JERE KNIGHT
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©1993 by Jere Knight
All rights reserved.
​Printed in the United States
ISBN 0-9625348-5-4
Some of these poems have appeared in Pennswood View,
The Morris Report and Lehigh Alumni Review


Petoskey Stone Press P.O. Box 473 Richlandtown, PA 18955

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A Gift

I give you a bright daylight moon on a late winter afternoon, a circle as white as the snow on the earth below, or as light as a last long beam of sun hiding low on the horizon.

What counts is the lunar mystique a full moon riding distant hills like the one Ansel Adams caught in that classic photograph bought ever since for remembrance sake or attesting cliché's power.

Moongazing is no stereotype pastime of love lorn or lost souls its prints the picture on the eye not burning, not like dangers of a full face staring at the sun, merely of moon-struck madness.

I join the fools who want to pluck this snow white disk of moon out of its misplaced spot in daylight sky to put it smoothly back again pinned safely where it ought to be, the bosom of black velvet night.

The Uphill View

​The uphill fields dizzy dotted with dandelions and knee deep in whiteface flowers translate a pointillist Seurat view into
a pasture pied with daisies. How else describe a hillside merry with flowers, day's eyes open to the early morning dew,
when the doe crosses through the pasture pied with daises and filtered air is hung with dandelion down?

What God is made of He makes of us
for Daniel Berrigan

​He is the saint in blue jeans who speaks in verities telling us "Lust is our sin most easily forgiven
I am the bird who envies the grain he eats for breakfast or gives away, but if he gave it me I could not feed the hungry.
I am the statue who watches over buildings, bridges, graves and monuments hands folded in serene captivity of stone, where pigeons I cannot feed, shelter on my palm and keep me company.
I am the woman who listens and offers balm of comfort, watching images that play on the eyelid's screen, waiting for him to say "I give you joy".

It Isn't Fair

​Two doves
are making love
outside my window
perched on a strut
of summer canopy
while I sit here alone
with only a dog
for companion

But a dog
with personhood who looks
at me as if to say
I'm here, why the lament
it wasn't God's intent
for you to watch the
procreative urge of bird
and say "It isn't fair"

I wonder whether Mrs. Job
complained when God
destroyed all they
had built together
children, cattle, domicile,
did she cry out
or did she smile
because she had a dog.

Atlantic Nightmare
"Everything far is infinitely far"- Rilke

​Nearing the Azores where
the squally skies brew up
but do not pour, the sun
goes lifeless flat, the seas
break up in many faceted planes
to catch the sun's late path
leaving the hull a shallow grey
on the starboard side
Look aft where the broken light
glistens like ice on a shallow stream
when a heel digs in to crack it up.
Look back and back until
you see the flat-rimmed
edge of the earth's horizon

There it was - the earth was flat
you could see it was and
you knew if you fell into
those threatening flat waters
you'd be swept back and back
till you slid over the edge
where the seas pour out in
a terrible tumbling roar,
a Niagara crash, a cold
sun mottled rush into hell below,
a pool of volcanic heat
the other side of the edge
of the earth where the sun
goes down each day
​to replenish its fire

Under the spell of the Gilgamesh epic
as in a hypnotic trance
I am pulled to commit my body
to water to disappear into
the ugly slate grey that yesterday
from topside on the ship
was a celebration of blues inviting
a swim, forgetting the earth
was flat and over the edge
perdition lay, like the
skull and skeleton picked clean
of the crucified fish attached
to a sword - a totem trophy
our Captain displays on the desk of his cabin.

IV
​God give me strength one day
before I am due to die to
let me die by volition,
a ritual drowning off
the port side of the ship
where sun breaks through waves
to display a deep grave.
Then let sca-change convert Atman
to death of self and let the sea
transform itself to amniotic
fluid where Utnapishtim and consort
induce an incubation sleep
Thus purified let me be born
like Gilgamesh revived
​and centered in silence.
Sea Smoke
Aboard M.S. Socrates
"Sea smoke today,"
our Captain smiles
news-to-share look

​A mist of steam
sweeps up like some
late school of whales
spouting a screen of frozen fog

Mysterious sight
the eye takes hold
converts the fog
to Triton's cloak
foam horses leap
and run before
a whip unseen
beyond us spreads
a fantasy
of water folk
of water fire
of water smoke

We sail due south
ice laden winds
roar down sea lancs
blue with warm Gulf
Stream tides - and pouff!

"Sea smoke today,"
our Captain smiles
​and puffs his pipe.

Winter Light
Winter light is iced
a shine of ice where no ice is

Item: this tree ice smooth
branches of polished brown
Where winter light
illimitably bright

Reflects itself on wood
a shine of ice where no ice is

The Desert

The little Brother said:
"The desert is a place
within yourself, an empty spot
you have to fill yourself
For people who have fears
of being left alone, or closed up in the dark
the desert offers space
for meeting both themselves
and facing fear and loneliness."
The little Brother said the desert is heaven and hell - he knew it well.
Why Not?
It rains I watch my dog stretch out
curl up and sleep
and twitch and roll
and sleep some more
as if he knows it is
his day for growth
      Nature instructs the pup
It rains I ask myself why not
lie down and sleep
and give myself some room to grow
ignoring chores undone
why not let Nature take
     Her own deliberate course?


​Work Ethic

A willing heart guides
the receptive car to listen to
the roster of chores' need
to hear the logic of the deed
and prompt the body into action
A willing heart takes
notice from the mind
gives orders to the hands
​the willing kind.

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