You cannot hold life,
Only a little then
It starts to squirm.  After
All love is free.  Time goes
by and nothing happens
This is peace.  We barely
Notice. ( till its gone) the
Flowers growing wild
On the way home.

Upon entering the microscopic
World one does not immediately
Forget what it is to walk a mile
But when there is no knowable
Way back one soon looks with
Greater interest on what there is
To notice-a whole other world.
How you got there is a mystery;
How you will  ever leave another
Mystery.  This too shall pass and
Every new thing is the beginning
and the end of the love for what is.
Now passes thru what now is.

When the victory is just to
Survive-no matter that the
Future beyond is realistically
Bleak.  That is not the question
Perhaps it never was-Still to
Be is the triumph always is.
The promise of better things
To come is to be still.

Out out brief candle...
I cannot agree with the darkening
Of the perishing of the just son
But it avails naught to show courage
Even for the noble cause.  Better
Than brave soldiering on; fighting
Against the dying of the light in a
War that is the womb of every sort
Of crime.  Is it not better to die
And be born again-to sleep; and
Perhaps dream a  better dream or
Not to dream, to wake or not wake
To signify nothing that I may be
Born again or not as God may let
Be ...At the end of the day. amen.
It is well finished this lover's quarrel.

In my father there was the  greatness
Of poetry-the poetry of greatness.
About true greatness is that it never
Is just was but is and will be.  The
Same is true of true poetry when the
Cliche is someone will hear it again as
When it was brand new and it will be
The echo heard down the corridors of
Time.  No-one speaks to all men, the
Lone man is the universal man and love
Comes again to the despised overcoming
All injury.  Greater than the greatest dreams
Realized the sun is a candle to the Father
He is gone and I shall not see his like again.

I ask where is my wonder I wonder
The greatest riddle there is If truly
Asked is always found; the search
For meaning, the reason for the
Quest is to know the wonder of
Wondering, the wonder of it all
To wonder peacefully, tirelessly
To know then the peace that is
Beyond understanding of such
Is Heaven and it can be known  
Here on earth in a child's eyes.

Oh
Eros how great thou art
Thou who serve  our God
You command us to fall
From our little pedestals
Of righteousness that for
Him are as naught-Fall in
A wilderness of darkness
Where we know no more
And doubt claims our soul
By right; where only Love
Love most merciful in grace
Does lift us back to the light
He remembers not our sins
For we knew not but were
As children as children still
To Him who always Loves
Let us with joy and thanks
Praise Him who cleansed our
Hearts of imagining evil.

If a man really knew the good
He would be good if he could
If a man knew love actually he
would always love if he could.
To know better is to be better
Ever increasing in knowledge
Of the good. To lose this is to
Sorrow.  But who among us
Knows how to always know
The good; even knows once
If he knows it not now.  the
Light is a gift.  Without the
Light one does not know the
Light nor where to go.  Do
We not equally vainly say to
Ourselves we are to blame as
As those who claim merit that
They are better off.  The gift of
The light is needful to us; when
It is known it will be sought by
Us because it is good for us. So
We are told to wait upon the
Lord for He will light our way.

Come
my little dreamer friend
I love you.  Do not let me
Dream alone.  Let us play
In the pleasant land and
Know all the joyful hours
that are ours.  Then let
Sleep come and take us
Weary to our bed till full
Of rest  we wake to dream
Again of our never ending
Love

Oh sweet vanity calling forth
Praise of all you would desire
To be true; of a self that could
Only be known to God that
Fervent lover of all that is child-
Like and as He meant it to be;
And so you believed that men
Were true and Godlike too.
Oh- that it were so is a conceit
Yet also great charity to all us
Here below for yet it might
Be  if we our own good; and
For our own sakes knew better
With what perfect love and so
Marvelously we were made.



for the women I  love and should
have loved more.

What does it mean when everybody
Knows you and nobody should?  You
Are in a dream  Strangers by furtive
Word and sign tell you they know.
They know you.   In a dream the dream
Must be a secret but the clues are every-
Where but only the stranger can see
Them.  If you want to know if you are
Dreaming- Go where you are not known
Go alone...Like a cosmic joke you can-
Not understand then you know you
Must be dreaming,  long dreaming.
The clues are everywhere but still the
Mystery cannot be solved but maybe
Just maybe in this dream or another
You will dream of love more bautifully


If you hear echoes of a Mysterious
Stranger blame Mark Twain.

Oh man has not God made you?
Made you half finished; half wild;
half beast and half angel?  Does not
Thy angel with love see the beauty
Of the creation ever finishing yet
Perfect as it is; and thy creature
Say:Give me yet time for this land
Savage as it is is my true home-
Good you called it just as you made
It.  Can the love that belongs to
Heaven be more yet I not see it?
Let the half be as the whole that
Peace be as  earthly  as  heavenly

I am one of them that walks
Along a country path and bends
From time to time, now and then
To pick a flower and to muse upon
Love's sorrow.  Is that my Church?
It is all II can claim for us and thus
So I would have it so that if it be
Love it would be as freely won.


Mom: It seems like only yesterday.

Our only true vision is with the
Understanding sublime that
Love everlasting knows not but
The perfect and that only the
Perfect is real.  Knowing this
How can it be that our suffering
Exists?  This we do not know;
Can only ask: Father Father...
Why have you forsaken me?

Am I?; a lone question asked: am I still? a continuous tone till nothings heard-Silent is the question silence is the answer;  who nothing  knows nothing tells.

To be the other whom i seek
I say not until i cannot hear
Myself; nor any others.
Then from not all will be
(or not)  Let not.  Let be
Be still...

Like a ribbon of sunlit emeralde caligraphy
In arabic I held it close to my eyes.  Only a few
lines in black ink but all I could see was how
Green the grass is.  I cannot remember the

Words only that they were true not why.


For Stanley Godluski

What sparkles at night is not seen
In the full light of day- the knowing
Of mystery is more wonder ever than
Solution.  How can two mutually ex-
Simultaneously occur yet this is the
Comm0n substance of reality-this
This...This is the wisdom i seek knowing
That with much wisdom comes much
Sorrow.  But in it is an honest work
Even the contemplation of God; and
One does not so much abandon the
Quest for knowledge but falls at last
Into the sleep of the just even unto the
Peace of acceptance of the unknowing
To awake again in the morning to that
to that new heaven and new earth
that makes glad the heart of the child

When all history comes and goes
In the blink of an eye all is unknow
Able.  From dream to dream with
out beginning or end, and all would
Be well but the mad men who tell
Us what is and is not positing more
And more complexity proclaiming all
The while they are the saviors of
Mankind.  It is a great burden, a
Travesty of truth; unbelievably
Cunning.  So the dream ends in
A crucifixion.  Love is dead.  God
Is no more.  On the bright side
Thank God it is finished and you
Return with  no remembrance of
Things past to make you smarter.

I would not tell you of the
Long ago it is too beautiful
And would only make you
Sad that it is gone-It was
Sad then but we knew not
Its beauty but a little.  You
Say time is like the smoke
That gets in your eyes and
Makes you cry  then it gets
In your eyes again.  Long
Ago when it was new it
Ending even then and
Some saw it like it as
It was.  Still smoke gets
In your eyes like it was
Only yesterday All that
Was True of long ago.

Fearing death;loving life;saying goodby;
Eating or sleeping; when you are ready
When you are not ready; when you are
Lonely; when you are sick; when your
Home or when you are away; when
God calls you...When not before not
After; not once not twice not when
You are alive you will not die.  Not
Because you are important; not be
Cause you are not; not while you
Are seeking God; not seeking death
Not while waiting; not rushing to;
Not while knowing; not while not
Not knowing.  Not because
It is in the news paper;not because
People came to your funeral; not
Because you cannot find those you
Love; not because you cannot be
Found.  You will not die for any
Reason nor by any accident.  But
Someday you may laugh with the
Old Jewish woman who said: "you
Call this living-Ausshwitz with
Out a Paddle  is more like it"
Mom you always played the
Straight man I sure miss you..

...hope



uncertain debating with itself
seeing defeat around every
corner but then again its
counterpoint again the theme
with variations but not purely
this but with questions of
what to wear to Milly's party
and what to feed the kids
then weariness restless so
much left to do to find
resolve a wish for quietness
that will not come until:
Love until love is forgot...

The first place people were
Ever called Christians but
That Antioch was in Syria
My Antioch was in Yellow
Springs Ohio.  It was founded
By Horace Mann who has
Been given the title Father of
American  publiceducation.  He is
Best known to many for saying
"Be ashamed
To die until you have won
Some victory for humanity"  
It does seem to me that if
shame alone could keep one
From dying it would be highly
Prized and nobody would have
To die any more so that they we
As allll probably can truthfully
Summon up an adequate supply
of the product  in our biography
But come to think of it I believe
Horace Mann was a Christian
Of some type and He probably
Knew it-was way to keep us alive
In default of the great act which
May prove to be beyond our
Capacities, a perverse blessing
You might say but Antioch is a
Special place-A few years ago
It got resurrected and who can
Say that Horace Mann and may-
Be even shame had no part.  Any-
Way I can claim it as my alma
Mater, a still living place and
I did meet Billy Graham there
Well actually it was on an ex-
cursion to Indiana but that is
Another story I'll leave for later.

When I was a young man
A long time ago I was a
Student intern sent to
Brooklyn Methodist Home
For the aged to learn what
Ever I could.  A guest with
No specific mission I set
Out to learn what it was
Old folks had to say their
Lives had gained specially
Wisdom-a brazen quest.
Among the old I visited
Two ladies stand out in my
Memory.  One was a lady
in her eighties and bed-
Ridden.  She talked to
People and in places I
I could not see or hear
They had lived with her
In a New York that was no
More; had passed away
More than seventy years
Ago.  She looked out upon
Streets of playing children
Was one of them laughing
and shouting.  She saw and
Heard all clearly  and to
Her her childhood friends
Were as real to her as she
To them.  The other woman
Was a widow of a minister
In her eighties as well.  She
Was alert and most proper.
She played the piano for the
Able residents before dinner-
A hymnal piecece no doubt
The dining room was quite
Elegant with linnen table-
Cloths and proper silver
And crystal, it was that sort
Of place   I called upon her
With my subject saying
Can you tell me what you
learned about life by be
Coming old.  She hesitated
but only a moment taken
aback by frowardness I
Suppose then she said:
"Lean not to your own
Understanding but trust
In the Lord with your whole
Heart, Mind and soul"  A
Quote from the Book of
Proverbs she said but she
Had made it her own.  I
Can see her yet in her dignity
Her firm  hold in our life.
The other lady I cannot see
But it seems I can see and
Hear those children playing
On those streets of long ago
And I know each gave me some-
Thing more precious than gold
God can make all things new
Beyond our understanding
Wonderful  to the wisest.

Another word for Charity
Love, Forgiveness Mercy
I have heard it said some
Where that Grace is the
Last guest to arrive at the
Banquet.  All is in readiness
Lord come. Come quickly.

The experts at what is right
Are Not Experts.  How many
Times does this need to be said:
They know not what they do
Forgive them-They know not.

Better there be liars than what
Liars say be true.  Why liars?
Because they claim to know
But they know not and they
Know they know not and ask
Not to be forgiven-shun it
Claiming righteousness.
Have they not heard that
There is none righteous-
No not one.  Of Lies
There are two kinds
the facts and the in-
Uendo of  assumed con-
Sensus which is by far the
Worse: :" He is a Jew" Fact
Unspoken- Untrustworthy
Person and Christ killer
One and same Christ the
Jew and the slayer-God
The son of man-man
Having no false gods
Before Him.  Man Alone
He know not and knows
He know not but still He
Says I am am that I am.

God said it is a dream
And I Am the Dream
Then man the one He
Made in His own image
Said A Dream What is
A Dream?  I shall find
Out-Then after using
All his reason; his tools
His science ;and coming
Up with many enigmatic
Arcane and complex ideas,
Formulations made up of
Pride, vanity and bestowing
A great sense of superiority
Over his cowed and ignorant
Fellows and to be fair paid for
with much mental labor and
Sleepless night and much
Oppression of others thru
Ages and ages till at last
He declares I have got it,
Almost got it as he falls
On his bed sick of all his
doings and there hears
A still small voice, a child's
That He heard long ago in
His youth: "It is only a dream
A dream  and I  the  Dreamer

As Mark Twain said in his auto-
Biography: "It is mostly true"
Sam Clemens said it all in the
"Mysterious Stranger"

At first we did not know that being
Good would feel so glorious but
Being so conditioned we looked
For the reward and in doing so
Something was lost of the
Original impulse so freely
Conceived; and the the reward
worked against the virtue
and the virtue against the reward
Both being diminished until the
Only thing that was left was the law
A weight against freedom that
Ever inspires rebellion for when
Freedom is lost virtue is dead.

For time to exist can only mean
That Love can be born again.

Never has the thin veil of maya seemed so obvious
Even as it enlarged itself in the omnipresent media
That in vain parade proclaims a total victory over
All beneath and above.  In this separated zone in
Which our lives are lived but are not the one ttruth
Is prohibited, crucified, buried and Love in the grave
Is proclaimed dead in the flesh, but from there rises
Again first in our hearts and minds where one looks
Out-  A child laughs and we know all is well at last.

As following one who knew the end
Already in the everlasting submits
That even so there is nothing done
That can alter Truth.  The Kingdom
Come is all that really is; and all that
Is not is vain nor can take from it but
Passeth away even as to never having
Been.  To all dispute He at last is mute
For it is not by his will it is done
Recognizing that not by refutation
Is  the victory  gained.  
It is more perfect that even without
Valor the vanquished becomes the
Son because His Father has made
It so.  As one wakes from sleep and
The morning and the evening star
Do frame the day you will come to
The eternal shore knowing no other

The peace of perfect indifference: Que sera sera
The song goes but is it even possible to attain
No less maintain.  is it not likely that someday
What will will be a disequilibrium that is anti-
Thetical to all that is dispassionate to the
Peaceful disposition.  Is there nothing so out-
Rageous as to be unacceptable; that no easy
Philosophy can encompass?  What then?
To which I say; This too shall pass; hope
But the point penetrates, the wound is deep
A scream of terror ensues; Then what?
Doom, Doom Doom till at last there is a
Silence, a holy silence that still I  can hear.

Whats to say that all the familiar memories
Of a long time ago and of just yesterday are
Not made up whole just a waking moment
Ago.  Who is to say the lone dreamer asks
Himself what is the truth.  As it seems to
me a great man once said: The dream marks
Were always there to see.  All the noise and
All the news; the cruel history of man to
Man; Forget thee not the holocaust; there
Is no God; and lies abound.  What is to be
Done?  To dream a better dream the great
Man said,said he was alone. Who's words
Are these is it you or I who is the stranger
Who is that man you ask.  It is the lone
Dreamer-Hi ** Silver and Blue and To
All a Good night.  He rides ever onward
Till Love be made perfect in the Kingdom
To come beyond this world to life ever
Lasting be it only his own; but
He will
Yet dream a better  dream for us all
Where we love Him as He loved us.

Neither do I know when all approve
Nor when they condemn.  If the
Horn is in me my agony exclaims
My innocense.  But others then are
quick to ask: Then Is your God Un-
Just?   If I am wrong what is there
To say but that I did not know and
spoke while yet in ignorance.

Sin and merit are hidden from my
Eyes  If I err then upon His mercyI
I must rely.  If good comes to meI
Shall I think that it is just?  No
I shall think it is grace and that
My God is; and yet I may see
His face  another day.  God
Approve when what is vain is
Stripped away that the gift be
Freely given, joy be unfeigned
Truth and innocense can be
Reconsiled by the gift  of love

There is something of Perfection in
Improvisation and something of
Free association in perfection of.  
Beauty in the eye of the beholder

To me the child's letters speak  
With meanings more divine
Than the most polished words
Do we not with our heart first
Make music yet never hear it.

A is not B
Being A excludes  being B
But with God all things are possible
Therefore  A and B can be One

A lonely woman meets a lonely man
In some imagined universe
They don't give a **** if they are
Right so long as they are not alone
But only if mutually exclusive.

A friend of mine said of my Magnum
Opus: Its a thought of mind.Indeed.
All Things are-at the atomic level
There is no difference between yes and no
And are not all things made up of atoms
Thoughts of mind if you will -stuff and
Nonsense as they say: A mind must be
Free What if science is filled with non-
Sequiturs, a little wee play must not be
Condemned; consistency is the bain of
Small minds so we must be the antithesis
Oh Father God would you **** your
Children; crucify them for their illogic
It is all but  but a little pretense
Wee play like the goat footed balloon
Man.  Father are

you angry that your poor
Child Science is fill of nonsense.  Someday
You may tear the universe up like a page,
A thought of mind but by then we, all
Your wee children will be home again.
Father oh Father let us love Thee
Play with us and do not be mad
We did not mean to be so bad.

Every day you fight to get out of a world you never made
Maybe there are no great victories so you celebrate the
Little ones.  Soon enough you realize This is your life; it is
A process and you are in it; and so you say with a laugh
You call this living well maybe the worst is over. This may
Be less than  repentance; this resignation but there is a charity
In having lost what you would not lose there is still a way
So what your dead you say there is still a way forward
Fever felled you rise again and again  in the in between-
Still in the process making a gesture on the Grecian urn
The lover ever chasing the green child that is and is not.
There is peace in doing what you do; anticipation in the
Constant;  in the moment before you will hold your love.
Is there a greater Joy than this then I do not know it...

different as we are
different as we may be
In Love's mirror
I love you and you
Love me.  I see you
and you see me.  In
Love's mirrorI play
You and you play me
Together forever in
a game of peek aboo
Hide and seek Away
Wee go Loving each
Other in God's mirror
Me and my dog playing
I Love you and you love
Me in God's mirror.
That where i will find
Where you will find me.

That it be not so sayeth thou the Lord to my lord.  I knoweth not what I do stayeth my hand; permit me not all that I would do if man's in humanity to man were true.  That there be somethings I may not do that all that is good be true and all that is true be good.  How then shall my children be false to me.  
The ages are mine to wear away all that is not ever lasting and if nothing else remain:
Let  Love be all that's true; and what is ever so be so even now.

I was traveling along a road at night.  Itt was in an area without street lights. An unidentified person was in in the passenger seat.  I felt like I was on familiar road from the past.  All at once we came on a a guest area it was brightly lit but more than that the light was a chromatic radiance gold firelike  and as if the diviseable spectrum was seen  I drove on into the darkness complaining to my companion that the brightness was too much.     After a little while we we came to another brightly lit roadside settlement, it was similarly lit and this time I noticed that as I passed the light did not fade but passed through the atmosphere undiminished by the distance-a bright  amber fire that was immediate even from miles away.  I said to my traveling companion that it was a new light  unlike any that I had known before.  Thinking I was complaining he said yes it was new.  Then I said that it is beautiful -the most beautiful light I have ever seen. He said: Thank you   It was then very early morning and I awoke feeling a sense that having seen the light even in a dream that I had been healed.  But  I remembered that it might be wiser  not to  hope.  
Mica is fools gold but it glitters not less for that; and the sea with diamonds sparkles with praise no less as it give its kisses back to the sun.  If a promise is not kept is a rose arose that promises less; can I then give up a  love that is too little? So I look back and forth upon a dream for  all that is yet  to be ..

The fact that history may ever be a burlesque leaves villains space to make themselves likeable disguised as they are in our very own neighborhood Rubes and so winsome by a default predisposition for the merely familiar whereas the superior is merely strange.  It is an almost endearing flaw.

Certainty and Uncertainty.  How can I be so sure of myself even sure that I am unsure.  Is there not somewhere in me my certainty and that in contention with my uncertainty and why should one prevail over the other?  Yet to say both maybe true ; and so co mingle them seems a muddy solution that may not be so easily  clarified.  Let us say that Iwe separate them in a still and then condense the purer vapor from the residue what then do we have not one but two  back where we started from.  Yet from this perplexity in time may not a pearl of great price grow; and in the constancy of the conundrum may not an enduring peace ensue-In the night a starry beacon winking seems to fall into the summer darkness  declaring heaven near and it is so.  So so beautiful being here with you

The dog barked down the road.  He is facing something I cannot see but a solemn silence surrounds both of us.  What is what was.  A chip of time, a bit of mica catching a sun beam; capturing infinity in a moment that only we can see.  Diamonds in the dust so are the  children of the everlasting one.

Any path would I take that you showed me love along and promised there was more to come.   What would tribulations be to me on that journey.  Yet not every guide conducts us forever.    And to persist for the sake of a mistaken loyalty,  to betray grace by meritorious  abnegation  is to be led astray.   It is not Love's way nor Charity what is not freely given. (to be continued)

Was the memory of the word before it was written; or was the word in the memory or the memory in the word.  There are ragged wholes in the memories of the old.  People gone; landscapes and places, entire epochs gone.      Not neatly subtracted but torn out, rent out large moth holes chewed out.  It is this irregularity that makes them poignant.  They cross the regular boundaries like pages ripped and irregular across the measured grid; and we are like  ancient wanderer mendicants are dressed in holey beggars garments from all the countries of the heart still homeward bound, clowns of time becoming the naked memory of that which was  was before the world.

Though a thousand yesterdays were to pass in unremitting gloom If today be that day when all is changed and we could begin again  where we left off in Love"s first bloom what are all those days that went before?  They would be as naught  For now we would be in the midst of amber  Oh child the wonderful particulars of you.  Oh child  I  say it- let me love you always.

We live in a clash of cymbals then hear the noise and the opposing silence.  Another thing and another thing.  We see it is always so  Love and Loss; Love and rejection a double dose.  Surely there is shame and pride, beauty and ugliness, long summer days dreaming unafraid then head on toward fearful death so much left undone unsaid a total loss farm we bought then against the end one famous long ago our advocate in the stunning dream the rejected stone.  It is over.   One is born remembering nothing.  Blessed nothing.  It was better it seems than this rude place.  But now I know no other.Some day it shall be written,perhaps I will write about how lovely it was in the morning.

Two men were talking to God you might even say they were  praying both askeded for the same gift; vulgarly known as filth lucre-money.  Gods told them that they each could have their prayer answered but   they would have to decide whether they would put their faith in luck or merit.  The First said I am a democratic man I hardly can bear to to think I am better than any other so my choice is luck.  The second said well it hardly seems right that an undeserving man should be disproportionately rewarded,no that is not at all just.  I will put my faith in merit.  The gift was given to each and each retained his own conceits but when the wind from God blew and  nothing remained of either of their fortunes  All is Vanity- Nevertheless for Love' sake I shall fear the  Lord who gives me peace.

Today is bright but tomorrow it will pales before the long ago-like so many phantom steps, a journey of days only seem because...once some bright sun's glory ceased, evolved not but was abruptly gone.  There the heart stopped and remained like a soldier sentinel faithful mid beat to  a past tha was  no more. Yes my little children once we were young.  You were young and you were my world.   That is what I remember the yesterday I will recall,the place where our treasure are  stored that neither moth nor rust can corrupt-where we shall awake after a little sleep, the last of the shredded  storm gone in the brightening dawn- only a day after yesterday we  will be there together again. No time shall have passed.

It is not this yet this is on the path.  There is the coincidenceof two worlds each the antithesis of the other, mutually excvlusive; yet each is an affirmation of the other.  Like a double negative they cancel each other out.  This is the nothingness that cannot be known; the mystery that can never be solved .  The Nothingness preceedes all.  All is contained  in it yet it is unbound.  It is not a question  to be persued.  .  The child stands before it not understanding .  This is its the final reality- the non object- forever unknowable.  Yet this can be accepted  the permanent paradox , the dark and the light that is neither.  The One.  The One  accepts all, lets all otherness enter into  Being; and knowing not one knows: the grandeur,  that great peace which surpasseth understanding is knowing the  unknowable God.  He says I am that I am and we are fulled with joy that the Truth is in us and it is the gift of eternal being Unknown.

In so much as I can objectify myself I am the dreamed.  In so much as I cannot objectify myself I am the dreamer. How great is my love?  Greater than I can know-How great is the universe this too I cannot know.  What is the smallest this is beyond mme.  From the least to the greatest I am surrounded by the unknown; so much is the dreamer greater than the dreamed.  I know little so the dreamer's love for the dream is greater than than the love that is known as the  love of the child  by its parents is the greater; as the creation by the creator but this that we cannot is love.