A Believer's Journal

sanguine brambles litter spiny mollusks
sleeping placidly amidst serendipitous legumes
while intrepid vagaries linger in the wings

tomfoolery you say
naught but vanity
open the windows
and let out the air

throbbing alleles erupt in fiery ellipses
spewing intangible adjectives into the ether
ignorant of the salutary quislings on either side

naught but vanity
open the windows
and let out the fools
whatever you say

torpid seals frolic in the languid mist
multi-layered appendages notwithstanding
surreptitiously amending doomed constabularies

open the windows
fool the air
let out the vanity
so naught remains

fragrant hillsides dance with crepuscular magpies
as diaphanous curtains of silvery dewfall
glitter in the ebullient moonlight

let out the air
tomfoolery is naught
open the windows
all is vanity

enough?

it is a strange word
rhyming with rough and tough
but also with snuff and powder puff
though not with cough and, for that matter, not with though
even though spelled in like fashion

and it is a strange notion
presuming some kind of measure
some kind of standard
against which effort, achievement, satisfaction, merit
are summarily judged

but who says enough is enough?
some blue ribbon international commission
setting benchmarks for what is too little and what is too much?
or is its definition merely subjective
meaning enough is whatever I say is enough?

but that is a rabbit hole
which to enter leads only to discontent and self-doubt
because enough today may not be enough tomorrow
which means that tomorrow I may well question
whether today was indeed enough

and to say enough
is to draw an end to desire and curiosity
to make premature end to the adventure that is this life
which must always reinvent and reinvest itself day by day
lest it die, or short of death, atrophy

no, better to dispense altogether
with the futile notion of enough
better to strive and seek and yearn and reach
pouring all out in order to take all in
being filled with the wonders and charms and joys of each new day

enough?
no, it is never enough!

ngggggggggggggggggggggggggg …

unstruck
of its own accord
the bell sings

ngggggggggggggggggggggggggg …

unseen
felt before heard
the bell sings

ngggggggggggggggggggggggggg …

from far beyond the limits of perception
from far beyond the edges of memory
from far beyond the grasp of understanding
the bell sings
its music without discernible rhythm or melody
rhyming instead
with the echo of a passing star
with the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings
with the sound of a windswept fir’s roots embracing a granite outcropping

ngggggggggggggggggggggggggg …

I hear it
I hear it
a song all its own
but holding within it other songs too
the song of the earth spinning on its axis
the song of Kilauea belching out its fire and ash
the song of thunder and lightning, of wave and wind, of laughter and weeping
the song of breathing and the song of dying
I hear it
and its music fills me
or perhaps it is that I fill it
my heartbeat attuned to its vibrations
my spirit subsumed into its song
the song without beginning and without end
the song that brings worlds into being
the song that silences the proud and sets the humble to dancing
the song that is

ngggggggggggggggggggggggggg …

never to be silenced
now and forever
the bell sings

Fie on you craven chieftains
Who send young folk to war
Your fevered dreams and ignorant schemes
Mock the wisdom that held before
Your silvery tongues keep wagging
As you unleash the awful roar
Of myriad murdering missiles
Leaving hell only wanting more.

Fie on you flattered fools
Your choices rash and imperious
Heedless of law and gleefully smug
Your motives murky and odious
The bodies of graybeards and giggling girls
Lie shattered amid the detritus
The world you thrust into turmoil untold
Our common fate precarious.

Fie on you belligerent bullies
Boastful and bloated and vain
May history judge you rightly
Though now its lessons you disdain
The bitter cost in bodies and blood
And trust we’ll toil to regain
Is borne with unflagging hope
That one day we’ll shed this bane.

It coalesces on the glistening icicle,
halved ovoid
tiny and translucent
but formed of myriad melting molecules
more in number than the stars in the sky

It clings tenuously to the slender stalactite
resisting gravity’s irresistible pull
gently pulsating
as it slides millimeter by millimeter
down the shimmering ice

It pauses at the sparkling spear’s tip
gathering its now swelling self
waning winter
suspended tantalizingly
before falling through the still frigid air

It falls and is gone
disappeared into the trampled snow
that single drop of water
dazzling in its rapturous descent
now unseen but ever remembered

sing
let all that lives in your heart break forth
sing joy and sorrow and yearning
sing hope and horror and believing
sing love and loss and longing
sing triumph and tragedy and trusting
just sing

sing
let all that lives in your heart break forth
let your song paint with clarion colors
let your song dance with shimmering swirls
let your song persuade with spellbinding speech
let your song delight with mellifluous music
just sing

sing
let all that lives in your heart break forth
so that creation will not be left empty and void
so that truth will not be left unspoken
so that divides will not be left uncrossed
so that God will not be left unpraised
just sing

November winds flail slender grey branches
glittering umber leaves tenaciously hanging on
arms of the hoary birch swirling
in a frenetic autumn dance

November winds roil turgid blue green waters
flecked foam frolicking down the bay
rhythmic eruptions of brilliant white
under a steel-grey sky

November winds drive the ebbing tide
battering sun-bleached boulders unflinching
as surging splashes of splendiferous spray
caress their sea-worn shoulders

November winds rouse my listless spirit
shouting the glories of an untameable world
wild and wonderful beautiful and holy
still and ever my home

smash crash shatter crinkle
o glorious sound
plate glass
exploding splintering scattering
into seven thousand
sparkling shards

it came from my foot
the doer of the deed
beloved soccer ball
hexagonal panels black and white
launched in a graceful arc
off the scrubby green grass

it was a beautiful boot
consummate corner kick
soaring from sidewalk’s edge
past the cherry tree and
his stretched out arms
into the doomed window

he was there of course
my sao paulo buddy
constant companion
doing our best
to best each other
in math or football

Mrs. Kocsis
called him “Dick”
called me “Tater”
telling us that one day
we would rule the world
or. at least, her sixth-grade classroom

it was our fathers
who brought us together
grad students they in
psychology and microbiology
planting their families
in married students’ housing

bound by love
of the beautiful game
of quadratic equations and binomials
we bridged divides of
language and culture
the very best of friends

so we were there
that fateful afternoon
sharing the joy
if not the shame
(that was all mine)
of that most magnificent kick