POETRY

by Edward Crosby Wells



HIS DAY IN THE SUN

Let me tell you about his day in the sun.
He awoke in the gray of early dawn
as the sunís illumination touched the horizon.
When he lifted his eyes to the breaking light
the moonís voyage faded from sight.
With a long sigh he wondered how
he would spend his day beneath the sun.

There were unexplored roads to travel
and mysterious places in books to see.
There was goodness and beauty and truth to uncover.
There were bitters and sours and sweets to savor
and girls to watch as they grew into women
writhing in beds with bodies to taste.

Let me tell you about his day in the sun.
He saw his feet as they walked toward the warmth.
He reached out and scooped up the burning globe
and from his hands sunlight poured
like undone ribbons of liquid gold
as the world grew far and bright.

It was day and he was ready to begin
his journey into the sun where life explodes
into diamonds of light splintering
into the time and the day of his life.
He savored the bountiful flavors of being
and he tasted the bathing women
in the heat of the noonday sun.

Afternoon in the shade of whispering trees
bearing fruit and nuts and flowers
he whiled away some precious hours
as he lay content in the scent of earth and shadows.
There were roads untraveled and lovers to meet.
There were lies to tell and hearts to break.

Let me tell you about his day in the sun.
He hurt and wounded innocent souls.
He raised his fists at those who loved
and from his hands crimson blood poured
as the world grew weary and dark.
He gathered himself into a sad refrain
of loves lost and hard earned wisdom gained.

Shadows stretched around the planet
beneath the feet that took him nowhere.
Soon he would sleep and he wondered where
and he wondered if the sun would rise anew
with unheard music and dances he never did dance.
He lay on the ground as the sun disappeared
and he looked to stars wondering if they cared
as he slipped into the night at the end of his day in the sun.


OMNIPRESENCE #1
a mere shift of attention
and you dare not mention
how the person before you
has melted into god

HAIKU #1
intellect divine
bitter whines the unplucked grape
wisdom is the wine

HAIKU #2
is no god, he cries
into his midlife morning
then prays for an answer

HAIKU #3
silently he sleeps
dreaming of the moon and stars
awake she sees clouds

HAIKU #4
weightless sparks of light
soaring dreams through silent air
prayers of night flight

OMNIPRESENCE #2
and the road goes round
while stumbling through life
on half remembered visions
of being here before
by choice or by chance
deja vu
wandering into the searching eyes
of strangers never known before
or perhaps the only reason you don't recognize them
is because you have forgotten
deja vu
and the road goes round

PRAYER #1
O, Most Beautiful Spark of Life,
Animator of my Body,
Deepest sense of Self Ė
Teach me to Love.

O, Most Glorious Being,
Center of all Life,
Of all things manifest Ė
Teach me to Live.

O, Most Inner Awareness of I,
The center of all that was and is
And is yet to come Ė
Teach me of You, My God.


can
you see
and not ask
how the eye may
see and can
ask not
why

naked stands an idle thought
stripped of shining rays of
action in the darkness of
a cloistered cloth both
mysterious & obscure
crying from the pew
of souls mourning
forgotten hopes
from dim light
praying for
anointing
chrisms
to be
not
a
sin
or be
the one
weeping in
the death &
acceptance of
a blinding faith
binding them to a
tradition of custom
where reason is never
asked & faith is far more
virtuous than a knowledge
of all the truths & the wisdom
of the souls who die without god



SONG OF HIMSELF

He remembered being alive
The walks to nowhere where
The sun caught his ruddy cheeks
And arms tasting of sunlight and salt
Mixed with licks of puppy's breath
The gentle breeze from the orchard
By the edge of the path
Perfumed with fallen pears
And apples where they lazily lay

He remembered being alive
Till the Dark Angel cast its
Long and chilling shadow
Across the Autumnal path
Where once he walked to nowhere
Before he forgot ever standing
By the edge of the orchard
Where he never ate the fruit
And the pears and apples lay and rot

ECW, 10/19/2008


THE RHYTHM OF YOUR BURNING HEART

The rhythm of your burning heart
Lay next to me when I awaken
From my journeys upon the airy sea
And I watch and I listen as your breath
Like sweet bellows of heavenly breezes
Blowing through my waking hours
Reminding me of your love by day
And our vows of mortal care
I am split between two worlds
One the love of things to come
The other my love for you
My here and my now


AND THE ROAD GOES ROUND

and the road goes round
while stumbling through life
on half remembered visions
of being here before
by choice or by chance
deja vu
wandering into the searching eyes
of strangers never known before
or perhaps the only reason you don't recognize them
is because you have forgotten
deja vu
and the road goes round


A SECOND PASSING

the sweetest of life sits
remembering as metaphor
a second passing
on a park bench
as youth flies against
a fatherís loving push
while she sits in the swing
where the sky winds through chains
holding high the princess
in her pale green sweater

Easter week in the chill of the park
buds on the horse chestnut trees
watch as he walks away
with her future in his arms
and the smiling princess
peeps out from under
a pale green bonnet
and all the young women
push blue white trimmed carriages
lined with pink or blue

they move quickly past
old men on gray benches
staccato shouts pepper the air
in a single cryptic voice
rising toward the heavens
to the rhythm of a distant siren
in the crack of a baseball
in the snap of a supple wrist
off the throat of a black taped bat
it passes and it passes
in the uncertainty of steel wheels
humming on wobbling feet
pigeons squabble over spilled jelly beans

there is a bite to the breeze
lifting last yearís leaves
brittle and crisp as a dead manís future
into the pastels of Easter week
across the greening park
where the premature budding
perhaps showing their heads too soon
showing their intent too soon
have risen above last yearís hollow
horse chestnut shells
a cruel awakening

it is lighter and vaguely brighter
for this time of year
for this time of day
the clocks will spring ahead soon
the men on gray benches cannot help
but feel that summer came and flew
on the frayed wings of butterflies
as all and more was felt
that Easter week
in a second passing

EMAIL BLUES

There are so many things in my box
How many I do not know
I can only tell you itís lots
Such as how to make my penis grow

There are urgent responses required
There are prizes to claim
And hot girls to meet
Or get a Ph.D. in under a week

There are surveys to take and pills to make
Bigger and better erections
There are Christian loans and sensuous creams
That come with explicit directions

Ephedra is finally back
Hoodia will get rid of fat
Oprah says itís a fact
So who would argue that

I could be a genuine genius
Or maybe I should be more studious
Thereís a pre-approved credit card notice
Though my credit is somewhat dubious

There are stock opportunities galore
Low rates on the house next door
Get ordained and start a flock
Go to Ebay to get rid of my schlock

Get paid big bucks doing nothing it seems
Get free downloads of amorous scenes
Work from home in my p-jays
Taking naps between surveys

Barrister Bhrama Orama wants to greet me
Christian singles are waiting to meet me
To refuse all these takes gumption
Especially those pills for erectile dysfunction

ECW, 5/26/2006








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