Leonard told us It’s the cracks Through which we see the light I’ve been looking for them Those cracks in my shell My problem is this: Words keep sealing up Every crack I find As soon as I find a crack I name it As soon as I name it It is this It is not any other that As soon as I name it The name becomes glue And seals the crack On and on Around my shell I search Whenever I see light I know there is a crack What crack? God? Enlightenment? Satori? Savasana? Oh damn It’s sealing up again No more crack I give up I rest in the center And let the shell be Soon I am flooded And floating In many cracked light
God/Us
Imagine, if you will, a person No, wait, I don’t mean imagine the idea of a person I mean SEE a person How tall, how heavy What color hair, eyes, skin How old, how gendered SMELL that person Are they Clean smelling Slightly stale smelling Or really rank HEAR that person Is their voice soft or loud Their accent particular Or talking heads generic Do they snuffle Sneeze Cough Or just quietly breathe I don’t want you to sit there Reading and imagining a vague person I want you to imagine A flesh and blood person With girth and height Color and clothing Name that person Know that person Believe in that person Now here’s the hard part Believe that person In their very particularity Nothing more and nothing less Is God That is, that person is Divine Just like you Just like me
Growing Silence
For six years From 92 to 98 My mother lived with us … I have paused now After writing those words Because to give true texture To that simple declarative I have to reveal Our ragged raveled family Cut to pieces too often By jealousy and illness Alcohol and abuse You see? Already to write just that Grows a weed in me That offers no shelter Even before the worm destroys it And I sit, burning and cursing And feeling sorry for myself That is why my words stood still A minute ago Because what grows in my now stillness Is just simple stillness Silence Sweet sweet quiet But to appreciate what it means to me To snuggle with Woody Within this tightly woven Wide warm quiet quilt For you to appreciate that I would have to show you my family’s rags And I would rather not Or maybe, all I need tell you is this: My mother When she lived with us Got up early, went to bed late And kept CNN on her TV, loud, louder, loudest Despite hearing aids and surround sound So that even in my bedroom A floor and a more away I could hear the words of the talking heads Louder than my own thoughts Maybe I don’t need to tell you More than that For you to glimpse The gorgeous flowering Of silence in my home And what it means to me
Of Soles and Souls
Spring brings daffodils - And crocuses, hyacinth, forsythia and nodding hellebores - Oh, look, my rosemary died, - but here is that invincible curly parsley - peeking up again But it is the daffodils In drifts and choirs throughout our property That sing to my eyes The grass grows tall The first spring mowing yet to come So, as I walk beside our gardens Admiring daffodils I fail to heed the smell Until I feel the squish Of that brown gift Hidden by one of the dogs In the growing greening grass That gift that means I will be scraping and washing The soles of my shoes Grateful even then For the garden springing In the soul of my senses
Permanence
Music is permanent, only listening is intermittent. from Bury your money by Jean Valentine Poetry is permanent, only the internet is intermittent Love is permanent, only like is intermittent Beauty is permanent, only pretty is intermittent Creativity is permanent, only cleverness is intermittent Learning is permanent, only knowing is intermittent Truth is permanent, only believing is intermittent Life is permanent, only living is intermittent God is permanent, only faith is intermittent Poetry, love, beauty, creativity learning, truth, life, God and me myself I inhabit eternity
Daffodils
One Fall Seven years ago Woody planted One hundred daffodil bulbs Most bloomed that spring Each year since then More than most Bloom each spring More and more than most Until Woody dug some up Divided and replanted them The next spring Yellow and white faces On green legs Nodded and smiled at me From unexpected places Just so My grandfather returns In a saluting man in uniform My grandmother in a woman In a fancy hat My father in a wave that Tickles my toes My grandchildren, Madeleine and Lorien, In a double stroller Gordon in every prayer And so I live among Ever more Golden daffodils
Suppose
Suppose you were me Would you figure out a better way Of being me Suppose you were a murderer Waiting through appeals On death row Suppose you were always happy Laughing while others cried Grinning while other mourned Suppose you were always sad Crying while other laughed Mourning while other grinned Suppose you were careless And let life slip away While you were making lists Suppose you were careful Filled with care for life Consumed by love’s eternal flame Suppose you were just you Not particularly great or memorable But also not just one thing or another Suppose you, like Walt, contain multitudes And are wonderfully made Just as you are
Kneading Love
I sink down Breathing in This dark salty water Beneath the waves Beneath the storms Beneath the fishes Beneath the foam Beneath arousal I sink down Breathing in This ocean of tears Tender tears Joy and love Sorrow and loss Life whispers I sink down Breathing in This eternal sea Resting Now Quiet Now On the bedrock of your love As I listen Thoughtless - That is Deeper than thought As I breathe Careless - That is Quieter than care I make love to you with my hands Kneading your stiff shoulders My nose breathes in The analgesic As my mind breathes in The dark quiet Waters of divinity I breathe in NOW Just now I breathe out love Always love I knead love into your shoulders With the analgesic Beyond orgasm Lies the learning How to make love In the deep unknowing
Wednesday
Wednesday was A very not special day But I did get out of bed Before noon (Ah, the luxury of retirement where 9:00 counts as early, 10:00 as usual, 11:00 as sometimes – and then there are the days when the morning passes with me still abed. Like a poet in some Victorian romance. I read, I write, I play logic games on the computer, I pray, I listen to podcasts and watch YouTube videos about whatever has most recently caught my attention. Ah, retirement) So there I was Awake and dressed Bed made Before noon I finished loading the dishwasher And turned it on I washed some pots and plastic ware My hands luxuriating in the warm soapy water While I gazed out the kitchen window On daffodils and Lenten roses Carolina jasmine And buds just visible On our newest Japanese maple I ran some errands I organized some paperwork Woody and I watched An episode of Vera I joined two friends for dinner Two good friends One is 30-something One is 50-something I am 70-more-than-something Our dinner stretched Stretched like our friendship Strong and elastic And oh so comfortable Perhaps we three are Maiden Mother Crone Perhaps we are, each one, all three Perhaps we are just good friends Then I came home At midnight To Woody and bed It was good to be alive on such an ordinary extraordinay day
Life
Sometimes Not often but sometimes I feel each breath As creation One day Perhaps not very distant now I will breathe in And not breathe out again Or perhaps I will breathe out And then not in again And some part of this created me Will die Some part of this once me Will no longer be me Some parts may Become A fuzzy dandelion With once me nodding in the grass Or a fat worm Taking once me into the dark rich earth Or a speck of cosmic dust Swirling what was once me through the infinite universe I trust that I Will always Be created and recreated In divine love
Butsy's Blog 