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Sep 11 · 204
A Sleepers Lullaby
Be unclad of all fear,
oh child that is mine,
of all of its grip and
its guile.

and go light as the air,
as the air, my love, as
the light and the air
at dawn.

                  * * *

Let your gladness be sought,
oh child that is mine,
be sought, the desire of your heart,

and may those that pass by be
the gladder for your touch;
the gladder, child that I love.

                  * * *
                  
Be you clad in all colors,
oh child that is mine,
in all colors, my love, save one.

And that color you will hold
in the palm of your hand,
and your eye will always be on it.

                  * * *

Its weight you must ken,
oh child that I love, its weight,
that you'll surely keep steady,

for it's woe to you, and loss
beyond loss, if that weight
should ever be greater.

Oh it's woe to you, and loss
beyond loss, if that weight
should ever be greater.
Derived from a melody of the kantele, the Finnish harp.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vG22yCH6cCo
Sep 9 · 139
Heart Song
Oh! Here in my
heart, in my
heart of hearts,
is the name of my love,
my love.

Oh! Here in the
cleft, in the
deepest of deep
places, sheltered
from the wind,
and the sun,
and the sea,
is the name of my love,
my love.

There, my love
in my heart of hearts,
in the dark
of my fear,
and my sorrow,
and regret,
within me forever;
comfort and
solace.

In the fires of
my heart, in the
rivers of my blood,
as life, as the life
of the land, is my love,
my love.

And on my lips,
on the wings of
my breath, is her
name, my love.

In the times
of my gladness,
in the gladness
of my soul,
when my skin
trembles with
the spirit and
sensation, then
am I the gladder,
far more than
any man,
than any at all
in the telling of
this earth,
for I know what
it is to hold
love in my heart.

Yes I know
what it is
to hold love
in my heart.

And I hold you
in my heart,
in my heart,
in my heart.

Oh I tell you
love, you who
dwell within me,
in my breath
as the lands breath,
in my bones
as the lands bones.

If that time too
should come,
if that most blessed
time should
come in its time,
in its time, that
is its own time,
and our lips meet,
seed and seeds
desire, there
after long yearning;
after the longest
of long yearnings.

Oh, I know not
what I'd do,
oh my love,
oh my love.

Oh, to know
what I'd do,
oh my love,
oh my love.

But I think that
I'd burst, oh
my love,
my love.

As the dam in
the springtime,
my love,
my love.

But to feel your
touch, your touch
that burns, and
to drink your eyes,
as the pine and
hearthlight,
to know of your
scent, that of
all others is
your own,
and to breathe your
breath, as one,
as one.

To breathe of your
breath, as one,
as one.

Oh for this
do I yearn,
oh my love,
oh my love.

And for this
I'd yet yearn,
oh my love,
my love.

though I withered
in the blaze, oh
my love,
my love.

For in my heart,
in my deepest
heart, yea, in the
deepest of deep
places, there you
are, my love,
and your name is on
the point of my
lips, to fly,
to fly.

To fly as the eagle
flies, swiftly and
with great soaring.

It is you and none
other that I love,
I love.

And in these words
do I tell it, my love,
my love.

Though they fall
unanswered, my love,
my love.

Here is my cry.

Here is my cry.
Inspired by the Kiowa love song tradition, of which I have long known and admired. Meant to be sung.

https://folklife-media.si.edu/docs/festival/program-book-articles/FESTBK1973_03.pdf
Sep 2 · 333
haiku no. 128
to be held
three lines advice
and the horizon
Aug 23 · 506
haiku no. 127
the grey
of this tin figure
wet tile
Aug 21 · 203
haiku no. 126
a likeness
three concentric rings
and a tortoise shell
Seen in the round face of a dust cap.
Aug 14 · 285
haiku no. 125
for a moment
ripples under gloss
a declaration
Tree rings seen in a desk.
Mar 8 · 1.1k
Tribute for Kaori
It was in the spring,
season of new birth
that I first saw you,
weeping in a stand of
wonder that you had
sown.

You seemed then
as a grass, tall as all
the rest yet distinct,
caught in a wind,
and the scent
of blossoms.
You danced, and your
music wound its
way to the sky
and brought
the birds.

As the dawn through
a roof of young leaves
your coming woke me,
and showed me a world
of such beauty that
I felt alive, in a way
I had almost forgotten.

You were the dawn,
and the breeze in
Springtime; you were
wild and you were calm,
carefree and sorrowful,
heartless and compassionate,
thoughtless and full of
knowings. In my ignorance
you were a discord,
a tumble of notes that
proved beautiful,
despite itself. In my
ignorance you were a
wonder. In my knowledge
you are a miracle,
far beyond the reasons
of your being.

You asked if I would
remember you, and in
my heart I laughed as
well as wept. For how
could I not? To ask if I
would forget you, who
had brought such fervor
to my life; such joy.

It was beyond foolishness.

If I weep, forgive me,
for I could wish for
nothing more than to
make you smile; it is
this love in my heart
that does not permit it.

In love I say,
I will remember.
I will remember.
I will remember.
In love.


Farewell.
Take the thistle
seen by the roadside
that is remarkable
in your eyes above all
for its color, and for its
solitude, and set it in a
*** of good soil in
your house, upon
the window-sill.
There let it sit,
day in and day out,
crown turned
sunwards, and its
leaves outstretched.
Guard it well
from those insects
that would
devour it, and
give it water,
once per week.
Hold it as a
***** friend,
as a child,
before whose
passing shall
leave the world
descendants
many times its
number, that the
likeness of the
thistle be always
kept in memory,
and in time.



Here, and in such things,
is found beauty.
Jan 29 · 776
Ode to a Spider
Beyond thoughts
use is the power of
her beauty; for my
soul is caught in
the sight of her, and
my heart in
its turn.

Her eyes
like long tapered
leaves, like vessels
sharply prowed,
subtle in their weight
and depth of
cognizance-
twin edged
they gleam,
and knowledge
is in them.

And her voice!
As the sounds of
growing things and
the cello's weaving
her words are song
and her song the
symphony.

Like the stone rippling
and a cat content,
like the sweet bell
when hearts are
wearied.

Beauty!

For thou, and thou
alone
I contend.
This is an old piece I wrote after watching James and the Giant Peach. I was rather taken with the spider. It has though in the editing process taken on a form other than I intended. Instead of praising the beauty that is peculiar to its subject only, it has rather come to portray my concept of feminine beauty in general. Therefore the title, "Ode to a Spider" may not be the best fit. Ode to Beauty, perhaps. I leave it as it is, however, in tribute to the original.
Jan 29 · 498
haiku no. 124
winging from good fortune
the battered albatross
finds rest again

or

once strong-winged
the battered albatross
finds strength again
Recently I encountered beauty, and lingered longer than I should have. Wonder faded a little, and though still beautiful I wondered if I would ever again feel, as a boulder above the sea in storm, the tides of wonder and joy and love I felt rush over me, through me, when I found it for the first time. I lost my faith, and fell into despair. But then, when even this had waned, and a melancholy that was its echo lay over me, I stumbled in the dark, and once again found beauty. And once again, that same tide of impossible joy and wonder and near worshipful adoration crashed over me. And it was in almost inexpressible gratitude that I rejoiced for my foolishness.
Nov 2018 · 201
haiku no. 123
Christian Bixler Nov 2018
on the way
to mountain refuge
car-sick
Nov 2018 · 167
haiku no. 122
Christian Bixler Nov 2018
cold and
mountain lodgings
birds behind
Traveling to North GA to spend a few days in the mountains near Cloudland Canyon hiking with family.
Nov 2018 · 4.9k
Beauty
Christian Bixler Nov 2018
Shifting, sand underfoot
and the moon bent
in reflected splendor, up from the sea, and from the
tresses of your hair;

black, in that time
of dreaming.

The stars,
innumerable in their glory,
wink down at
us gently as we walk,

their mysteries
disregarded.

for in your eyes
lie the sum of
their light.
This is a draft I put together in 2016 and promptly forgot about. I've edited it some, but I'm pretty sure I've just polished it up a little, meaning intact. Figured its about time it got some air.
Nov 2018 · 899
haiku no. 121
Christian Bixler Nov 2018
passing through
sun-soaked leaves
and a footfall
Originally a draft for an earlier work, it resembled more and more something else, some different experience. Thus it's distinction.
Nov 2018 · 288
haiku no. 120
Christian Bixler Nov 2018
scattering light
the squirrels progress
shaken leaves
A squirrel outside my window on Saturday morning.
Apr 2018 · 1.0k
haiku no. 119
Christian Bixler Apr 2018
losing nothing
light's dispersion
through cumuli
It's a joy to be back.
Feb 2018 · 227
haiku no. 118
Christian Bixler Feb 2018
relief
hidden no longer
in rain-clouds
Feb 2018 · 188
haiku no. 117
Nov 2017 · 343
haiku no. 116
Christian Bixler Nov 2017
to be commended
the lazy ****** rests
after dam-building

or

how estimable
the lazy ****** dreams
after dam-building
Nov 2017 · 283
Short Poem
Christian Bixler Nov 2017
To see better is to exist.
To deny better is to deny existence.
Therefore I say
that the cliffrose,
and the empty bottle,
and the blue sky,
and the heat,
and the touch of love,
and the iron of blood,
all
are beautiful.

Embrace all.
An experiment in the old Chinese way of writing, in which simple statements hold the most common use. The style of this poem is explicit; yet what it lacks in subtlety, it makes up in directness.
Nov 2017 · 230
haiku no. 115
Christian Bixler Nov 2017
speaking
is this how they feel
with wet feathers
Nov 2017 · 451
haiku no. 114
Christian Bixler Nov 2017
passing showers
press leaves to soil
a conversation
Seen through many windows, and as the rain cooled me in July.
Nov 2017 · 229
haiku no. 113
Nov 2017 · 203
haiku no. 112
Christian Bixler Nov 2017
before the last
of the light is gone
crickets
Oct 2017 · 217
haiku no. 111
Christian Bixler Oct 2017
wondering
how do they tell
at night
The experience this is taken from is that of standing up from sitting on the bank of a lake, and seeing all the little fish that feed there scatter because of the shadow and the movement.
Oct 2017 · 226
haiku no. 110
Christian Bixler Oct 2017
listening
here again there is
recognition
In listening to "My Sweet Lord", a song by George Harrison.
Oct 2017 · 170
haiku no. 109
Christian Bixler Oct 2017
not yet
waiting for night
and a family gathering
though the lines of this poem do not fall into the accepted format (short-long-short), it does I feel express the anticipation and energy experienced in this moment, in waiting. So I add it here.
Oct 2017 · 142
haiku no. 108
Christian Bixler Oct 2017
a new tradition
passing the old house there
we slow
Oct 2017 · 173
haiku no. 107
Christian Bixler Oct 2017
looking
there a twilit orchard
is barred

or

turning
now at my back there is
a fading orchard




halted
now as I turn there is
an orchard
note on the third: this one was made in the process of composing the second. It is included here because of the sound and the feel of it, though the words are misleading.
Oct 2017 · 250
haiku no. 106
Christian Bixler Oct 2017
seeing through
glass as clearing waters
a droplet
In reading the words of a recent poet, though he has long since passed, I found myself seeing his words almost as though it were he there, reading again the works of his hand. Always though, there was an element of myself in my perception, and so full transposition remained beyond me.
Sep 2017 · 165
haiku no. 105
Christian Bixler Sep 2017
is there a way
finding in an old photo
recognition
Viewing a small anxiety since passed by.
Sep 2017 · 200
haiku no. 104
Christian Bixler Sep 2017
think
how do artists paint
a leave-taking
Sep 2017 · 206
haiku no. 103
Christian Bixler Sep 2017
sightless bear
perhaps in time he
will grow into it
a white statue of a bear with the eyes shadowed by the light of the lamp.
Sep 2017 · 174
haiku no. 102
Christian Bixler Sep 2017
inadequacy
seeing it another way
it is peace
Sep 2017 · 209
haiku no. 101
Christian Bixler Sep 2017
old eyes
there the border worn
the bamboo
Sep 2017 · 222
haiku no. 100
Christian Bixler Sep 2017
border of bright
eyes it seems pinned
the bamboo
Christian Bixler Sep 2017
standing before the beat wooden table, artificial, I'm staring at a painting of white water, cool trees in late autumn, and a wide dim blue sky, clouds manifested as broad dashes of faded white blending somewhat with the blue behind it, so that the detail of the trees and the long staring streaks of cloud seem to express the fundamental oneness of opposites, the dim light seems to portend a storm hovering on the east winds...a waiting portrait blurred in a long time gale soaked with rain from the rolling Atlantic, all without the streaked panes of glass barring my eyes from the frantic surging.
somewhere sometime a lost sparrow's beating in the spray before sight of land..
Christian Bixler Sep 2017
tassels like little golden angels dancing in pattern without discernible sustainability some it seems fallen skirts blown back, or else kicking high in un-understandable ecstasy, beyond the grasp of my limited recognition of cognition, of understanding fullest being, expressive nonsense..Acceptance that this is not so, or at least only partially so, one being one mind one heart soul eternal there is only peace. Joy. Love. the depths of despair are only a manifestation of too deep a rut, too deep a meshing in the superficial nature of things, reality. Simple truths seen as incomprehensible because they are seen from eyes flipped upside down, backward set them right with the primal pattern which always is and always will be. See from the heart and the mind will settle in peaceful abandon...
Write to recognize the depths of confusion throw it away when one wishes to see the truth beyond limitation...mind not good not bad one with all a recognition of the truth is by no means necessary, only be, the fullest extent of yourself nothing means anything beyond there is nothing beyond self, which is all things...there is only being. Ever-present within without the dynamic expression change is an illusion fostered in the depths of blind submergence...
Aug 2017 · 938
haiku no. 99
Christian Bixler Aug 2017
seeing it
there before the folding grey
a last cloud
Aug 2017 · 176
haiku no. 98
Christian Bixler Aug 2017
desert photograph
seeing a little better its perspective
a worn stone
Jul 2017 · 400
haibun no. 2
Christian Bixler Jul 2017
Said a man once from a motored caravan,

You are a fool.

Said I,

Perhaps. But in this, life is to me but one side of the coin; the other is death, and both are formed of experience, the one of this world, the other of the next. I am here without all that is necessary for a sure survival not by choice; but finding myself here I will not go back into those lands behind me, where men and women live in desperation, in servitude, in blindness. Not until I have passed through will I meet them again, and then only of necessity. And if I fail in my crossing, what of it? My bones will bleach here in the naked sun and the naked earth; the wind will scour them, and the sands will cover them, until at last they become one with the soil of the desert. My soul will be the same as it ever was, universal, eternal, one and separate from all things that are, existence. And my mind will be let go, in the doing of something great, and in the realization of it's place in the oneness of existence. That is enough. That is all.

daydreaming
even here there is
perhaps a cutting edge
The section of prose in this haibun is, as you might expect, both from its subject and from the haiku beneath it, a fictional account. Therefore the nature of this haibun must perforce be relegated to the category of "a desk work"; a piece of writing which has little or no basis in actual reality. However, in the time in which this imagining came to me, it seemed then that it would constitute a disservice to my Self, if I did not follow it through, and set it down in some coherent form and meaning. So if it is not based in actual reality, still perhaps it may have at least some connecting anchor to it, some form of reality, of understanding, which transcends the bounds of thought. Thus, the haiku. So ends the length of my justifications.
Jul 2017 · 182
haiku no. 97
Christian Bixler Jul 2017
yellow tassels
set in disarray perhaps
a static seabed
Jul 2017 · 191
haiku no. 96
Christian Bixler Jul 2017
twilight
there on the waters edge
a shells beginning

or

sunset
there on the waters edge
a shells beginning
Jul 2017 · 211
haiku no. 95
Christian Bixler Jul 2017
dragging wood
now at the end of a long day
a song for weariness
Singing an old song under the roar of the mower, and in those times when I found myself alone as I worked to clear several stands of new growth saplings. It was a shame to cut them. The song helped in keeping up my spirits.
Jul 2017 · 170
haiku no. 94
Christian Bixler Jul 2017
dragging wood
now at the end of a long day
an easy task
May 2017 · 386
haiku no. 93
Christian Bixler May 2017
monument
now upon the faded ground there lies
one more feather
Peace, in the oneness of things.
May 2017 · 316
haiku no. 92
Christian Bixler May 2017
simplicity
now in the flickering of a new bulb
a look-alike
May 2017 · 235
haiku no. 91
Christian Bixler May 2017
wondering
perhaps in the ocean's spray
a ghost's habitation
Goodbye and hello, as always.
the ghost crab--strange creature.
May 2017 · 355
haiku no. 90
Christian Bixler May 2017
turning inward
spring green bends to blended white
a small vase
All things are one.
Apr 2017 · 344
haiku no. 89
Christian Bixler Apr 2017
knowing the answer
in a porcelain vase the deutzia
is slowly wilting
The question of projection, and the peoples love for it.
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