Posts tagged "nature"

Decoupling

I expose a tender, still-hurting place.

He responds: Maybe that’s the lesson you need to learn before you’re allowed to go on to the next life.

Cold. Careless. Cruel. Calculated?
(an accidental alliteration)

What to do but keep walking.

Sad feet stain the forest road.

A muddy pond sinks me lower. Sympathetic trees attempt a rescue.

Signs wave at me.

TURTLE
XING

NO PARKING
ANY TIME

STOP

EXIT

He punctures the silence with a single word, punctuated by his point: Look. My eyes follow his finger skyward.

A hot pink balloon is, trapped in the paws of a grizzly pine.

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Biology

Because he loves only as a male, and not as a human being, there is something narrow in his sexual feeling, something that seems wild, malicious, time-bound, uneternal …
~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

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Musee des Beaux Arts

About suffering they were never wrong,
The old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position: how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

~W. H. Auden

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Anamnesis

The voice of the pheasant;
How I longed
For my dead parents!

~Bashō

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Rest!

Copper-coated copter flies with intention.
He knows just where he is headed,
no energy-bleeding, hope-wasting hither and thither.
His aim is there—
that slit of space formed by the incomplete union of two elderly deck planks.
The tiny-waisted tiny being glides inside.
Blackness welcomes him home.
Safe, safe, safe.
Rest! rest! rest!
(I know I am Nobody’s poet—And still!)
God, I want to be that wasp.

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