I AM A TREE
Did you think I was a woman?
Oh no, I am a tree
rooted and immovable
impossible to conceive
the scenes
that I have seen
Now gnarled and warped
weathered and aged
wrinkled and withered
bent to the ends of recognition
too rigid to give in
to the whim of man
I stand true to the tune
of the wind echoing
my own inner rhythm
persistent, consistent, constant
Perhaps every tree
was once a woman –
only a woman could stand so strong
fall so proud
when the axe of age claims her
and earth sets a bed for her
THE MOON OF THE MOUNTAINS
The moon of the mountains
is larger, brighter, swallowing the heavens,
closer too are the jackals
and nights are cool, even in summer
The sun seems closer also
and some days the distant ranges
are so defined and crisp
it is as though perspective
has been obliterated
and peaks not seen before
are sudden in their beauty
So that there is a feeling
of floating above it,
up up to the place where
the moon looks down
and directs its beams
to brighten the mountains
Then up further through the milky way
to disappear into it
to become one with it
a beacon for the traveler
who might prefer to observe the world
from this unusual perch
before returning to continue
the journey on planet earth
QUICKLY UNTO THE SPIRITS
I am disappearing
into the ether
of history
unto the spirits
calling me
a drop
in the reservoir
of eternity
disintegrating
as rapidly
as a meteorite
implodes
into its essence
as fast
as a star tumbles
inside a black sky
Disappearing
BLACK COFFEE
I am the lump of sugar
you put into your coffee
nonchalantly in the mornings
I melt to the touch of your heat
and sweeten your bitter brownness
with all the happiness
a small cube of sugar
is able to muster
FROM THIS DESK
From the desk at which I sit
and bring beauty through these hands,
this brush, onto the paper, into the world,
the corner of my eye observes the wind
rustle a tablecloth
on the other side of my heart,
a friend whose son is dying,
a poet who had a breakdown
another who has just had
a difficult diagnosis
in my painting, human-free,
the North abloom,
mountains regal in the background,
pine trees and peace,
sky blue with optimism,
ground green with eternity
on the radio
a six-year-old Mozart
is wooing my heart
whom do I fool? a world in pain
paradise so close to a hostile border
that, if you listen, you will surely hear
mortar shells falling
am I permitted the peace
which creativity gives
yet compassion prevents?
I sign the painting
a month in the making
and hurt for the world
DOUBLE BLESSING
a setting sun
in the west
feather clouds
flame pink-gold
over a waveless sea
glasslike
in its stillness
so blue
it disappears
into its transparency
at the same instant
to the east
sitting on the tip
of the mountain peak
a gossamer full moon
a globe of pale orange juice
peeks over the mountain
as though trying to decide
if it’s time to rise
and you wish you were a creature
akin to the chameleon
whose eyes are independent
so that the left could see the sunset
the right could see the moon
and the brain would view both
simultaneously
and your neck could stop
this impossible craning
