Wondering How to Read the Directions

Maps are pictures we are told to read,

where read, from German raten,

means to guess or interpret from a dream.

To read a map one must turn it

this way and that to decipher

dreamy roads from landscape.

Sometimes there are words

like "Main Street" or "Chattanooga"

but the forte of maps resides in their lines and circles—

how roads nestle among soothing colors

scaling mountains, forging rivers with ease.

The lost must imagine themselves in that foreign, painted world

the cartographer's Oz—where each point relates

to every other point with its own

fantastic application of cardinal directions

—a reminder that we are all

just visiting.

photo: from The Harvard Map Collection

Gerard de Jode's "Quivirae Regnum Cum Alijs versus Boream"

(Antwerp, 1593)

 https://www.arcgis.com/apps/MapJournal/index.html?appid=d308acff91544f90af5f1ebdde50549f

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Telegram to the Dark Side

Dear dark night of the soul stop

Welcome to my little life

stop Threatening abandonment

is futile I know you remain

near as my dreams stop

With each breath of life

you recall death stop Calling

me to the grave makes me wonder not

fear stop Like a child called home

I digress enchanted by beauty

World I won't let go

photo: Atlanta airport from the parking deck (2017)

the memory of light

all that i needed was
some small light and know that indeed
i would rise again and rise again to dance.
                  —Louise Clifton, “moonchild”

looking over stubbled fields

shadows lengthen

meet cows that crowd the gate

corn stalks rustle

with pheasant and quail

unaware of their fate

we too shall breathe a last breath

wonder why now

how yesterday

the harvest moon rose

to burn like the sun

we earthlings shivered

dismissed Jupiter—a fleck in the dark

marveled at the fly

blinking—a space station

uproarious clown car

piercing the horizon

to disappear

into the dark silent

womb of space

where the moon

undaunted

will again

birth the sun

                             

photo: Missé, France farmer's field 2018-09-27

For My Sons

A hundred years from now, my loves,

you shall be free with stars above

to dance and sing with joy exquisite

the delights you cherished

when upon the earth you did visit.

For all that matters in our brief lives

is the love we’ve nurtured, the hearts we’ve prized.

So seize each moment red hot with passion

and silvery keen in perception

hold fast to goodness, truth and inner beauty

at every turn upon your journey.

Fear not to follow your true heart’s desire

Take time to feel the strains of the lyre

Within your soul.

If with every waking breath you breathe,

you advance a thought, a service, a sneeze

you shall be part of the bigger whole,

the universal cosmos, the doughnut hole

where hope resides as we gaze to the heavens 

with love alone in our eyes. 


 

2014-02-26

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photo sun through the clouds, Nice, France: 2019-03-26

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What is Love?

It’s that crazy bird

singing full throttle

every song

he’s ever heard

hours before dawn

It’s a fat cypress cone

armadillo fierce

catapulted to earth

to yield meaty flesh

for a chance at rebirth

It’s a snowflake’s filigree

cast upon thorn

a leaf torn beams sun

in death—radiant

It’s a man lost

in dementia and dyskinesia

teetering through traffic

horns blaring

confused he turns

round and round

finds a flower shop

by miracle

navigates home victorious

with wilted anthurium

“a penis on a platter”

in florist lingo

it’s Valentine’s Day

he’s not been able

to make love with his wife

for a decade

yet rude memory

insists that love

ever hopes

             believes  

                           endures

photos:

anthurium: public domain

snow Carrboro, NC  2015-02-24