The Dove's Descent

The dark descent the dove goes down

To come and claim his coveted crown

Transforms the flow of folly and fear

To hope for heaven’s harmony here.

We trace his trial to a trembling tree

And think, with thunder’s throes at three:

Would sorrow’s storms and struggles cease

If people prized his path of peace?

 

I've been traveling a lot over the past several weeks and am now starting to settle back into a rhythm of writing. This one definitely seemed appropriate for Easter. As with many of my poems, I didn't start out with this theme in mind - I was more focused on trying to see how much alliteration I could pack into every line (and apparently the answer was quite a bit). Eventually, the Easter theme (maybe more precisely, the Good Friday theme) started to take shape.

The Borders of Ourselves

What are you thinking?

Can I ever truly know?

Even if you tell me,

What unnamed thoughts remain below,

Beneath the threshold words express?

And so, your thoughts stay foreign,

Unless somehow our minds extend

Beyond the borders of ourselves, to blend.

 

This poem explores the extent to which we can truly know and understand one another. Being aware of all the random thoughts that occur within my own mind, it's difficult to see how we could ever arrive at a similar level of awareness regarding the thoughts of others. If we're not able to do that, is it possible to ever truly know someone as we know ourselves? I don't know, but the poem ends with the hope that it is possible, because perhaps, somehow, our minds go beyond what we can rationally perceive or quantify within the physical confines of our own heads - extending into other places where they can truly come into contact.

When Golden Flowers Fall

When golden flowers fall

And silver stems decay,

Their leaves of jade go floating

Where all things pass away,

For riches may enthrall,

May glitter for a time,

But never will their treasured note

Outlast the final chime.

 

This poem makes the point that, even though material riches may seem a bit more long-lasting than a flower's quick decaying, they still diminish over time. They are ephemeral, just like anything else in this life, and when our lives do come to a close, those riches will be lost to us completely. Personally, this idea makes me think that the world should focus a bit less on money and markets and prices, and a bit more on other things.

Open Sky

Every once in a while

I wonder why

The sky seems to open in reply

To something feeling broken

Within the little world I see.

Despair awoken

By pain unspoken,

The sunset streaks the clouds and comforts me.

 

As I've mentioned before, I have a nice balcony where I like to sit and read, especially on the weekends. Almost always, sitting out there gives me an immediate sense of calm as I look out over the buildings and distant hills, particularly when the sun is setting. Sun's rays emerge through clouds and paint pale pinks and purples across the western sky. It helps me to remember the majesty of the world, bigger than any small difficulties I might be facing.

Parts to Play

Listen to the music.

Find what notes to add

In consonance or dissonance

With joyful melodies or sad,

But cadences are always

Left somewhat incomplete.

The phrases stretch beyond ourselves

In measures we will never meet.

 

I often think in musical terms, and this poem focuses on using a musical metaphor to reflect our lives. It makes the point that our choices and actions (the notes we add) contribute something to the overall harmony of the world, or clash with it. It also points out that, while our part in the symphony will end, the music will continue on - hopefully enriched in some way by what we offered.

Who Owns the Forest

He told me it’s his and showed me in print

The title, signed, with a golden seal’s glint.

Then a gust tore the paper away from his hand.

It fluttered, a leaf on the wind, to land

On the soft forest floor, where it nourished the trees

And surrendered its words to the voice of the breeze.

“Who owns the forest?” I asked of the sky.

“All and none,” came a whispered reply.

 

The idea for this poem came when I was watching a video that mentioned someone owning a forest. While I realize this probably isn't all that uncommon, it struck me as odd. I know some may not agree with this way of thinking, but I have trouble seeing a forest as simply property to own, with all of its life and complex, interconnected processes that defy and surpass our control. Its cycles contribute to the lives of all - human, animal, plant - so all have a stake in its continued thriving, and none can stake an individual claim.

Keep Writing

I struggle to identify

A theme that’s new, untried, and unexpected.

I wonder if my writing

Has now exhausted all my heart’s collected.

Should this be so, I’d pause to cry

But then begin again to pen a rhyme,

For here my mind keeps fighting

To understand my place in space and time.

 

The words have been coming somewhat slowly recently, as I've been trying to write poems. When this happens, I sometimes wonder if I've just run out of ideas, or run out of whatever creative writing ability I had before. Buy eventually I realize that, even if that were the case, I would still need to keep trying, because this has become one of the ways I process things - one of the ways I try to understand my place in all that happens.