But now–
but now the wonder of life is
that it is at all,
this sticky sentimental
warm enclosure,
feels place in the physical
with others,
lets mind wander
to wondering thought,
then lets go of itself,
finds a home
on earth.
20th Century American poetry
A Homecoming by Wendell Berry
One faith is bondage. Two
are free. In the trust
of old love, cultivation shows
a dark graceful wilderness
at its heart. Wild
in that wilderness, we roam
the distances of our faith,
safe beyond the bounds
of what we know. O love,
open. Show me
my country. Take me home.
Planting Trees by Wendell Berry
In the mating of trees,
the pollen grain entering invisible
the doomed room of the winds, survives
the ghost of the old forest
that stood here when we came. The ground
invites it, and it will not be gone.
I become the familiar of that ghost
and its ally, carrying in a bucket
twenty trees smaller than weeds,
and I plant them along the way
of the departure of the ancient host.
I return to the ground its original music.
It will rise out of the horizon
of the grass, and over the heads
of the weeds, and it will rise over
the horizon of men’s heads. As I age
in the world it will rise and spread,
and be for this place horizon
and orison, the voice of its wİnds.
I have made myself a dream to dream
of its rising, that has gentled my nights.
Let me desire and wish well the life
these trees may live when I
no longer rise in the mornings
to be pleased by the green of them
shining, and their shadows on the ground,
and the sound of the wind in them.
A Poem of Thanks by Wendell Berry
I have been spared another day
to come into this night
as though there is a mercy in things
mindful of me. Love, cast all
thought aside. I cast aside
all thought. Our bodies enter
their brief precedence,
surrounded by their sleep.
Through you I rise, and you
through me, into the joy
we make, but may not keep.
The Third Dimension by Denise Levertov
Who’d believe me if
I said, “They took and
split me open from
scalp to crotch, and
still I’m alive, and
walk around pleased with
the sun and all
the world’s bounty.” Honesty
isn’t so simple:
a simple honesty is
nothing but a lie.
Don’t the trees
hide the wind between
their leaves and
speak in whispers?
The third dimension
hides itself.
If the roadmen
crack stones, the
stones are stones;
but love
cracked me open
and I’m
alive
to tell the tale–but not
honestly:
the words
change it. Let it be–
here in the sweet sun
–a fiction, while I
breathe and
change pace.
The Five Feet by Ed Sanders
You can always fight the foulest grief
with drinks and thrills
You can channelize your septum
with thousand dollar bills
But you better get obsessed again
on the Change Wheel’s rungs
or they’ll let the tumors grow
in the hummingbird’s lungs
You’ve got to have five feet
to skitter down the road
One foot in the grave
One foot in the glitter
One foot in the gutter
One foot in the glory
One foot near the Grail
Lawrence said to build a Boat of Death
upon that main
Well, you’d better patch the leaky Boat of Life
call it Paradise Plain
There’s nothing wrong with writing lines of verse
on a foam-flecked oar
Even if we cannot join Matisse
through Plato’s door
You’ve got to have five feet
to skitter down the road
One foot in the grave
One foot in the glitter
One foot in the gutter
One foot in the glory
One foot near the Grail
Climbing by Tom Clark
My heart in pieces like the bits
Of trains lost in the blue
Rain confused I roar off into
To learn how to build a ladder
With air in my lungs again
To be with you in that region
Of speed and altitude where our bodies
Sail off to be kissed and changed
By light that behaves like a hand
Picking us up in one state and putting
Us down in a different one every time
Nights by Cyn. Zarco
When I’m without you
I sleep on the couch
or in my bed with books,
pen & paper.
I can’t decide
which I love best–
you lying next to me
like an open book
or an open book
lying next to me.
Complaynt by Anne Waldman
I’m wanton–no I’ve stopped that.
That old place
I’ve changed, I’m Mother
It’s more mysterious.
How odd the past looks
When I reread old notebooks,
See their faces fade
I feel it everywhere
& ordinary too
Am I safer now?
Was other way gayer?
I’m Mother now, O help &
Continue!
Love Poem by Ron Padgett
We have plenty of matches in our house.
We keep them on hand always.
Currently our favorite brand is Ohio Blue Tip,
though we used to prefer Diamond brand.
That was before we discovered Ohio Blue Tip matches.
They are excellently packaged, sturdy
little boxes with dark and light blue and white labels
with words lettered in the shape of a megaphone,
as if to say even louder to the world,
“Here is the most beautiful match in the world,
by its one and a half inch soft pine stem capped
by a grainy dark purple head, so sober and furious
and stubbornly ready to burst into flame,
lighting, perhaps, the cigarette of the woman you love,
for the first time, and it was never really the same
after that. All this will we give you.”
That is what you gave me, I
become the cigarette and you the match, or I
the match and you the cigarette, blazing
with kisses that smoulder toward heaven.
Leonard Durso 