Tag Archive: poem


Doorway of Stone

 

Stone doorway

 

 

Within the stone doorway

 

Stands

 

No one, nothing,

 

Only

 

The juniper trees

 

That

 

Twist

 

In the crinkling air

 

Of morning,

 

Only the peace of the empty

 

Jars

 

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

 

Still

 

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

 

Nowhere

 

Only the shining wings of lands

 

Out there

 

In the lone doorway of stone

 

On the owl-enchanted outcrop

 

On the high

 

Hill.

 

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

Gone

Now, the cloud-wandering

Of the winter night,

Before the moon

Will write

Her comments

Across the pale

Rock

Invoking

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,

Intent,

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

Foothill,

Who calls

At the break

Of day; who sails

In her glimmering

Country

Beyond the starred horizon,

Beyond the veils

Of dust and pain,

Who sends her

Flaming

Dragon

Forth to still

The stirring pit,

That none will

Be

Thereafter

But only the holy

Misted, quiet

Rain

That falls

Long,

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,

http://fineartamerica.com/featured/wild-egret-sharon-stjoan.html

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

Sky

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

Footfall

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

Night,

Of the mystical intent

Of the blackest ravens.

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

http://fineartamerica.com/featured/the-forest-sharon-stjoan.html