Thanksgiving Poem

This poem was written by my partner and lover of 9 years, Ralf. Though english is not his first language, he always had a way with words. (he is German) His spirit taught me so much about attitude and perseverance. He is an old soul. Though we are no longer together, I believe we still have a connection. I am honored and gratified to have been his lover. Thank you, Ralf. With love, David

Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends out there. I hope you have warm, smiling eyes to gaze into and laugh with as you break bread together on this most universal of holidays.

Thanksgiving is a moment to remember
How little we can do to move the stars.
All we are and have we must surrender,
Nor is Earth less inscrutable than Mars.
Knowing this, we know the need for friends
Sharing both our pleasures and our pain,
Giving, though it may not serve their ends,
In joy the love that will our love sustain.
Very much like water in a lake,
In sum we serve as mirrors to the sky.
No one alone can heaven’s picture take.
Given friends, we know the reason why.

by Ralf

Ache for Numbness

I ache for numbness;
then miss another, deeper aching
for beauty…poetry,
challenge and responsibility.
I want a nice, cozy cell, from which to desire escape.
My irony surrounds and defines me,
shows me freedom.

This is another very old journal entry

Siegfried Idyll

Go and be the breeze
whispering over grassy
silk waves atop verdant,
elegant hills. Rest there
among the familiar tales
of sun ripe Riesling grapes
pearled along the plunging slopes
of castle views over river Rhine.
Go and taste the resilience
of Teutonic history, rising
and falling against the maelstrom
of Viking invaders. Go and
rebuild from scratch what you
know is good and right. Dwell in
the fecund soil of steady passion.
Find skin by the wind.
Find fruit in your heart.
Taste the lambent anodyne
smiling through
sweet, golden wine.

This goes out to my crushes. You know who you are.

tags- Riesling, Rhine

Sacrificial Tree

Here are two poems about Christmas Trees. I’ve always been torn about having cut trees. I’ve reconciled my guilt by thanking the tree for giving me the soulful pleasure of its wonderful smell and living presence in my life.

I keep my trees as long as possible, usually until my birthday in mid January. This year I haven’t yet gotten a tree. I’ve just been too dissipated physically and emotionally, plus winter came on early, hard and strong. Who knows, maybe I’ll still get inspired.

Sacrificial Tree

Darkness descends upon afternoon’s glow
And pulls day’s light to down below.
As fickle air courts heavy chill
Feeble warmth flees up,
Conceding defeat
To weighty still.

I then illuminate the sacrificial tree
To lift the void which leadens me.
Her scintillating glitter
Enshrouds my fears
Enveloping my heart in glamorous sight.

This starry gift is infinitely old
yet ripe with richness
as time’s birth of soul.
Such sweet ritual!
Such mundane skill!
Giving root to such lofty thrill!

We need only open our hearts,
Our senses, our doubts, our souls to Her allure.
The myth of the season is born again.

Our Christmas Tree

Our Christmas tree stands before me,
evergreen through the seasons,
glowing with light
through darkness and freezing.
My soul is warmed by its
shimmering spirit,
all crystal and glimmering,
giving life to love needed.

I’m able to hope
by such burning glory
for peace where there’s strife
and love for those, lonely.
My heart aches with sadness
that you can’t be here near me
but life must go on, then
for Beauty’s Eternity.

technorati tags- christmas tree poems, Christmas poems, solstice poems, Christmas tree

Garden of Growth, II

Upon revisiting and revising this poem, I noticed how much its message applies to life in general. As I age and hopefully grow wiser, I am learning that letting go of habits is not only vital to happiness. It’s also vital to learning and to growing as a person. I’ve recently started studying Alexander Technique, which I will write about more soon. One of the basic lessons of the method is to let go of the tension in the neck and stay open in your awareness. This is harder to do than one might think. Alexander called it Primary Control. I like to think of it as Primary Flow. Let each second go as it happens. Repeat. Rather than creating a superficial life, this idea allows one to experience the richness of the moment much more deeply.

The seeds emerge naked from gray, rough soil,
though most will perish as grist of earth’s scheme.
Their compost holds kernels of mealy toil,
micro teams, tiny mules carrying molecule dreams.
This war marches on. The drama rolls fresh
with each rising and falling of seasonal flesh.

I used to gently cradle those leafy twigs,
pining within their rhythmical trance.
I fiddled and darted, lost and ready
to control that volume of verdant folly.
I toiled from dawn to dusk to cage this romance.
I staked stems, preened buds,
willed red berries on holly’s branches.
I beamed with delight at delphiniums blue night
but daily squished aphids with horrible fright.
Hinoki’s form would finally reach balance,
necessitating tragic hacking of nearby Hamamelis.
Trailing Nasturtium must ramble freely
over carefully chaotic, mossy patio.
Cardinal Richelieu finally gave up the ghost
after five uprootings to aptly pair
his wine purple rose with more heathen hosts.

I strove to capture kairos*, embed its seething flair.
This chimera dwindled with thousands of hours
of pushing days in a stubborn wheelbarrow,
driving my load to pattern and style this living
sculpture into rank and file soldiers of my lair.
Time ground me down with its meticulous power.

As I feared, things went wild. They flattened
and ruptured and cheated my rules.
The Lungwort blasted forth, had its own way
and colonized insouciantly with its spotted tribe.
Autumn Clematis scrambled over trellises
and basked in the sun, surveying the fool’s
game down below, laughing at all the fun.

Then, tough rubric knots let loose their tether
as my life became twinned by other urgent events.
Watching from afar, the garden seemed closer than before.
And Plumbago’s happy scurry beneath
pink Asters fence seemed their own private
dispute, their outcome to pass sentence.

Five years have passed since I relinquished power.
Ten years before that I clutched at this stream
while its crumbled message sifted through my fingers.
From my rough hubris sprouted this quiet lesson:
The constancy of change remains new for the ages.
I come away sage, having learned not to confuse
dreams of perfection with nature’s carnival muse.

*From Wikipedia- Kairos is an ancient Greek word meaning the "right or opportune moment". It is now used in theology to describe the qualitative form of time. In rhetoric kairos is "a passing instant when an opening appears which must be driven through with force if success is to be achieved." (E. C. White, Kaironomia p. 13)