Hemingway contemplates
light,
In a new found darkness.
He wonders when it will
End,
And asks Cohen:
“Do you know?”
“How was it when you left?”
Cohen answers
No – it was so, so,
It hadn’t been that dark
Since 1939,
But the light
Eventually will come.
And we may see ourselves again perhaps In ways,
we haven’t seen,
Since very long ago.
The boatman’s black hair
has grown long
And his beard a peppered grey
His body has grown thin and older
But he still plays
His oar turned mandolin
and keeps his many golden secrets
as he sits and moves across the
shore.
Hemingway
In a toque and white
Beard
Doing pantomimes
In the air, looking up
And smiling;
He’s gone beyond
Even the simplest
Of words …
To meaning,
On Mother’s day
The boatman
Sits peacefully
Cross legged
On the shore,
Strumming
Strings
Looking both
Left and right
with his
Golden eyes
Aflame.
I cannot tell you what to say I cannot tell you what to do tomorrow or today. I can only ask you to be silent
to listen to the voice,
and to what it has to say.
There is a darkness that no soul can imagine, the blackness of the soul not talking to itself or to its source
so let’s just listen.
Views
We
All have different views :
Some view from above
And
Some from below .
some look back and
some straight ahead
some north or south and
some east or west
some look
Inside and
Some look
outside
some in darkness
some in light
some see from youth
And some see from
Oncoming death but
None
Except through faith
can
easily see it all ,
as it is ,
one ,
one
and
the same .
The Street Corner
Years we had looked
to find that place again.
We followed the music
of Spanish guitar
on the street
by the Jazz Club de Papa,
where once the city became
suddenly silent
and a sweet voice
sang a high and beautiful
Ave Maria
on the street corner of
St Benoit.
The one who
divines and produces
Is king and queen
whether it’s
wheat in Egypt ,
seed, or anything
people need ,
desire ,
or must have,
even the open heart.
The Travellers
Each one of us
is a traveller
and often a wastrel,
with a soul like
a feather in the wind.
Winds blow it
mercilessly hard and cold
in furious storms without meaning
into thankless death.
Lead our souls like a feather in the wind
like a sheep and like a naïve lamb
led by a loving hand .
Its such a long way to go,
over the waters .
Thalassa, thalassa,
the wind blows ,
and we travel far
from the gentle start
in the morning.
We all have a choice to make
as we go .
“You have come down
now visible ,
Infinite and Eternal one
to conceal yourself
as the manifest force of nature
and to allow evil to have free reign
and to exist in this world ,
only to raise us high
and to test us to reveal ,
through your blowing
and changing winds ,
the traits of leadership
that you have given us,
and placed quietly within.
In your eternal will,
you wait patiently
to spring out
and fulfill . “ * *Kabbalistic Prayer
From “Dreams for a Saturday Morning” by PWChaltas
I Will Cleave to the One I love
I will cleave
to the One I love
In the beauty that comes
from inside,
and to and from above ,
to the beauty of nature
without.
There’s no lasting beauty in abandon ,
no true joy in a One night stand .
It’s empty with a promise
of panacea .
There is only darkness
hiding there
and a sliding
of the wandering
errant hand .
PWChaltas 