Anselm be a phantom who glideth in the zone
ethereal like zephyr through hills where goblin roam,
Innued by comprehension deftly patterned in the mind
Encumbered by complexities, for us, too hard to find,
Blessed within by genius, enshrouded in a song,
Limiting exposure of thy brilliance too long.
That we mere mortals could aspire to touch thine hem
Or at least peruse thy work affording we some joy again.
M.

As it is in the flesh and bones
  of every man and woman
    and child
and the name and blood
  of every god
as it is within every heart beat
  of every dream
the sting and weight
  and beauty of life
is the essence that makes
  all things mortal
nothing is eternal
  as even forevers
    have their end
and as we breath
  and die
    and dream
from one existence
  into another
we lose and find ourselves
  in and out of time
and as we sleepwalk through
  the skull of death
   and the womb of life
we catch a glimpse of that
  which lives within
  and outside of all
that which defies time and decay
  and in an unending song
  and single thread
we see everything
  is connected
   by love

Every moment in time
is delicate
ready to shatter

Every moment in time
is soon lost
and seldom found

I live in a moth-built cocoon
moss in my ears
deluded into thinking
I will soon be the butterfly
I once was

But in this life
it will never be
unless the ocean
loses its argument
against the land

Unless the moon
says no more
to the sun

So in that spirit I hold out my hands
for the next blessing
receive it dutifully
and with a gratitude deeper than music

Here to chime
until my time
like bells in the wind.

the soul sometimes gets
drifted into a soulbank
gets piled on top
of other drifted souls
awaiting the next
dance with
what they love
to be embraced by the
universe and
waltzed or
tangoed or
salsa’d
into Love

patience is faith and
faith is trust in
the drift


c. 2107 Roberta Compton Rainwater

perhaps a mirage is a dangling carrot
to keep us ever-seeking

perhaps our bodies are the freedom clothes
for our souls

and perhaps our sanity,
isn’t

sane at all
but a fata morgana

science has proven
the moon to be a

bell ---
hollow and resonant

for hours ---
a seismic anomaly

which sounds
when hit

perhaps science
is the fata morgana

and we are sane
after all


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater

A beer can, phone book, a grapefruit
and an Advent wreath
with four candles
in its nest of greens
Two weeks
Two lit
Third one's the Pink
a life three quarters spent?

Next weekend
Saturday-- The Sabbath
falls in Hanukkah

“Blessed art thou, Lord our God
King of the universe
who dost create lights of fire...”

I'll light that third-- the pink one
like a barbarian wise woman
who traveled too far along life's way
to find a Jewish baby, wrapped in rags

...or, was it the old guy that night
lying in the street
outside a New England bar

“Oh Christ! Ya gotta be kidding me!”

Nope, He was there alright

Wallowing in the freezing slush
amid his helpless drunken cries
No cell phones then
Scrapped my pizza plans

On foot alone
waving in frustration  
in the passing headlights
a turquoise, wind-crazed scarecrow
_

“Someone's gotta stop?
Someone has to help us, don't they?”
_

Now there are two beer cans
a grapefruit, and a phone book
beside the advent wreath

Third candle lit and leaning out
for hope along the way