I used to think that inside the deep heart
of the world gone wild, that we all wanted,
craved, needed, or would acquiesce to,

                         a yet to be identified
                         common soul:
                         a ‘peace and love’ tranquility
                         where we all got along
                         with our dreams—

a musical, moaning chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’
that kept us busy feeling fine as frog hair,
trying harder to make life better for everyone.

But how could heaven’s everlasting light
be so great without a dark side, without the moon
rising in new places dressed in different phases
behind the skeletons of oak and tops of pine?

                         Rain and storm for free.
                         Life from dust, the miracle
                         of green reaching up
                         to seed itself
                         against adversity

should be enough to brave the skullduggery
of all the power-hungry opportunists that slink
and lurk in the shadows. And what of poetry
rooted in the illusion of pillowed clouds?


8 responses to “PILLOWED CLOUDS

  1. Peter Notehelfer

    Ouch! That stings a little . . . But then it should, I guess . . . For some of us poetry is prophetic [like preaching]; for others it is the gentle art of observation, if not of the cosmic forces of evil then of the magical minutia of ordinary things – you know, the shit on a just laid egg in the coop; the squeaky hinges of a raft of snow geese flying overhead . . . There is grace in these things, I believe, though they may not rail against the corruption of Wall Street or the Congress . . . I always appreciate reading your stimulating posts . . . California’s own Wendell Berry . . . Blessings . . .

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thanks, Peter, I appreciate natural grace as much as anyone, but without the blundering awkwardness of mankind, it’s not near as special or unique. Stealing some lines from “On Joy and Sorrow” by Kahlil Gibran (that baffled the hell out of me as a young man):

      Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
      And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
      And how else can it be?
      The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

      We need the dark side, too.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Now that one really hits the mark. It is such a simple truth but it needs to be relearned every waking minute. We can’t live just on ice-cream and apples, A bit of spinach is necessary as well.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. I think I’ll end my day on that poem. I won’t find anything finer.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. You must know the bad to see the good. Much good in this one to stimulate conversation and contemplation.

    Liked by 1 person

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