Behind the Act Is Always the Perception

Behind the act is always the perception.
Often we are led astray by light.
No chaos is more damaging than order
Neatly taped across a mystery.
In love and awe we worship only darkness,
Embracing what we know we cannot know.
Silence is a sea, while what we know
Etches the green hills of our perception.
Truth, unspeakable, resides in darkness,
However much we need the gift of light.
God is just a word. Each mystery
Awakens to the first pale gray of order.
Bright glory bathes the sculpted hills in order,
Rolling towards the edge of what we know.
Inside its veil of blue, the mystery
Eludes the clarity of our perception.
Longing is a quality of light
As in each word we sense an inner darkness.
No word but is a stairway down to darkness,
Down to chaos seething within order.
Live, then, within the pale of what you know,
In touch with terrors gilded by the light.
So may you part the curtain of perception,
Alive to all the grace of mystery.

Being and Becoming Are Creations
Being and becoming are creations
Of indispensable imaginations.
No being is, but as it is perceived,
Needing to be seen to be retrieved,
Infinite as nothing, fixed as numbers,
Eternal insofar as one remembers.
Mind is both what is and what remembers,
A creator that is one of its creations,
Reducible, as all must be, to numbers,
Knowable but to imaginations,
Unformed until by its own act retrieved,
Sustained so long as by itself perceived.
So must we all be by ourselves perceived:
Eternal insofar as one remembers.
To be is by some mind to be retrieved,
Held among the host of its creations.
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Have a Look in the Mirror of Your Dreams

Have a look in the mirror of your dreams:
All the horrors that you see are real.
Lest you think the world is as it seems,
Let your skin crawl, your frozen blood congeal.
Of fear and fantasy now take your fill.
Wells of sorrow lie beneath your feet.
Each sun-drenched field you mercilessly till
Endures to see your ultimate defeat.
Now let yourself let go your last conceit.
Have Witches Gone the Way of Wonders
Have witches gone the way of wonders,
Asterisks of yesterday?
Life restores what reason sunders,
Lest we lose our mind for play.
Once we knew that what we knew
Was like a ship upon a sea.
Evil spirits wandered through
Eternity, and what was true
Never tainted what might be.

Hell Has Little Hope of Happiness

Hell has little hope of happiness.
A devil is eternally on fire,
Locked within unquenchable desire,
Longing with hatred for lost holiness.
On Halloween the devils and the dead
Wander through the world as though to warn
Each soul of an eternity forlorn,
Evangelists condemned to speak through dread,
Nightmares that must preach through pain till dawn.

Hobgoblins Know the Proper Way to Dance
Hobgoblins know the proper way to dance:
Arms akimbo, loopy legs askew,
Leaping into darkness with delight,
Lusting for the ecstasy of fright,
Open to the charm of horrors new.
Well may you start your screaming in advance,
Even as you give a ghoul a chance,
Each creepy creature craving to say, "Boo!",
Near heaven in its netherworld of night.
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What a Puzzle Nick's Poems Are

What a puzzle Nick's poems are!
I cannot grasp what he is after.
Marx is easier by far!
Why write, if one is out to bar
All comprehension? Does he hafta?
Marx is easier by far.
If only some new thought would jar
Bourgeois perception, as in Kafka!
But Nick's poems empty puzzles are.
I think I would put him on par
With Cage or Pollack: Which is dafter?
Marx is easier by far.
Under what sectarian star
Was he begat? What gnomic laughter
Twists those poems which puzzles are?
Ah me! I'll never know. A for-
Eign joke, a filial disaster!
God! Such puzzles Nick's poems are!
Marx is easier--by far!
When You Were Just a Lad of Twenty
When you were just a lad of twenty,
Wet behind the ears,
You bet me that you wouldn't marry
At least a full ten years.
Well, that was but eight years ago,
And here you are today:
The partner of a lovely bride,
A groom in full array!
A thousand dollars is my prize
Now you've been proven wrong.
The moral is: it's never wise
To think you are too strong
To be touched by the beauty of
An unrestrained affection.
You lost your bet, but won your love:
Now here's to your selection!

Young and Lovely, Strong and Sane
Young and lovely, strong and sane,
Life's a lot of fun.
We snowmobile and laugh and hang
And don't hurt anyone.
You love my blue eyes and blonde hair,
I love your mischievous smile.
We drift a lot among the stars,
Then walk home single file.
Although we're just now starting out,
Only months together,
We'll settle down in Waikiki
And be in love forever!
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Harpies Are but Angels Who Are Harried

Harpies are but angels who are harried,
Angry, disappointed in their lot,
Prone to practice bickering when married,
Perhaps because they don't get what they've got.
Yet angels nonetheless, as pure inside
As deep and drifted, soot-encrusted snow,
Near the heart of God but for their pride,
No less loved, for all their squawk below.
If you find yourself pursued by harpies,
Vengeful just because . . . well, just because,
Elevate the angle of your worries,
Remembering that there are higher laws.
So may you love all beings, bright or small,
And be what you would have them be to all,
Regardless of what they might be to you.
You are the harpist, no matter what you do.

Hobgoblins Know the Proper Way to Dance
Hobgoblins know the proper way to dance:
Arms akimbo, loopy legs askew,
Leaping into darkness with delight,
Lusting for the ecstasy of fright,
Open to the charm of horrors new.
Well may you start your screaming in advance,
Even as you give a ghoul a chance,
Each creepy creature craving to say, "Boo!",
Near heaven in its netherworld of night.
Holidays Are Holy Here in Heaven
Holidays are holy here in heaven.
(Ordinary days are awful, too.)
Love is mandatory day and night.
If you get mad, you're not allowed to fight.
Desperate deeds are difficult to do!
As you know, I'll always be eleven.
Years pass, and there's still no sign of you.
So please come soon, 'cause we're still buddies. Right?
How Can I Fall in Love with Only Words
How can I fall in love with only words?
Words and pictures, grainy and compressed?
A jaypeg love is truly for the birds.
You'd have to wonder whether I'm repressed.
But love it is, through all the bits and bytes,
For someone who's like no one else I've met:
Tender, charming, bright, queen of my nights,
All I've ever dreamed of, on the Net.
And though she's living in a distant place,
I love her as I've loved no one before.
Will I ever get to touch her face,
Hold her in my arms and, perhaps, more?
Ay, me! No matter what, I'm still in love.
Through modems must our e-mailed passions move!
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Unlike Some, to Me Death Was a Gift

Unlike some, to me death was a gift:
No longer to live pointlessly in pain.
Choosing death, I might have on my own
Let loose the darkness gathered in my heart,
Except that luck has seen the matter through.
How simple, then, to let one's fortunes drift
Away from one, nor care for loss or gain.
Remember me as one who, not alone,
Relinquished well my moorings, to depart
Yet not without a backward glance towards you.
Undo Me, My Garments Are in Pain
Undo me, my garments are in pain.
Now I must crawl naked to your heart.
Can I not find there a place to lie?
Lovers' kisses linger when they part.
Even so, shall I with you remain.
Life's not flesh, nor does it end with death.
Its force, still radiant, fills each empty place.
Gone the star, the light still strikes the eye;
Gone the flesh, the soul retains its grace.
Your life, your love, your joy--these are my breath.
Understand Death Has No Use for Time
Understand death has no use for time.
No time is any better, any worse.
Cancel twenty years or eighty-nine,
Love's a loss one cannot reimburse.
Each of us lives for an eternity,
Dying only after our forever.
Early or late, we vanish equally,
All unconscious of the ties we sever,
No longer either separate or together.
There Was No Love More Genuine than Mine
There was no love more genuine than mine;
In giving and receiving it was pure.
Grieve not, for my legacy is pleasure,
Each memory a gift that will endure,
Returning you to moments fair and fine.
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Early On, There's a Point to Regret

Early On, There's a Point to Regret
Early on, there's a point to regret:
In creative pain, one can make changes.
Grief is a wild, foolish, helpless rebellion,
Heart against stone, desire smashing against
The locked fact, the impenetrable event,
Yielding nothing but the wash back into life.
For one who grieves, there's no point to regret:
One lives through pain, it's not a time for changes,
Undoing in one's heart what one must accept in life,
Repositioning the precise stones one smashes and smashes against.
Ed Was a Black and White Paint Quarter Horse
Ed was a black and white paint quarter horse.
He died around the age of fifteen years.
We cannot share his inner world, of course:
Such loveliness lies far beyond our tears.
He came to us beaten and afraid,
But in about a year he chose to love,
Never questioning the choice he made,
Nor from that passion did he ever move.
It wasn't mere acceptance or compulsion
That made him such a gentle, loving friend.
Some innocence of which we have no notion
Gave him a depth we cannot comprehend.
He loved us with a dignity and grace
We cannot hope to answer or replace.

Every moment sings with fascination
Every moment sings with fascination
As silence sits behind the vivid veil.
There is no rock not rife with revelation,
Nor word that will not ultimately fail.
Likewise, we are masks upon the void,
Uncreated at our empty core,
Mirror of what cannot be destroyed,
The nothing that the thing is destined for.
The being of our being is delight;
The nothing of our nothing, pure perfection.
Just beyond our day is utter night;
Just within our heart, its blank reflection.
The gift of life brings joy well worth the pain;
The gift of death brings us home again.
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Nothing Is, but What Is Evident

Nothing Is, but What Is Evident
Nothing is, but what is evident.
In truth, the truth appears but to the eye.
Could one but understand what might be meant,
Opening one's heart to pure intent,
Love the answer to one's what or why,
Angels would towards Bethlehem be bent:
So one might believe, though gingerly.
Perhaps It Was the Wind That Sang like Angels
Perhaps it was the wind that sang like angels
Anchored in a star-besotted sky,
Ululating round right-reasoned corners,
Lunging at three kings careening by,
Abroad with wonder, not quite knowing why.
Pets Are for Life, Not Just for Christmas
Pets are for life, not just for Christmas.
Each of us waits for the joy of a home.
Take one of us in and you'll never go kissless,
So long as you treat us as one of your own.
The Druids Thought the Mistletoe
The Druids thought the mistletoe
Would stop the meanest witches,
Cure the most severe disease,
Keep cradles safe from switches.
Enemies laid down their arms
Beneath its pungent spell.
For one whole day they could not fight,
Though hatred fire the will.
In later centuries it served
To force a willing kiss.
For those reluctant on their own
It was the door to bliss.
Today it is a symbol of
The mystic powers of Earth,
For when the sun's about to die
In love we find rebirth.
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I Wish that I Could Bring You to the Lord

I Wish that I Could Bring You to the Lord
I wish that I could bring you to the Lord
Before you die, for I have faith that you
And I could be together if you knew
The truth that shines like laughter in His word.
I wish I had the hope that I could be
The instrument through which you'd understand
The love that waits upon your silent hand
To rush into your anguish like a sea.
I wish that you could feel the joy that I
Am filled with now I'm open to His love,
The miracles that daily in me move
So deep there is no need to question why.
I wish, I wish, I wish I could do more
To reach into the raptures of your heart.
But I can only do my humble part
While you and He meet naked at your door.
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My Mom Is Very Sweet

My Mom Is Very Sweet

My mom is very sweet and always caring.
She worries about me when I am in school.
She makes sure that I get where I am going
On time so that I don't feel like a fool.
She cares whenever I pick on my younger brother.
She cares whenever he or I get hurt.
She cares whenever I score a goal in soccer.
She cares about the buttons on my shirt.

But best of all, my mom loves all of us
Who live with her, both when we're good and bad.
She makes me happy with a hug and kiss
And holds my hand whenever I am sad.
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