There are those who disallow me
But their ways are not mine, and
I cannot stay any longer under this roof
Of anger and humiliation.
We children of the disillusioned grow up orphans:
Mired in shock,
Swallowing poisons dry-eyed.
We live on a most subtle distress
We grow up on baby aspirin.
Now
Out of a rock
I must carve a beating heart
I have a sledge and heavy chisel
To free the fragile core of love
I take up this task against the stone.
I leave home.
My lure has flown far out of sight
And I beat my fledgling wings until I am borne aloft
After its soaring trail.
Where are you?
Faith must be steadfast
Love must be faith in the midst of confusion
Love’s healing must be a subtle thing...
Someday I will catch up to it, but now my lure shoots ahead
Like an arrow laughing for the strength of the bow.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Social Detente 1971
Well, I can’t play my gitar ‘cause everyone can hear
I play too close to home
And everyone can hear
They’re tapping their feet
But not to the beat
Oh, cut my hair, or bust my gitar
I’d like to sing right out
But I play too close to home
And staying at home is like running away:
You can’t write that down!
Some folks shut out the truth like a stray cat.
I play too close to home
And everyone can hear
They’re tapping their feet
But not to the beat
Oh, cut my hair, or bust my gitar
I’d like to sing right out
But I play too close to home
And staying at home is like running away:
You can’t write that down!
Some folks shut out the truth like a stray cat.
Where Am I Sleeping? 1970/1982
My life has turned into a hard sleep
And the sleep into work
And this unconscious reality into an endless theater of short stories
Which I ad lib,
Relying on the certainty that I will reach the end
Comic, or tragic.
The more I learn
The merrier I laugh
The harder I cry.
The direction of my heart against the direction of my compromises
Is tensile.
I compress.
Am I sleeping?
Is this a machine?
And the sleep into work
And this unconscious reality into an endless theater of short stories
Which I ad lib,
Relying on the certainty that I will reach the end
Comic, or tragic.
The more I learn
The merrier I laugh
The harder I cry.
The direction of my heart against the direction of my compromises
Is tensile.
I compress.
Am I sleeping?
Is this a machine?
Rebuffing the Suitor 1971
I cut my hair.
My casual suitor had warned me not to
As if cutting it was an unpardonable transgression
A regression from womanhood
Back into some vague condition akin to eunuch
The hair was my obligation
As temptress.
But it was a sacrifice I felt bidden to commit
Bidden to shed this convenient disguise
For I am not a temptress at all
Just a girl.
When he came and saw it
There was silence.
In the end, I left and he did not try to stop me.
A great weight fell from me when I shed that long hair
Now I was starting fresh again
I could ripen slowly
Tomboy again
Safe
In a good position to observe
Beauty takes time to mature
It has nothing to do with hair.
My casual suitor had warned me not to
As if cutting it was an unpardonable transgression
A regression from womanhood
Back into some vague condition akin to eunuch
The hair was my obligation
As temptress.
But it was a sacrifice I felt bidden to commit
Bidden to shed this convenient disguise
For I am not a temptress at all
Just a girl.
When he came and saw it
There was silence.
In the end, I left and he did not try to stop me.
A great weight fell from me when I shed that long hair
Now I was starting fresh again
I could ripen slowly
Tomboy again
Safe
In a good position to observe
Beauty takes time to mature
It has nothing to do with hair.
The Grass Path ca 1970
Hundreds of times have I walked this grass path.
At sunset, when all things are caught in a golden, rosey glow
I come wistfully, aching for release:
To be released into the great clouds
Or the haying odor of the fields
Or the comfort of the rustling grasses....
This field, stretching out hilly views and summer vibrance
Is my eucharist
A necklace is strung in the grass
Flashing threads and colors, a fine spider web
So many shy away from its thoughtful grace
Or sweep it away so casually
The burden of this casual destruction snares me
And I am trapped, so weary with casualty, on the grass path.
A spider swings up from hiding, oblivious to my inertia
Testing threads, spinning magic
Spider survival, living out spider’s gift with spider’s grace
Casualty is not his, after all.
My burden of weariness I softly lay aside.
At sunset, when all things are caught in a golden, rosey glow
I come wistfully, aching for release:
To be released into the great clouds
Or the haying odor of the fields
Or the comfort of the rustling grasses....
This field, stretching out hilly views and summer vibrance
Is my eucharist
A necklace is strung in the grass
Flashing threads and colors, a fine spider web
So many shy away from its thoughtful grace
Or sweep it away so casually
The burden of this casual destruction snares me
And I am trapped, so weary with casualty, on the grass path.
A spider swings up from hiding, oblivious to my inertia
Testing threads, spinning magic
Spider survival, living out spider’s gift with spider’s grace
Casualty is not his, after all.
My burden of weariness I softly lay aside.
Heart to Heart 1970
Remember?
You are mine.
Don’t you know I have grieved too, over your hurts?
I cannot fail to grieve over your scars.
If I could lend you my own blood: The strength of my bones
I will so robe thee
But it is work,
So have patience.
You will be free
You will be free
The last cell will be swept clean
And the last lonely exile healed of his crime
And punishment.
Remember?
Be mine.
You are mine.
Don’t you know I have grieved too, over your hurts?
I cannot fail to grieve over your scars.
If I could lend you my own blood: The strength of my bones
I will so robe thee
But it is work,
So have patience.
You will be free
You will be free
The last cell will be swept clean
And the last lonely exile healed of his crime
And punishment.
Remember?
Be mine.
Persuasion 1969-89
A choice is here, in the making:
The gentle persuasion of life.
Last year’s grass has been burned off
And seed builds in the ruins
Rooting in the ash of last year’s grass
To send up for the light.
A Gentle Persuader is walking me home.
I ramble around him by the water’s edge
Watching its ripples spread the golden trees over the silky water surface
He found me, where I languished
And led me to sunlight and sweet grass
When I fled, he was my retreat
When I was lost, he became a wilderness path
He is light in my darkness
The rain penetrating my husk
Like a seed that roots in ruin and follows the sun
I will follow him.
The gentle persuasion of life.
Last year’s grass has been burned off
And seed builds in the ruins
Rooting in the ash of last year’s grass
To send up for the light.
A Gentle Persuader is walking me home.
I ramble around him by the water’s edge
Watching its ripples spread the golden trees over the silky water surface
He found me, where I languished
And led me to sunlight and sweet grass
When I fled, he was my retreat
When I was lost, he became a wilderness path
He is light in my darkness
The rain penetrating my husk
Like a seed that roots in ruin and follows the sun
I will follow him.
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