Lamp after Lamp

You that prefer, as crows do,

winter's chill and the empty limbs,

notice now this that fills

with new leaves and roses opening

and the nightbird's song,

Let your love dissolve also

into this season's moment,

or when it's over you will buy

lamp after lamp to find it.

Painting "Succulent Eggplants" by Beatriz Milhazez here

Morning Wind

The morning wind spreads its fresh smell.

We must get up to take that in,

that wind that lets us live.

Breathe, before it's gone.

Stranded Somewhere

If you are the body, that one is the soul

of the universe. If you are the soul,

that one is the soul within all souls.

Wherever you go, whatever you are, listen for the voice

that asks. Who will be sacrificed tonight?

Jump up then and volunteer. Accept

the cup that is offered every second.

If you are bored and contemptuous,

love is a walk in a meadow.

If you are stranded somewhere,

love is an Arabian horse.

The ocean feeds itself to its fish.

If you are an ocean fish, why bother

with bread the ground grows?

These jars of grief and trouble

that we call bodies, throw stones and break them.

My cage is this longing for Shams.

Be my worst enemy. Shatter it.

The Inner Workings

The inner working of a human being

is a jungle. Sometimes wolves

dominate. Sometimes wild hogs.

Be wary when you breathe.

At one moment gentle, generous qualities,

like Joseph's, pass from one nature

to another. The next moment

vicious qualities move in hidden ways.

In every instant a new species rises

in the chest--now a demon, now an angel,

now a wild animal, now a human friend.

There are also those in this amazing jungle

who can absorb you into their own surrender.

If you have to stalk and steal something,

steal from them.


Thank you to Lorenzo for such a fine finger pointing toward RUMI DAYS.

Father Reason

The universe is a form of divine law,

your reasonable father.

When you feel ungrateful to him,

the shapes of the world seem mean and ugly.

Make peace with that father, the elegant patterning,

and every experience will fill with immediacy.

Because I love this, I am never bored.

Beauty constantly wells up like the noise of springwater

in my ear. Tree limbs rise and fall like ecstatic arms.

Leaf sounds talk together like poets

making fresh metaphors.

The green felt cover slips;

we get a flash of the mirror underneath.

The conventional opinion of this poetry

is that it shows great optimism for the future.

But Father Reasons says, No need to announce the future.

This now is it. Your deepest need and desire

is satisfied by this moment's energy

here in your hand.

Again

 Again, the sharp new moon blade.

Again we walk a garden

with the lily's clever talking around us.

Green satin no tailor sews,

trees putting on their hats.

A drumming begins, and we play along

on the drums of our stomachs.

The lake that was ice and iron

now is ridged in the wind like David's chainmail.

A voice says to the herbs, Rise up.

The mystic crane returns.

The humiliated ones dress and show

their heads in windows again.

There is a public concert on the tomb of January.

The willow shakes its head.

Those we thought were lost are back.

How the sun is with plants

is evidence enough.

No Need to Ask

The one who brings wine pours again,

no need to ask.

Do you ask the moon to rise

and give its light?

When ranks of soldiers dissolve,

dismissed for a holiday,

when a lost hand reaches

to touch the rescuing hand,

when a candle next to a mirrored

sconce gets lit,

your presence enters my soul.