the fruit picker

his hands itch at the sight
of ripeness out of reach
fingers curl around the 
season and he thanks god 
for the daily bread


the scent teases his tonque
and his eyes swim in joy
to covet and trespass
are rights demanded
by his nature


he does not wait for the
fruit to rot and drop
time is not the 
fruit picker's despite
his nature, he has the sun

the fruit picker

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solomon sang

there i trod by the river
tranquil green but gold under the sun
seeking the one with scent of fair lily,
eyes of dove's and hair dark as dusk


there i trod by the river
pebbles soft as kisses 'neath my feet
the air cooler than winter's touch yet
did not bring my beloved's embrace


there by the river i trod
with withering soul fragrant as spice
lingering, waiting for thy love beloved
that sprung for no reason nor prayer


our love is a song beloved, born by the
stars because you were you and i was i


there by the river i trod

solomon sang

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happiness

where have you been,

happiness? under

my bed all these years?

'neath leaves

gathered at my feet

in the many autumns 

i breathed? did you not,

pray tell, look for me?

or my smile, or the shadow

of my face in the 

dark space beyond 

the light?

oh happiness! oh happiness!

why are we strangers

still? i searched for

you in poetry, in funeral

flowers - purple and white -

while by the rocky shore

on slow-fading nights

perhaps i'm too glum even

tragic despite the light

in my eyes and the laughter

that comes easy as day

but still i'll hunt you down

conquer and devour your

liquid warmth until

i cry out all the salty,

gray, musty sad in me

are you happy now?

happiness

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all is fair

dead words substitute 

for the pain that would not come

and you sit silently, a

limb, a star abandoned by air

a flower droops in the

shadow mourning the passing of

an unripened heart and

you strum your hair guiltlessly

winter is outside the

window, white is the color of

gloom, you pull down

the curtain as i lick my wounds

/

all is fair

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to the star of a million nights ago

i shall wait for you fervently
when you cross the landscape
i roam 
when you tread as before, like a 
shepherded lamb on its way
home


things are no different from
what were before, and this i
say
i shall love you no less, not an
ounce, not a breath, not a
day


my reveries will be of you and
my name, my hours are yours to
keep
my secrets to your ears shall be
brought and never again to my
sleep


i will see your face in the rain, in
the dawn and in all the smiles that
stray
and in the end, when death to my
door knocks, your music they will
play


forgive me these silly confessions, 
these little vows, the repetitions i
speak
the star from a million nights ago
and burning brightly still...you i
seek


your naissance is my rebirth

to the star of a million nights ago

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psalm

strum the lyre of silver

and gold with fingers 

tender as the morning

spreading, opening

sing the song springing

like a rose, soft but 

quietly fervent like an

eternity of dawns

the wind shall carry your

voice, a prayer in flight,

as you become the water

becoming the song you

sing

psalm

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what's the hurry?

"Scientific measurements indicate that we are moving even when we are standing still. Continental land masses sit on enormous slabs of rock that slide very slowly at the rate of l to 8 inches per year. America is gradually moving westward, away from Europe, at the rate of 3 inches per year. If that doesn't blow your hair back, consider this. Our Milky Way galaxy is hurtling through space at 375 miles per second or l.3 million miles per hour. But that's not all. Within our own galaxy the sun and its solar system are zooming along at 12.4 miles per second (43,000 mph) in the direction of the star Vega in the constellation Lyra."

- Mart De Haan

so it makes sense if you go to that quiet place that only you  know
unfold your arms 
or even lie down
unthink 
unclutter
stop moving for a change 
everything around you is in perpetual motion
catching your breath is not going against time
it's finding yourself in the frenzy

what's the hurry?

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