Monthly Archives: February 2014

Requiem for Johnny Cash & June Carter, Ring of Fire

27 Thursday Feb 2014

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The taste of love is sweet
When hearts like ours meet.

—-June Carter to Johnny Cash in the song, Ring of Fire.

 

Who’s to say what love is,

Or what it should be,

Or who can love who?

Isn’t it enough to want so deeply

You never stop wanting?

When that very love takes you

To the outer-edge of your ages,

Together still,

When it takes you, even, to the edge of death,

Together still,

In your mutual frailty, buoyed

and bound by your wild desire.

I think, only then can love

Be a thing of true beauty,

When it ventures out

And suspends itself upon the precipice,

And claims for itself,

In a rare moment of honesty,

And courage,

What it truly needs.

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Meditation: Three Recitations on Forgiveness

19 Wednesday Feb 2014

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1

Breathe deeply and directly

Into your heart

And consider

how you’ve hurt others,

Betrayed

or abandoned them.

Remember the sorrows

You carry from hurting,

Because we all do,

Betray, abandon, make weep,

And shred each others souls.

I remember now,

and feel in my body

These sorrows I carry

And ask forgiveness.

2

Breathe deeply and directly

Into your heart

And consider

how you’ve hurt yourself,

Betrayed,

or abandoned, your deepest self.

Remember the sorrows

You carry from hurting,

Because we all do,

Betray, abandon, make weep

And shred our own souls.

I remember now

and feel in my body

These sorrows I carry,

And I forgive.

3

Breathe deeply and directly

Into your heart

And consider

how others have hurt you,

Betrayed

or abandoned you.

Remember the sorrows

You carry from being hurt,

Because everyone does,

Betray, abandon, make weep

And, sometimes, shred our souls.

I remember now,

and feel in my body

These sorrows I carry,

And I forgive.

Waiting for Crocus

17 Monday Feb 2014

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Crocus,

When will your tender leaves pierce the snow,

Petals tight as arrowheads?

I remember you white against rocks,

I remember you standing bravely against snow,

Not as tall as the droop of a Snowdrop,

But more profuse, more stunning;

You came in purple and white and pink.

Buried, you’re probably starting to tremble,

With the excitement of our first warm days,

Brief breaks of winter’s harsh winds,

Winds, which can’t break you

(And maybe me either?)

You army of self-determined survival,

You harbinger of rebirth and resurrection,

I know you’re starting to wake, I have faith,

And I tremble, too, with anticipation.

My hope: What’s dead in me will rise with you,

An army of crocus leading the way.

Inspired

12 Wednesday Feb 2014

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It doesn’t interest me

what your opinions are,

Or your opinions about opinions;

Tell me, instead, what can be.

Tell me what makes you want to sing,

Or cry, or scream,

But don’t worry how you say it.

Sometimes the precise word

Really is fuckin’,

like That fuckin’ ice we’re all gonna get killed on.

It doesn’t interest me

who you think you should be,

I want to know who you really are;

I have a suspicion

I may be that person, too.

I’m not interested in your perfection,

Tell me what’s wrong with you,

And let us both feel the glory of want,

The hopelessness that’s cured

By wanting hope,

The faithlessness that’s cured

By wanting faith,

The lovelessness that’s cured

By wanting love,

The loneliness that’s cured

by seeing each other’s true, laid-out-souls

Bared, yes, vulnerable, yes

But invincible, too.

 

A Few Fine Dots

07 Friday Feb 2014

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As we look back,

Seems our lives were squandered,

Except a few fine dots

Spread through memory,

Those rare moments

We were as we should be.

We think what could have been

Had we been our better selves more often,

Understood the value of time;

Time, that passes first

Not fast enough to get past our lack.

Time, we think, moves too slowly

Then later, we think, too fast, too fast

And try to slow it by observation:

     The smell of summer mornings,

     The smell of the Memorial Rose,

     The smell of Thyme, and Rosemary, and Pine,

     The smell of sex,

     The smell of our babies,

     And our children’s babies,

     And theirs.

And sounds, sounds, sounds

We begin to name them

Saying, that was the Great Horned Owl,

Becoming more and more like Adam,

More and more creators and sustainers,

More appreciative

Of this beautiful, dank earth

Even as our time on it

Comes close to its end:

Its suffering; its need; its joy,

And the never-ending-fear

That keeps our lives confined

To a few fine dots

And infinite regret.