head,

                              and God is revealed:

                              the unspoken Word

                              is spoken.

                              And in this speaking

                              we are as revealed

                              as God is.






                              SURRENDER'S FRUIT


                              To find ourselves

                              is to find all bondage

                              of fear and selfishness

                              glossed over

                              with veneers of good.

                              To find God

                              is to find all freedom

                              of Life and Love

                              naked and open,

                              plus our own free self

                              growing and brimming.






                              FLOWING GOD OUT


                              The Spirit of God

                              is the Spirit of Creation.

                              All God creates

                              longs to fall back into God

                              and flow God out,


                              into God's fluid action

                              of freedom.





                              RIBALDO AT THE MARKET


                              Ribaldo the monk

                              saw a tall, thin woman,

                              with hair the color of

                              the King's crown

                              spilling all over her shoulders,

                              twisting down her blouse,

                              streaming over her hips,

                              twirling in a breath of breeze,

                              tumbling like yellow mist

                              down to her shapely knees.

                              She glanced at him with green eyes,

                              like cold jade, like glacial ice,

                              like tiger's hungry eyes.

                              "No beauty there,"

                              Ribaldo said and sighed,

                              crossed himself and passed by,

                              muttering a prayer and benediction.

                              Ribaldo the monk

                              turned round the corner of a melon booth

                              and ran into a huge woman--melon sized!:

                              Cheeks like apple tarts,

                              nose like a broken banana,

                              arms like pork sausage,

                              legs like Yule logs,

                              a big bodied, hen shaped,

                              turkey breasted, grain sack-bottomed,

                              cow-sized, horse-sized, whale-size of a woman!

                              And she glowed with the glory in every cell...

                              She was mirror-faced, window-hearted,

                              wind-chested, sky-bellied,

                              a river running high, a white ocean

                              at day-full tide.

                              She smiled. "Goo day tu ye, Sir"

                              Angels squeezed out between her brown teeth,

                              leapt off her lips, linked hands, pranced

                              like a quick rainbow around her,

                              like gold dust in a wind storm.

                              Ribaldo spun around

                              and thought a secret sin:

                              "Oh to mount that woman

                              and feel the fire in her bones;

                              to be roasted there,

                              cook my body up into a feast,

                              fall through her into paradise

                              and be eaten by God."

                              He reproved himself with a laugh,

                              turned the corner and forgot her completely

                              at the sight

                              of a miraculous

                              patty of cheese.






                              RIBALDO THE TROUBADOUR


                              Ribaldo the monk

                              picked up a stick.

                              It became a 6 stringed lute

                              in his hands.

                              Ribaldo the monk

                              put a leaf upon his head.

                              It became a great

                              feathered hat.

                              He danced and sang

                              unto his Bridegroom

                              from sunrise

                              until just before dawn.

                              All the people think

                              Ribaldo is mad...

                              the angels think

                              he's awake.





                              RIBALDO IS DRUNK


                              Ribaldo is drunk.

                              He drank the gold beer

                              of the sun.

                              He drank the silver wine

                              of the moon.

                              He drank the blush

                              of roses from a bush.

                              He drank the gin

                              of a river.

                              He couldn't get enough.

                              Now he is lying on his back

                              staring at the sky.

                              He is drinking something else.

                              Angels are leaping

                              into his heart.






                              RIBALDO IN GEHENNA


                              Ribaldo the monk

                              is standing in a garbage dump.

                              There is a great stench

                              of rottenness

                              and everything is burning.

                              White smoke is drifting up

                              into the clear sky

                              which is full of birds.

                              He is laughing and laughing.

                              He sees only himself

                              and his Bridegroom.






                              GOD'S DRUNKARDS


                              Ribaldo is under a bridge

                              dancing with many dancers

                              who are drunk

                              with the wine of God.

                              "Ribaldo, teach us

                              of the Rose of the world!"

                              they clamor.

                              "There are no teachers.

                              There is only

                              the Rose of the world,"

                              Ribaldo whispers.

                              He turns aside.

                              He is watching a bee

                              crawling into a flower.

                              He is three years old.





                              RIBALDO IS DRUNK AGAIN


                              Ribaldo is drunk again.

                              He staggers down the street

                              dressed in rags.

                              Sunlight is in his footprints

                                 a path of the moon beneath his feet.

                              He sees only divine creatures everywhere.

                              Look, a fat prince is gutting fish

                              and scowling at him;

                              a husky princess hawking olives

                              hides her children

                              behind her skirts

                              and curses

                              as he stumbles by.

                              A noble Barron comes by.

                              He wants to arrest Ribaldo for being drunk.

                              Ribaldo laughs and goes with the Barron

                              to see the King of Keys,

                              sitting in the throne room, happily

                              behind bars.




                              RIBALDO IS WEEPING


                              Ribaldo is sitting on a street corner


                              crying out to his Beloved

                              for more drunkards,

                              more revelers

                              to stagger through the streets

                              with him

                              spilling out

                              God's wine.





                              THE REVELERS DRINK


                              The revelers drink

                              God's wine

                              until they disappear

                              in sunlight.

                              Only the wine remains,

                              drinking itself.

                              The revelers reappear

                              at midnight.

                              They are perfectly sober.






                              RIBALDO'S MORNING DEVOTION


                              Ribaldo the monk

                              is drunk again

                              on sunshine in the leaves,

                              on the sound of his own voice

                              calling unto God.

                              The silver shivers

                              have him;

                              golden fire is in his bones.

                              In his drunkenness

                              he despises it all

                              for the naked nothing.

                              The naked nothing has him:

                              the dilating soul,

                              the freedom of unmoving breath.

                              In his drunkenness

                              he despises it all,

                              falling with silence

                              into unwordable substance.

                              Again, the silver shivers have him,

                              the golden fire

                              and three beautiful woman,

                              whom he once knew in a distant city,

                              have encircled him with their arms.



                              RIBALDO THE FOOL


                              All day long Ribaldo has been drunk

                              with the Bridegroom's love.

                              He has played the fool

                              during market day:

                              he has been blind,

                              blundering and stumbling,

                              his mind blurred, his words slurred.

                              He has been despised,

                              an embarrassment to good people.

                              At sunset Ribaldo's voice rises,

                              calling on his God.

                              A cloud passes;

                              leaves darken in purple shadows:

                              it is night.

                              Ribaldo is alone, outside the city

                              in the dark.

                              He rises up to dance,

                              his mind sober,

                              his heart full of light—

                              astonished at its own clarity.





                              NO TEACHER


                              There is no teacher,

                              no disciples:

                              only the worm

                              and the Rose.

                              Kill the worm

                              by turning it to Love:    

                              The world is a paradise

                              of roses.






                              ANOTHER MORNING!


                              Another morning!

                              Good Day to You,

                              Beloved! Silver River!

                              Shinning Star!


                              Silent is His voice!


                              Beyond the world

                              is His fragrance.

                              Stepping through

                              the face of the world,

                              the worm hunter

                              has arrived.

                              What an adventure!






                              II. CORINTHIANS 3


                              The veil is ripped

                              from Moses' face.

                              Mists float away

                              from the moon.

                              A golden glory

                              shines from Moses' eyes.

                              The moon


                              into the sun.





                              THE PATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS


                              Only by a process

                              of subtracting

                              what God isn't

                              can we arrive

                              at what God is.

                              A voice cries,

                              "Clear the way of the Lord

                              in the wilderness."


                              The path of the right one

                              grows brighter

                              and brighter...

                              in radical, subtractive









                              THE WORM AND THE LORD OF HOST


                              The worm is a false prophet

                              for it claims

                              that God works in it.

                              Why be a false prophet?

                              God works only in God.






                              TWO CHRISTS


                              There are two


                              a static one

                              and a dynamic one.

                              There is only

                              the worm

                              and the Rose.





                              ONLY LOVE


                              I am the subject

                              of God's awareness.

                              As such, God wants

                              to look through me,

                              as through

                              an opened window,

                              to see God.

                              Only Love








                              A TREASURE FOUND


                              There is a Pearl

                              hidden in a field,

                              a Treasure lost

                              that must be refound.

                              What? This Pearl

                              is a River

                              that everything

                              can drink.

                              What? This Treasure

                              is an open heart drinking.





                              THE HOLY CHILD


                              The holy child believes

                              in the God of Love

                              and plays.

                              The miraculous child

                              believes in the sudden

                              intrusion of Beauty.

                              This child dips fingers in color,

                              plunges into flowers,

                              plucks strings and listens,

                              runs its hands lovingly

                              over bodily decay.

                              This child

                              watches like an osprey,

                              flies like a swallow,

                              swims like an otter,

                              forgives like a river.

                              To have such a simple heart

                              must be like a heaven

                              walking on earth.




                              A RIVER MESSAGE BEFORE THE WEDDING


                              Wide open giving

                              with no reference to self.

                              Such is the fullness

                              of salvation

                              in the welling forth

                              of God's infinite






                              NOTHING IS SEPARATE FROM NOTHING



                              is separate






                              THE RIVER TEACHER SPEAKS


                              I asked the River

                              to be my teacher.

                              It winked at me

                              with a billion

                              bubbling eyes of foam.

                              I take it that the answer

                              was "Yes."





                              POEMS VISIT ME IN THE NIGHT


                              Poems visit me in the night.

                              I let them roll by.

                              Why should wakefulness

                              disturb my slumber?:

                              I who criticize by day

                              those who teach

                              that Christ

                              sleeps somewhere

                              in an unknown tomb.





                              NEW SHOES


                              I'm wearing new shoes,

                              river shoes, wind shoes,

                              white moccasins made of clouds,

                              made of morning mists,

                              to walk on familiar shores...

                              Stone shoes, green-leaf shoes,

                              wheat shoes, potato shoes

                              to walk with children

                              on wild, mysterious beaches.

                              I sit in a river and name it:

                              it washes over me--

                              I un-name it and become river.

                              In rabbit brush you can find a path

                              like a shooting star.

                              Lizards and angels run together there.

                              I'm singing back to a bird in a tree

                              that sings to me,

                              and writing a poem to you

                              from the backside of this page

                              where my shoes are sunk in deep mud,

                              in goose doo...

                              though my feet aren't

                              even close to touching the ground.





                              WRITING WITH GREAT POETS


                              I like to write poems

                              with great poets.

                              We have a contest,

                              them writing on

                              the backside on the page,

                              me on the front.

                              It is a loving competition,

                              each of us spurring the other on

                              like those tree tenors

                              singing in Rome,

                              like a kindergarten child

                              who loves

                              his teachers

                              who love






                              LAMB SONG


                              The Lamb is full

                              of mountain light

                              as it walks

                              through valley shadows.

                              A voice of pure streams

                              is in its silent bleat.

                              Within our ears

                              the water changes clothes,

                              shifts its colors.

                              We speak this and that.

                              When mountain light

                              falls upon us,

                              our many words

                              melt away

                              unto a few...

                              and weave together

                              into Lamb song.









                         IF YOU HAVE NO REASON FOR JOY


                         If you have no reason for joy,

                         then dance because the sky is blue

                         and the growing grass is green.

                         Spin in thankfulness

                         because your lungs grow large

                         then small,

                         because the air caresses you

                         and lifts your hair,

                         because you have eyes to see

                         form and miraculous color,

                         because of water.

                         And if you can,

                         speak these words,

                         "I love you"

                         unto the nothing you have always feared

                         you'd be...

                         and let nothing echo back,

                         "I love you,"

                         as light leaps up

                         in your bones.







                              THE OTHER LIGHT AND RIVER


                              The famous sun

                              that Cicero knew

                              has arisen fresh today:

                              what a wonder!

                              And I have seen

                              that the river flows

                              as it has always flowed--

                              running on forever.

                              But I long for the soft

                              and liquid light

                              that is the lamb of God,

                              that shone in Christ

                              and Francis,

                              that lived in Joan of Arc.

                              Sweet flowing, soft

                              and innocent light

                              that comforts all the soul,

                              I would let go

                              and fall back through

                              your fluid white feather.




                              THIS GIFT


                              The Holy Spirit

                              is a fountain,

                              bubbling up,


                              welling up,


                              flowing from eternity

                              through earth

                              to eternity.





                              LOVE LEAPS UP


                              Grace springs,

                              liquid light rises

                              in the brain


                              yet the brain sleeps

                              deep in the miracle.

                              Love leaps up

                              within every bodily cell,

                              thrilling the body,

                              while the mind drifts,

                              lost in a myriad

                              anxious thoughts.

                              The Spirit pours through God,

                              and God, like light

                              in the water


                              Yet the gates of the body

                              are shut,

                              and how shall the glory

                              shimmer through?

                              When the heart opens,

                              grace springs up

                              as liquid light rises

                              in the brain,

                              and love, leaping within

                              every bodily cell

                              is heard singing,

                              as a river is heard

                              within a river stone!

                              and the Spirit keeps pouring

                              God through, like light

                              in the water shining.







                              THE UPSURGE


                              The Holy Spirit

                              constantly flows

                              in the wisdom

                              of God.

                              The upsurge

                              is ecstatically relentless.

                              Why not fall into Christ

                              and become drunk?

                              Why not come clear

                              in God's fluid wisdom?









                         MEDITATIONS FROM PSALM 104


                         From the fountain of God,

                         which is the Holy Spirit,

                         flows forth gnats and ants,

                         flies and caterpillars.

                         God breathes His Ruah

                         and a baby otter

                         bursts from the womb kicking,

                         and a newborn gazelle

                         hits the ground

                         almost at a run.

                         Ah! WHHooo...

                         God breathes and blows...

                         and an elephant drops

                         its hose-nosed child--flump,

                         flump, flump--into the dust,

                         its glistening ears wet

                         with momma's mucus.

                         And waters teem

                         with silverlings,

                         clouds of mackerel

                         and red tides of sociable shrimp

                         because God whistles

                         the Holy Spirit

                         out Her nostrils luxuriantly.

                         And if God should suck breath

                         --all would die!

                         mankind and animals,

                         fish and birds, plants

                         and insects withering

                         to dust, and dust

                         dissolving to light

                         and light halting

                         in its lightning tracks

                         and blackness burning

                         until only the infinite

                         face of God would be.

                         And love-real people would pass

                         with innocent animals

                         through God into God,

                         while all ego-born, flimflam flummery

                         would die in the flaming dark!






                              YOU WALK ON WORDS


                              There are words

                              that flash like lover's eyes,

                              like naked fields of stars

                              seen from dark mountains.

                              Such words confuse

                              the chattering mind

                              for these are the jewel box

                              words of silence.

                              Open the jewel box,

                              pour out its words:

                              Voila! Light upon your path.

                              You move along like music;

                              life is the dance.

                              Sorrows left behind,

                              you walk on words

                              to greet all that opens

                              before you...

                              You walk on words.





                              PURITY OF HEART IS EMPTINESS


                              Purity of heart

                              is Emptiness as Being

                              and Being as Emptiness,

                              and Being in Emptiness

                              and Emptiness in Being as Becoming.

                              This is also Poverty of Spirit

                              and Perfect Fullness

                              Freely Overflowing Nothing.





                              UNIVERSAL ZEN

                              (That the body of sin might be undone...)

                                                             St. Paul

                              The loosening of all tightness,

                              the dissolving of all energies

                              formed by falsehood

                              is the emergence of Perfect Poverty

                              as Perfect Fullness in Perfect Emptiness.





                              OUR ESSENTIAL JOURNEY NOW


                              The blameless, selfless,

                              playful child

                              of wild wisdom

                              shall lead them home

                              to themselves

                              as unique, pure, no-selves

                              in the overflowing ocean

                              of rich, naked being.







                         BRIAN'S BREAKTHROUGH

                         (To the way of our Lord.)


                         To the Altar, the flame,

                         and the sacrifice.

                         Turning against the self,

                         cutting open the dark lamb,

                         the frenetic cloud passes through,

                         and a thunder of voices.

                         Repelled, we thrust ourselves away

                         from a familiar, essential sin

                         and fall backwards,

                         naked, blind and dumb,

                         plunging downward

                         into Light.

                         All things spin around,

                         down is up, and up down—

                         neither has any meaning:

                         only a simple flame,

                         only a many-eyed Lamb,

                         and peace...

                         like a ceaseless river.





                         SOUL-SOIL AND WORMS


                         Soul-soil, rich tilth,

                         worm invested and softened,

                         all seed strewn, and wet,

                         with a root riot

                         sprouting a green revelry

                         that's drunken with gold.








                         HIS EARTH IS RADIANCE


                         Are things empty of spirit,

                         or is it us?

                         Down at the bottom,

                         deep within the roots of things,

                         spirit is lush, thick,

                         resilient, silky...

                         and the cool, dry,

                         bright breath of spirit

                         becomes hot and moist

                         in the dark essence of things,

                         and things become

                         luminous and

                         spacious with spirit.







                              I AM SECRET AND HIDDEN


                              I am secret and hidden,

                              silent in Christ,

                              watching, praying

                              in the constant moment

                              without a single movement

                              of my luminous lips.








                              HE WHO MAKES MOUNTAINS STAND


                              Love loves by body.

                              He who makes mountains stand

                              makes me stand.

                              He who makes water flow down

                              lays me down to rest

                              in His green arms.

                              Love loves my soul.

                              If I should dress

                              in every fabric of the world,

                              I would only hide myself

                              from myself--

                              yet remain naked to Him.

                              Love loves my spirit:

                              Naked is God,

                              therefore I love Him

                              who seeks my nakedness

                              —in life and in death—

                              that I might only wear

                              beautiful robes

                              of starlight...

                              shining in His eyes.







                              REST AND ACTION


                              God is like

                              a little pouch of rose petals

                              laying all night

                              between a beautiful woman's breast.

                              God is like a golden gazelle

                              plunging through blue brush

                              in twilight.







                         HE ONLY TAUGHT THEM ON RADIANT DAYS


                         He only taught them on radiant days

                         that were peaceful as seeds unfolding,

                         as intense as throats of iris flowers.

                         He moved with the unmoving breath

                         and only spoke when silence sang.

                         How could they grasp

                         words that made them drunk on water?

                         How could they confine with creeds

                         seven loaves transforming into thousands?

                         He walked through their turmoil

                         unwounded by the dimming of light

                         so he could be light

                         to blind children,

                         a soft salve settling into wounds.

                         He saved his rage for snakes

                         in religious garments

                         who coiled their minds around cathedrals,

                         having never heard daylight crackle

                         like fire in the morning grass,

                         running its golden threads

                         through dew.

                         And when a sip of fire

                         spinning off the sword of Eden

                         scalded his throat to silence him,

                         and a black breath of death

                         blew out the lantern of his heart

                         he rolled off the edge of the world

                         down into its slow soul,

                         that, weary of suffering,

                         was crying to Him for freshness,

                         for sunflowers, for roses,

                         for crowns of wheat grass

                         on every head,

                         bread on every table

                         with wine spilling from glass

                         to glass

                         and only the wind separating hearts,

                         only the infinity of stars

                         secluding minds.





                         ROCKET MAN


                         Jesus came out of the moist light

                         of an opened tomb

                         like out of a womb

                         of heaven in earth.

                         He passed through the north

                         like a dry desert wind

                         and through the south

                         like a wet sea wind wending.

                         He gathered souls

                         out of the netherworld

                         like countless blooms

                         yielding into his arms:

                         and ripening, burning, throbbing

                         they sang, their souls rang

                         with their mouths wide open,

                         ascending into His song.





                         IN GOD'S HOUSE


                         Lord, in your house

                         bees hum, rocks sing;

                         the winds, without words,

                         speaks messages;

                         waterfalls wildly celebrate

                         the low murmurs

                         of distant, secret springs.

                         Your fingers tend tender roots

                         and open tight bound blossoms

                         with such care that they believe

                         their unfoldment comes

                         merely from a natural peace.

                         It is you who work

                         to let freshness loose

                         in ten thousand acres of aspens;

                         who pours out stars from your watering can

                         in a slow shower through the dark

                         of Life-packed space.

                         I pray for the movement of your fingers

                         to unfold me into such a love

                         as would make me like a waterfall

                         of star showers...

                         or like the mysterious serenading

                         of earth by the trees.










                         YOUR PASSIONATE MOUTH


                         It is the breath of life

                         that makes me tremble

                         like a blue flower

                         on a slim stem.

                         I would wash

                         in luminous waters

                         and see angels swarming

                         amidst flowers with the bees.

                         I would climb high trees

                         to drink blue sky into my belly...

                         I would suckle on

                         the silver rain of tears

                         when grief comes...

                         and swim down rivers of mud

                         into dark crevices of earth

                         to mourn with worms

                         and beetles.

                         It is the sense of life

                         that does this...

                         and God... God!

                         the feast of it!

                         the lush profusion

                         streaming through stones,

                         through grass—the primal things—

                         the flames, the leaves.                        


                         I love your pure gifts,

                         your cornucopia mouth

                         singing concrete love songs

                         to abstract, intellectual ears.

                         When the disciples found you on the beach

                         after you had risen

                         why didn't they mention

                         the seaweed wrapped around your neck,

                         the gulls soaring above your head,

                         or the sunshine in your fingertips?

                         Why didn't they write about

                         the cargo of flowers

                         you loaded into their boats?






                              NEGATIVE FAITH COMES EASY


                              Why do we so easily


                              in the anguished

                              voice of pain

                              and trust

                              with such difficulty

                              the silent,



                              of ecstatic


                              Scripture says

                              God in His Lamb

                              took away from us


                              our right

                              to be






                              GIVE UNTO THE LORD

                              THE GLORY OF HIS NAME...


                              Creation is the mirror

                              and receptacle

                              of Divine glory

                              that comes in countless

                              mysterious ways

                              through us.

                              We are called

                              to give loving


                              to all living things,

                              to all inanimate things,

                              to God Himself.

                              See, when we believe

                              the little calf skips,

                              the trees clap their hands,

                              the stones cry out,

                              the mountains sing.

                              Creation is a feast

                              waiting for us

                              to begin it.







                              All gifts

                              flow in God


                              If you want

                              to receive

                              all gifts--

                              flow in God.