A view of blue leading a glaring eye
Toward a deathless heaven’s sigh.
Softly sinking the trembling sun,
As haply as I look upon you as I run.
In these thoughts I find myself desiring
God’s art within this simple man’s inspiration.
I look to the East, I look to the West
Looking for the primmer, Heaven’s Rosetta Stone, lest
It all be to difficult to keep it in heaven's focus.
I clean the lens and offer its richness
To a legendary creature somewhere adrift.
She gazes through my eyepiece bereft
Of the inner truth that she sees.
Focused ahead of you, you see the Helix Nebula
Otherwise known as the Eye of God, the Alpha,
The Omega, the Beginning and the End.
It’s then you see your body transcend.
You look from the eyepiece and then into my eyes
And I feel us tantricly knowing that we are soul mates.
“What do you see?” I ask as you turn back into the scope.
You answer, “I see the thread of hope
That holds the entire garland together.
I see that we are small and the world is big.
I see that we came from the one end and forever
We will return to the other."
Looking away from the scope she continues;
"In between in this life there is a contradiction
A duality – And if we are to ever experience
This oneness, the one mirrored in this eyepiece,
Then we as a pair need to break
Through the apparent reality and take
Hold of the hidden reality."
Looking back through the eyepiece
She continues, "That which I see
Is at the source of our dual niche.
Mastering this duality returning us always
I was a planet explorer
Long before they explored
Then I was a farmer
Long before they toiled the soil
With their hapless endless rows
I was the black man, the red man
The white man and the yellow one too
Long before there was any separation
I was a cowpoke
Long before there
Were any herds
I was your cabin boy
Long before you ever planned
That well deserved vacation
I was a pioneer
Building my home of mud
Long before there were any houses
I was a stream
Before there were any streams
For I filled each one of them
With my own silvery pearls
We recite our lives in poetry
revealing the most intimate passion
We must respect our own heart's
murmured sighs ;
love begets love ― let be
to the whispers of the soul
in each passing breathe ;
for every intimate truth
hold forth from within ,..
but mere abandoned words
when silence declaims
the only sound heard
June rivers 2017
Once I type a poem,
It's out of my hands.
It might be recited
By a poet
On top of a Pile of Garbage
In Rio De Janeiro, Brazil.
It might be used
To incite a Revolution in Moldova.
It might be combined
With a Nude Photograph
Of a Russian Chick
By a young man in Soweto
To make a multimedia presentation
To show his Grandpa.
In any case,
Whatever the Hell I'm typing
At the Byers Branch Library
In the Santa Fe Drive Arts District
Of Denver, Colorado
Is Out of My Hands
Once I post it online.
I don't have any control.
Today, Avocado and Coconut took me to an Antique house
but this house sits happy and run banquets every glint of the moon
Ball of beams spread out the sky horizon -
giving warmth and fascination
Tables and chairs parties with delicious drinks and cakes
Glasses and plates dance its music beyond the wall
You hear the munches and the cheers and the sips -
reverberating all my senses
Smiles welcome you saying,
“Come join the party with us
Feel the pleasure of your home
As you eat your time on"
At the corner, a big collection of knowledge quietly squat
that reads Vietnamese language, Oh No, not my tongue!
And a vintage camera from nineteen sixty three sitting on a run down shelf,
of which my curiosity my fingers run on its face in wonderment
The cozy sofa looks pale and gray
carries the weight of the earths from side to side
It looks really sad and tired.
but, it gives pleasure and comfort to all
It’s love and pain - Yo!
And we - Under the spell of mango and peach tea -
Numb from feeling how the sofa feels.
Only stirring memories with our spoons out in the air
And we breathe them, smell them, eat them to our endless satisfaction