Parable of the Fisherman

for Sierra Golden

When the fisherman camped along the lake
an inner waterfall
spilled over him, how deep it runs
in blood and bone
the oneness of our kind
as if the heart posed the question
What then makes us different?
Not so much not even personality.
It’s extreme love and hate
the sea of emotions between the two
makes the individual unique
but the measure of humanity for him
moved more in one direction,
how much we care for others beings
no matter how they are–
It is written love your neighbor, strangers
love your enemies,
love and do as you please
but the man who inspired it later was a god–
The fisherman stopped thinking
took out the hook of doubt
sure as you or I he’d never fill that job
geared up his boat, brought home seven trout.

 

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Dreaming The Old Man

Through slanting doors and broken windows
odd furniture in dim rooms

old books and roses rotting with age
I follow you,

charts and crumpled maps and paper
glitter like a lost hope–

Sudden sky and wide water
reeds along a shore

under a silver willow you call to the other side.

No limb or vine to hold my feet
my boyhood swept away

to a green recess of memory
nothing to pull me back

only rock and sand, sky and air bathed in amber light,

Peace, I am with you
looking in your old eyes, stretching out a hand

sinking in a river of night
transparent stones on the bottom of a lucid pool

I glide in bright shadows
fish swimming

in and out our one and separate selves

 

 

Green Lake Heron by Rob KasheyROB PICS 430

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Photos  by Rayn Roberts

Apparition by Rob Kashey

Apparition by RR

Nosegay

What Chopin wanted most
was to die
in George Sand arms,
on his deathbed
all he got
Was a nosegay of violets
She left at his door
When her daughter
turned her away–
People can be such shits.

Nosegay

federico-chopin

He wrote a friend on his deathbed, “She promised me I would die in her arms.”

How did Chopin die?

George_Sand

Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin aka George Sand, Novelist.

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And yes, I’m aware that the event may be based on legend, but many believe it is true and by it’s very intensity, a legend becomes a painful little poem with a nasty but truthful conclusion.  It is justified by that truth.   “Art is not a study of positive reality, it is the seeking for ideal truth.”   ~George Sand