Recent Poetry, April 2024

Gatha

When I lose my balance,

Which happens fairly often,

I vow with all beings,

To question one thing in relation to others.

The Gospel of Thomas

In ‘45,  and in a pot well-covered,

A “sayings Gospel” in Egypt was discovered.

This Gospel of Thomas was, indeed  the glory,

Of Nag Hammadi. Depends who tells the story.

“Split a piece of wood. I will be there.”

Jesus spoke  the truth. He didn’t care.

A happy feeling in me then arose,

When I first read those lovely lines of prose.

But, thinking on, I knew he’d be no liar,

To claim he was the universe entire,

Or if he’d said, “I am the morning dew,”

Or if he’d said “I’m a marginal Jew.”

Or even if he’d said “Ask the universe, too!”

Or if he’d said “go ask a marginal Jew.”

Joni Mitchell

(1942– )

The name-change from

Roberta Joan Anderson

Happened quickly and organically,

Compared to what we usually hear:

You were always called by your middle name,

Which naturally morphed into “Joni.”

The “Mitchell” you got from the guy

You married briefly when you both were young.

He was a folksinger too.

You were, for a short time, a duo.

You were as innocent as he used to say,

When he was assigning you all those books,

But keenly intelligent all the while,

And we got to see you as you grew,

Reading all great philosophers and novelists,

For no reason other than that they said

Something you needed to hear.

And your progress came out,

In your songs. We never saw such a thing,

All that much.

Now you are in your eighties,

And treated gently

As a venerable song-writing eldress.

But I still want to fall in love with you.

The girl who wrote the unacknowledged masterpiece,

“The Hissing of Summer Lawns.”

Love

Love is all you need to know,

On planet earth, this world of woe.

It doesn’t matter low or high,

Blowjobs to strangers count, though sly, 

Or holding your baby ‘gainst your breast,

That’s instant love, and always is the best,

So they say, or maybe you’re just lucky,

And folks rush to love you, oh and that’s just ducky,

It doesn’t last though, above all you should know,

It comes around, then mostly it’ll go.

Or maybe you’re more ordinary, there,

And finding love’s extraordinary and rare

Or maybe you’re a celibate, not cursed,

Sharing love with all the universe.

And how d’you know it’s really love in sight?

If you suspect it, probably you’re right.

Encouraging News

The world around you’s lovely, through and through,

That’s all you need to know: that this is true.

And answers to your problems? All right here

How sad folks seek solutions not so near.

Love, it turns out, is the only answer,

Where are the you’re a lawyer, Jew, or dancer.

Question

If you’re in luck (you are) and wise,

A question for you will arise.

You’ll practice with it, though it’s odd,

Can be as terse as, “What is God?”

Or it can be an easy cry,

As simple as just, “Who am I?”

Entirely non-religious too,

Like, “What is Coke?” or “What’s Yoo-hoo?”

So long’s the question stays more key,

Than any answer you can see.

All the answers are untrue,

The questions are themselves for you.

Laura Nyro

(1947-1997)

I laughed when I saw you had a “best of” album.

Because it turns out that any of your,

Albums could easily bear that title.

And I laughed again,

To read of your “influences”

Because whatever crossed your path,

And you considered “good,”

Made it into your music.

Rock ‘n’ roll, Soul, Show Tunes, Folk,

Whatever.

You were the Great American Songbook,

Embodied in one woman.

It was all we needed,

Even if we didn’t know we needed it,

But you knew.

I laughed a third time.

The Comfort of Reality

The past is naught but memory

Checkable, as you will see.

Recall a past event for which you’ve pride,

With someone, who is, clearly, on your side.

The mem’ry differs. There’s  no need to fight.

The past does not exist. And who was right?

The future’s just an educated guess,

It don’t exist, but better we don’t press.

So we’re stuck in this fine moment here

And, it too can become an idol, dear.

Think salvation isn’t here and now,

But it CAN be. That’s a big ol’ wow.

Holiness

“Is nothing sacred?”

“Yes.”

Flannery O’Connor

(1923-1960)

You recognized that,

The Universe is shot through with Grace.

And you were completely unafraid,

To look straight at it: Satan,

Or the Dark Side, or just plain weirdness,

As Southerners often are.

But you had a secret:

You knew that by just looking straight at Satan,

Or that dark side, or regular Southern weirdness,

The Universe of Grace would be revealed,

Better than by looking straight at holiness.

And you took that secret to your early grave.