A long time ago I left the sweet caress
of my Beloved to sojourn here briefly.
I blinked only once and yet here I am,
awaiting an arrival unknown.
I have received neither revelation nor even
notes scribbled on papyrus to tell me
the song I came here to sing.
How am I to know if I have remembered
the melody correctly or if I have forgotten
all that I knew before?
Perhaps you are the one to quench my
desire to hear each falling and rising
note as if each is no less, than the whispered
promise of coming home,
coming home to You.
Moment by Moment
Stopping long enough to stand
the tic toc of time still, I find
my breath taken aback.
There is an existent sheer
ecstatic pulse coursing through
everything, even you and I.
Eyes once locked, sight frozen
by the illusion of seeing, now
are wide open to the singular
sensation ever encompassing
our field of vision- moment
by stellar moment.
Whose There To Push The Swing?
Whose there to push the swing
when your daddy is not around?
Whose there to tell you to be brave
and that it is okay to cry when you fall
and scrape your knees?
Whose there when the one who brung
you is gone? Men, gather round,
tell all the untold stories of daddies
past, present and gone.
If you are or were blessed to have a
daddy who pushed your swing,
know that there are many among you,
who have fallen and never had the chance
to look into a father’s eyes for the gift
to be passed down- one generation
to the other. Whose there to push
Because our sacred breath happens
automatically beneath our awareness.
Because trees turn an improbable
green in the Spring.
Because each of us is capable
of such love for one another.
Because I look for the humanity
in you, to keep my own sanity.
Because, because above all else,
I am from that which is I am,
and to I am will I return.
After spending only a brief time
with a couple who must judge sight-
by nature’s design- via their other
senses, heightened to see with ears,
nose and fingers what darkness-
does not yet reveal to us-whose
sight is too oft taken for granted.
I yearn to keep in memory their
profound lesson of great gratitude,
for seeing their way through another
day filled with the grace and elegance
of being. In witnessing the gift
of life these two celebrate, I wonder
for a moment, which one of us is really
more susceptible- to experience
(Photograph by Paul Fusco/Magnum
As an Ecstatic Poet, my aim is to awaken in you, the part of you that knows the truth of your being, the beauty of your soul.