Poetry Archives Index

HOME

LUVDRUNK POETRY (FILE 3) OPENED 6/13/97
(Last complete re-write: June 8, 2001)

A...
ALL THINGS MERELY IN TIME
A MAN WHO CANNOT FORGIVE
A MIRROR OF GOD
ANOTHER QUESTION AND ANSWER
ANSWERS IN THE DARK OF MY HEART

B...
BIRTHING THE GRIEF OF BLESSING

C...
CASTING HALF LIGHT AND SHADOWS

E...
EXERCISES IN AWARENESS I.

F...
FOR THOSE WHO DO NOT FEAR


H...
HOME, FOR A MOMENT
HOW PEACEFUL IS GOD?
HOUSE BEYOND THE SUN


I...
I HAVE A MASTER IN HEAVEN
IMAGES FROM A DREAM
INCARNATE POETRY
IN THAT NAKED MOMENT
I SAY, YES! YES!
I SPOKE BECAUSE OF THE LOVE
IT WAS US!

L...
LET US LAUGH THE LOVE TOGETHER


P...
POEMS WRITE ME

R...
REALITIES PROJECTED AND KNOWN

S...
SHE'S ALL SPRING-SPRUNG AND IN CHICAGO
SOME DEEP PART OF ME

T...
THERE IS LIFE TO RECOVER
THERE'S A TENDER RIVER
THESE THINGS TURN MY HEART BACK
THREE CHRISTIAN MEN
THREE MAD SOULS SANG IT
THREE POEMS ON SPIRITUAL FREEDOM

U...
UPON THE DEEP PASSION

W...
WHAT WOULD WE FIND?
WHY I SING

Last Poem: HOUSE BEYOND THE SUN

INCARNATE POETRY

A Magical night of love and poetry and song
with kindred souls: Kimberly, Joan,
Jess, Shelly...
Bend, Oregon. April 18, 1997

Why should I wait?
Why should I talk as other people talk?
It takes courage to be God's fool!
To splash in every puddle,
to howl, as friends howl together
at the moon!
To love so deeply
that one calls an opening soul
sister, brother
--to speak the magic that frees us!
Why should I wait? and who am I waiting for
that is not already here,
invisibly within me,
standing around me,
loving me, luminous
under the shadows
in each one's eyes?





IN THAT NAKED MOMENT

Isn't this the direction
we must go,
in this magical, colossal way?
We speak the awakening sun
spontaneously.
The deep soul catches
its light and tosses
it quickly back
through words--mirror shining in mirror,
glances of opened eyes.
Oh! the light of faces!
The wounded people laughing,
arms around each other,
swaying in memories
of the moments we loved
who we are.
In that naked moment
we have become the poem
none of us have heard
but we always remembered.




THREE MAD SOULS SANG IT

Three mad souls sang it under the moon.
Five of a family, who though strangers
in the mystery of their journeys,
echoed it with light
glinting through their words.
It was the clown,
the coyote of God,
Lilly, the wind-like
laughing of love.
She shown in huge, luminous eyes;
she spun in hippopotamus-
filled mud puddles;
she caressed her own silky thighs
and made love to the world
through her song.
I call this, kindredness in starlight,
community in freedom,
life's beauty...
Do you long to be known,
your soul relished
by the sudden stranger before you
calling you brother, sister,
my oldest, truest love?
In that nakedness of moment
you are the poem—
the mad movement of love.






I SPOKE BECAUSE OF THE LOVE

I spoke, because of the love
in their eyes,
because a woman was listening
with her whole body to our songs.
And it was the truth
that first birthed me,
that rolled out
upon the star-filled seas of my memories.
They drank me in, honoring the soul
snapped from confusion to clarity
in a communion of poetic words,
in the soul-sensitive harmonies of song.
"You should preface all your poems
with stories of angels",
said the teacher of young children,
"So we can enter into that love
where we hear the heavens
sing in our own souls again."
Then, what I had begun to remember
with a familiar, sad longing
was swallowed up
in a fresh splay of love and laughter
until I almost entirely forgot
how lonely it can be
for every singer of that wildness
which honors souls
in a "who is it that's not at home now,
anyway?" world.




HOME, FOR A MOMENT

Drifting in golden clouds,
everything getting hazy...
Home, for just a moment,
a song shared,
in the laughter
that makes all our weeping
meaningful in the end.
We spoke words
that broke out
all green,
and young,
and shining
from the hard seeds
of our
world weary
hearts.
They washed over us,
affirming us,
life words...
affirming us,
until a fear,
a naked suspicion
flitted
through the last glance
of two brothers
before they slept.




IT WAS US!

It was us!
love drunk in the night,
being the light,
and witnesses
to our own pure breath returning
to the Word's intoxicating breath,
until the sun and moon
passed from our eyes
and need blew knowing
from our lips.
Then, by dawn's dim light
we ceased drinking our imaginations...
Our words were bland and gray
and where was God?






CASTING HALF LIGHT AND SHADOWS

Out of form and into the foam
we find pasture.
The essences flood through
in a melt down into meaning.
The prison house of the body,
furnace of pain
in a God-empty world,
becomes a huge, Nantucket garden.
Grandmother love is there,
tending her towering daisies,
her spires of sunflowers
which pierce the sky,
the eyes,
the heart.
Grandfather Love is there,
eyeing the soul from the inside,
plain-talking his soda-cracker wisdom
with a brown voice.
His old hayfork
tears off every button...
until your clothes slip down.
If every sense-gate opens to love
then where is the curse of the body?
And what monk, what nun,
what poet, what prophet
first feared this God-willed delight
of a clay and water journey —
casting half-light and shadows
all over the world?






A FLOWING MOMENT THROUGH THE EYE

There is a flowing moment
through the eye:
wheels everywhere turning,
and a waterfall slowly tumbling
everywhere up.





COMPLETION

God must roll through us
into expression:
a loaf of bread, a sip of wine,
a crazy, silly song;
many people with their hands raised
in praise...
or weeping together:
arm around shoulder,
at a funeral;
or love reading poems
in the nursing home...
or caressing the lover's body.
We must be the expression
of the God we seek:
I mean, this God
we glimpse over our shoulder
in rare moments
when we are utterly clear,
or when we are dying.






ANSWERS IN THE DARK OF MY HEART

Is God the slow whirling, spherical
instant of peace? or the
water fountain splash
of the instinct
to laugh?
Rumi said it...
I concur at times,
though, because of innate dizziness,
can't, like him,
twirl until I'm love-drunk.
Yet, when my heart opens
into that spacious place
birds have always known,
I'm pressed by every urge of Life,
and through every misinformed understanding,
to forgive God, and myself, and the world
so radically
that only a simple, white peace
of laughter remains
here in the midst of this
heart of grief.




A MAN WHO CANNOT FORGIVE

A man who cannot forgive
is like a gazelle with one leg
or a swan with no feet.
A Rabbi came into my room in a dream
at night, and said,
"You must forgive God
for all his terrible, human crimes."
And I said, "No, though I love Him."
Next, a Sufi spun upon my bed
singing, "You must release yourself
from the shame of every failure..."
then disappeared,
spouting poetry in a trance.
And I said "Yes," then wept
because I was a coward
and would not face the pain of it.
Then, Saint Francis danced outside my window
singing a canticle
to the beat of a goatskin drum
given him by a Caliph in Palestine.
"You must forgive the world
for its harsh injustices
and love every harlot of the church,"
he sang, and his voice rang like light
in the deep throats of flowers.
And I said, "This is far too hard to consider,"
but instantly knew that forgiveness alone
would alter
the outcome of my destiny.







SOME DEEP PART OF ME

Some deep part of me
hidden
where clouds move freely
through the bones,
knows that this part of me in grief
is not me...
but that I am now
laughing and silent
in eternity.








SHE'S ALL SPRING-SPRUNG AND IN CHICAGO

It's good to be flabbergasted in spring!
when the myopic white haze lifts
from winter-grayed eyes
and blue, blue, blue!
bleeds through the skies
into a farsighted brain
--to blue up the insides!
Not the down-dumped and belly-scrumped blues,
nor those commercial-blown blues
sung in certain French hotels
for dollars and beer...
but that laughing, hot, near to bleeding blue
that breaks through hard sorrows
like the green-leafed gratitude
of a certain sun-spun, revolving, star-flung,
God-brung, quick-sprung thing:
It's good to be flabbergasted in spring!





HOW PEACEFUL IS GOD?

How peaceful is God?
Absolutely peaceful:
like sea foam,
like swan feathers,
like soft rivers of air.
God craves nothing,
being the fountain of all blessedness
and beauty.
God flows out His unconditional
deluge of loving being
like the sun profusely pours out
its light and heat.
If the sun wavered for an instant
wouldn’t it cease to be?
Wouldn't the dynamic chain of fusion stop
and the star die?
If is unconceivable
that the sun should falter
why do we conceive that God, the Creator,
ceases to love us for an instant?
The Great Being peeks through the windows
of our hearts, peering through thick shadows,
and shines on!
We are loved—and hide within a veil of emotions
that are not true!
*
"Your loving kindness, O Lord,
is unwavering, outlasting the mountains
and the stars."

To
Page 2
of LuvDrunk 3

Poetry Archives Index

HOME