Watch a hummingbird Alongside a trellis. So fast do its wings Beat that it seems To hover in place, Feathers puffing wildly.
The appearance of stillness Takes great effort. If it could sing, what Would it sound like? Whistles threading The eye of a needle.
If it told a story to the stars It would be all synecdoche And anodyne for the pine. Piecemeal stitched together One earth there is no silence. A mother flings wide her quilt And loses all her children,
I grew up in Christian fundamentalism, went to hell, came back, became a Presbyterian then a Buddhist Presbyterian, and now I'm a profane Presbyterian Zen Taoist -- not that I'm into labels or anything. Here's what I've learned so far: The more you know, the more you know you don't know.
2 comments:
Niobe
Watch a hummingbird
Alongside a trellis.
So fast do its wings
Beat that it seems
To hover in place,
Feathers puffing wildly.
The appearance of stillness
Takes great effort.
If it could sing, what
Would it sound like?
Whistles threading
The eye of a needle.
If it told a story to the stars
It would be all synecdoche
And anodyne for the pine.
Piecemeal stitched together
One earth there is no silence.
A mother flings wide her quilt
And loses all her children,
[Disposable Poem December 2, 2009]
Dr. Mike
In our society of 24/7 news and information, the hardest of the three you listed often is the middle one.
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