Tag Archive: poem

Doorway of Stone


Stone doorway



Within the stone doorway




No one, nothing,




The juniper trees






In the crinkling air


Of morning,


Only the peace of the empty




That lie


Pale blue as the skies,


No one


Only the goldfinch with his black hat,


About to drop


From sunbeam to slender branch, to hop


And toot in the gray-


Pebbled dawn, only


The chasm that opens


Between the slanted


Sails of the stars


Where the ancient ones




Walk in the windowed wind, where


The gold eyes


Of the bear


Reflect the rushing stream, where


Rocks remember,


Where glad ravens of rain clatter


To uncreate the rusted disarray


Of time, where the spirits of arcane mist


Call ever


In the green, breaking


Waves of the seas


There where there


Is no one




Only the shining wings of lands


Out there


In the lone doorway of stone


On the owl-enchanted outcrop


On the high




Written June 28, 2009


Photo: Sanandkarunakaran / Wikimedia Commons / “This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.” Dolmens at Marayoor in Kerala, India.

Before the moon will write…

A Gambel's quail


Now, the cloud-wandering

Of the winter night,

Before the moon

Will write

Her comments

Across the pale



Those untraveled moments

Yet to be, when soon

The silver, ambling feet

Of quail

Will flock

To greet

The sky-winged

Innocence of dawn.

Written about 1999

Photo: David Williams / Dreamstime.com /  A Gambel’s Quail

Only the frog watches

Black bells toll,

Flowers scatter,

Stars undone,

Black hole

In the center

Far, far away,

Or so it seems they meant

To say,

But it is not true,

There are no sails

Of time, nor space to unfold,

No mist over the eyes who see

In the stirring jungle.

Only the frog watches,


And your world is not his;

Your world of laws of what can be,

And what cannot, do

Not contain the worlds untold

Of magic tales

Written on the scroll

Of the single

Bright ray

Of the sun.

Wild Egret

Where is the wild egret

Of the Himalayan


Who calls

At the break

Of day; who sails

In her glimmering


Beyond the starred horizon,

Beyond the veils

Of dust and pain,

Who sends her



Forth to still

The stirring pit,

That none will



But only the holy

Misted, quiet


That falls


Silver on the shorn parapet

Down the clefts of the rock-born mountain

And only the white petals of the lily

Who will find yet again and again

Her echoing,

Snow-winged song

On the windlit lake?

To view a larger  version of the artwork, please go here,


The Forest

From atop the bone-bent tree

Two raven watchers scry

The ending of the ashen days,

Glimpsing the moment

When the rattling reign

Of the purveyors of death

Will be done,

Swept clean

In the wind’s breath.

Then the star-sent ways

Of the spring that spills

Over the rocks, singing

Her song that gladdens the earth

And the wide


Will be handed on

To the scions of light

To the shining ones

Who were ever there

In the stillness beyond the wall.

When the forest will abide

Anew in the deep tones

Of the wild

Owl, and will shake, with the innocent


Of the elephant

And her child,

Then gleaming worlds will live again

Under moons of mist that call

The winds to walk abroad on the steeps

Of the haunting hills,

Then out of the cast-off heaps

Will have climbed the brave ones,

Winged in robes of gossamer,

Born of the stones

Of the ever-dwelling


Of the mystical intent

Of the blackest ravens.

To view a larger version of the artwork, please go to