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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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