Friday, September 11, 2009

Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow

as if it were a scene made-up by the mind,
that is not mine, but is a made place,

that is mine, it is so near to the heart,
an eternal pasture folded in all thought
so that there is a hall therein

that is a made place, created by light
wherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.

Wherefrom fall all architectures I am
I say are likenesses of the First Beloved
whose flowers are flames lit to the Lady.

She it is Queen Under The Hill
whose hosts are a disturbance of words within words
that is a field folded.

It is only a dream of the grass blowing
east against the source of the sun
in an hour before the sun’s going down

whose secret we see in a children’s game
of ring a round of roses told.

Often I am permitted to return to a meadow
as if it were a given property of the mind
that certain bounds hold against chaos,

that is a place of first permission,
everlasting omen of what is.

Robert Duncan


Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Just to let you know...your lovely comments are encouraging and appreciated! Thank you.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Back to school

“At the end of the day, the circumstances of your life – what you look like, where you come from, how much money you have, what you’ve got going on at home – none of that is an excuse for neglecting your homework or having a bad attitude.’’
President Obama

:New York Times



These are my words

Still filled with longing

Yet no longer fueled by passion

These are my words

Hard and cruel to silence your lies

You the fair haired boy

I the dark maiden

These are my words

Strong the spell now broken

When I listen to yours

There is only the occasional dream

A shadow song

A field on a summer day

And the passing of time

K. Pilapovich

:image here