Making Room

Make room for a quiet sound, take a broom
to your heart, sweep distractions away
clear away notions and fear, let the sound
sweep through you, a wave washing sand
let the silence between two waves find you

Wander in mind without care, be the wonder
of a day lily opening slowly, the voice
not of power high or low, your own voice,
and when you hear it, be still and listen
as you did to the voice of your mother

Listen as to an old friend, as to a song
on your deathbed, lost in listening, listen
as to a great love you lost come back to you
to love you and never leave you again.

 

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Cover photo and poem by Rayn Roberts

Campers

 Campers

Tiny thing, little being cricket, so mundane

But where two become a thousand
Music fills the canyon, “We are here,
We are here!” for territory, hunger and love
The crickets sing—
And from darkness as we breathe to
The outer edge of heaven, how many beings
Breathe with us, how many stars
Burn ’round us–

Far from the all-seeing god of church
Far from the sound of gunshots in town
As the last sparks rise like little stars
About our campfire, I know you here
I want you near, saying
Yes, Yes, We are here, my love.

Misting waterfall, redwoods trees
Did you walk with me through these
The coral and blue summer-deep dawn
New mountains lifting old seas, here
A billion and two stars moving above
A thousand crickets singing, just we two–
And I don’t even like camping, seriously
I hate it– oh what a man won’t do for love.

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Garden by the Sea

If not for bouquets of summer glory gathered by gentle hands
What reason for gardens by the sea?
The muffled break of waves is not as loud
As the whiff and whirr

of hummingbird

Black and yellow bumble bee busy in the bloom–
Each comes to gather gold–
Drawn by sunlight and color,
The ladies in hats and summer gowns, baskets on their arms
Stroll down from the house.
When they return,
Marigold scent in hair, dahlia pollen on hem and sleeve,
They will fill the rooms with rainbows of zinnia and stock .

Even as Neptune sleeps, the sea a great blanket over him,
Deep monsters and storms quiet now,

Everything is Energy,

Ocean air blowing streams of light
Whirling through bush and tree, grasses pushing up,
Butterflies afloat, the mind brimming, spilling over,
Spilling its delight…

Light as a finch skipping on air!

I have dreamed such days, lived far too few, when death
Did not seem final, truth not so rare:
Hours pushing open leaves and petal on petal
Unfolding in fragrance….

…flooded with light, holding form
For what we call a day, but is, one flower each calls their own.

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The poem was inspired by a painting I saw in Japan, by my friend, Yumi.

For a Fisherman

It’s not easy talking one man to another, son to father
Men tied by time, not easy to untie a bird’s nest
In a reel of memory, find love
Without our common and particular pain
Blocking the way, a word– a breath between us.

The days rise and go, gravity tugs bone and blood;
Some men are made fools
Thinking they know
Who will to the grave go first…
And not clearing the stone in a word
Letting go the trap of time
Snares some
Crying out while silent they remain–

Why we fail to speak our love is strange
When speaking ends our pain, father
From the darkness of my simple heart

I love you more than trout love the sound of rain
More than lilacs the April scented air
Or the elk its antler– you taught me well:
Not in business or in war is the measure
Of the soul, but in the love we come to know.

 

 

copyrightRayn Roberts 2017