Agreed, that love is attraction
    - though not only surface sensual,
      as you maintain,
      not only toward the external -
But that sweet involuntary pull is
      also inward for expansion;
      for interior sifting
      and resolution.
Love is primarily attraction to
      unexplored depths
      of the self.




- fr

Barring a robin
nothing sacred
at the vacant church

- fr

What you ask of me
       is not possible
              nor desirable.

Unconditional love is reserved
       for the soil, the seedling
              and the blossom,

Not for the overgrowth
       of errors, weaknesses
              and shortcomings.

I don't even love that
       in myself -
              why, then, in you?


- fr

Because we are earth.
Because we are not here
And nature over there.
Because it is a dysfunctional mental habit
To conceive of ourselves as separate
From the flowing energy of the planet
- the air, water and nourishment -
That we transmute to our own energy.
Because we set aside a day to recall
How dangerously mistaken it is
To treat as a lowly inexhaustible slave
One that is both single-minded parent
   and sustaining comrade,
Worthy of love and respect.



- fr

This has nothing to do with the Absolute -
     this idea of God.

In childhood, God was the loving
     Father in the sky -
Outsized, sporting a flowing white beard, and
     ever attentive to my prayers.

Now, God is an abstract notion -
     transcendent and immanent,
Infinite, eternal, and
     difficult to embrace.

But all of this has nothing to do
     with God -
All these continually mutating
     mental constructs.



- fr

All matter is fluid
She believed
As she passed effortlessly
Through the concrete -
Then realizing the passage
Was in imagination only
She felt the warm blood pumping
From her skull onto a
Cold factual sidewalk.



- fr

I said to myself,
   "Someday soon you will
     be dead and gone.
     Your consciousness dissolved.
     Forever."

Myself replied,
   "What does this mean?
     I have no experience
     with which to relate."

"This is true," I acknowledged, "but
     you possess imagination
     and thus may conceive
     of opposites."

"Yes," Myself agreed, "but
     imagination can only construct
     with what has been received.
     To conceive of
     the void of all conception
     is beyond my parameters."






- fr

This woodland
differs by lack of
Nothing.

Backward on the road
lies the stifling Void -
granted safe haven
behind complex cosmetics -
crass trivialities -
and labeled
"the real world."

Here, in the forest,
there is only
Incorruption.

No effort
is required
to breathe.


- fr

I've come back now
       from the periphery -
       where the multitude of
       things with names
Occupies all thinking,
                 all emotive reaction.

This must be what is termed
       primal wisdom
       - this constant compulsion toward
         the substantive.

Your arms and your mouth
The warm breath on my skin
The caressing movements of your body
Through one transient night...

Restores all
       to simplistic clarity -
Leaves me grounded
       in the real.


- fr

River as persistent
as the enduring ******
for self-preservation -

Carving by currents
and flowing within
a necessary course

Determined
by ancient
inherent law.

Oblivious to danger
and ignorant of doubt
it is perpetually unconcerned -

The river carelessly
generous
without discrimination -

Ever sustaining
trees, grasses and
underbrush shelters

Home to life in its waters
and nourishment for those
that come to the banks

Never quarreling with any
human imposition
be it sport or utility

And always providing
the perfect primordial
music for meditation

Always offering
an immaculate lullaby
for the tranquil restorative
of sleep.


- fr

Surveying the large and burdensome
Masonic Holy Bible
Given to you decades ago
As a Brother of the Fraternity,
Left behind upon your death,

Amazed at the excellent condition
Of the text; the presentation
And family record pages blank...

One would think this a token volume
Meant only for in-home display
Until finding, scattered throughout
And clinging near the spine,
Dried and preserved clovers from
Distant summer days.

Four-leaf clovers, a couple hundred or more,
Gathered over the years from fields,
Hillsides numberless, and pressed
Into the arms of kings David and Solomon,
Mingled with Isaiah's prophecies and
Seeded about the Sermon on the Mount -
The great tome laced with leaves
Of discovery, welcome surprise, safekeeping.

Some may believe this a misuse
Of a sacred text, but perhaps
It is a testament to your disposition
That an oversized and weighty Holy Bible
Was made a repository of so many
Little verdant flags of good fortune.


- fr

Not in any book
       - the timeless intonation
       of Being -
The Word
       in nature
       in completeness
       in you.


- fr

Genial artist
deer roaming mountain meadow
merge in pastels


- fr

Corn stalks and
wildflowers -
synchronous


- fr

A crescent moon
creates sublime
mountain silhouettes

Against an unclouded
background dome
that is the Milky Way

Beneath which cool
vigorous breezes -
carrying scent of pine
and highlands river -

Drift over underbrush
where crickets sound off
in their perfect pitch
monotone.

And sitting here
on the wilderness threshold
I await
philosophical and literary
inspiration, but
- nothing.

So, simply a nod
in gratitude
to the unadulterated
vista.


- fr

Did God weep
       over the angel fallen?
Or simply intone,
       unemotionally,
"It is so."


- fr

Hushed void within
absorbs stillness without -
overarch of stars


- fr

A lifetime alone
In this individual sphere -
Though there were seasons when
Love erased the pain
Of self-consciousness.






- fr

This is not the mentality
     by which we were schooled -
This sense of nothing
     solid about ourselves -
Nothing permanent, nothing stable
     to lovingly cleave to -
That "I" is only a
     transient idea of "I"



- fr

Why no choir
singing now of blessedness?
fawn by the brook

- fr

Paint a picture for me -
Brush strokes in elephant blood
     of corrupted soil and
     toxic waterways,
     sunless air hanging over
     bombed-out orphanages -
But create with these elements
An image positive
In tone and direction
Framed by youthful vision -
Paint for me a picture
     of possibilities -
Convince me there is a way out...





- fr

Little Billy said
oh yeah?    wait and see what
i do with sonnets








- fr

Flash of enlightenment
When, pained and struggling,
You at last reach the
Subterranean chamber
And find the Psyche juggling
Christmas cookies and
Chainsaws.






- fr

We live not so much as to what we are
As to what we are becoming.
But I suspect that what we are becoming
Is, in truth, what we really are.
This now merely a state of separation
Hastening toward unity, integration,
                     wholeness...
Up ahead, the road will become narrower,
                     rougher...
The journey will become increasingly
                     harder...
You may want to surrender...
                     take my hand...


- fr

Musty old volume
an intelligence encased
brittle paper snaps




- fr

Blink,
the lightning flash
still severs
through closed eyes

Center,
on the temporary illumination
and periphery is
destroyed

Deep in the purple aftermath,
radiance remembered
as horrid ominous thunder
applauds

Defiant fear,
seeking to embody
godlike
power...


- fr

Intense loneliness
personifies itself
before inanimate walls

With a variety of
empathetic characters
to populate the room

Weaving and performing
an anxious dance
of justifications

For never permitting
vulnerability
to be exposed.



- fr

Jesus says
of the lilies of the field:
       That even Solomon in all his glory
        was not arrayed as one of these.

Basho writes:
       *Come out to view
        the truth of flowers blooming
        in poverty

Gaze deeply and find
stellar parentage
in the columbine


- fr

"You are a lost soul,
       a fool destined for hell-fire...
  Such is the fate of those
       who do not believe the Word of God..."

"What evidence do you have,"
       I asked,
"that this is the Word of God?"

"It's The Holy Bible, for Christ's sake!
       The Word of God -
       everyone knows that -
       it says so itself!
  How can you be so stupid?!"

"What evidence...?" I asked.


- fr

Heaviness of soul-searching
is ****** into sympathetic arms
- alleviation in darkness.

We are the animals
desiring answers
but needing affection.

Warm lips and fluids
a temporary release
from oppressive questions

Though even sensual yearning
will be embraced
by ultimate disclosures.

Why deny your hunger
while searching
for a god?

Both share
in the equation.

-fr

Free thought path
through twilight of faith
- wake to gold



- fr