WEANING
You push me away
and reach for the bottle.
Once in Scotland I parted
spongy turf with my fingers
and water welled up like sorrow
its source unknown.
In my childhood playhouse
the table was always set
for guests who never came.
Already my body is shrinking.
You settle like a little king
into the crook of my arm
one hand seizing
the plush belt of my bathrobe
the other splayed
across the warm cylinder.
Your lashes drift down
and your restless legs still
exactly as they did
when I was everything. Velveteen Rabbi
A Million Thoughts
When a million thoughts
go through your mind,
catch them like butterflies,
so the thinking goes,
bringing every thought captive.
What about those thoughts that
aren’t butterflies though?
Ah ha, to make them into such
takes magic we don’t have
but think we should,
if not to the end of what a soul is,
that butterfly catching and making
is not the doing of us doers,
but the being of the is-er.
This is-er, we find, doesn’t even
catch or take a thought, much less
a million , and morph them
into butterflies, or ask us to.
But in the mystery of the new mind,
not I but Christ, and His
silky, linen effortless way,
powdered wings float everywhere.
This might be in the midst of
all that is excruciating,
but simple it is, and sweet.
And there is where we meet.
Brian Coatney/9-26-10
Whimsical Muses or Musical Whimsies by Chris Welch 25/09/10
It's not the thought that thinks.
It's not the window that views.
It's not the spire that inspires.
It's not the wind that winds ... a clock
It's not the pterodactyl that pterorises
It's not the alone who are lonely
It's not the sandwich that is sandwiched...
It's not the moon that is a crescent
It's not the crescent that is a cul de sac
It's not the dead end that is the end
It's Life that is the end
after the dead end
has died.
Other Poems so far......
Bryan Coatney
Play
Chris Welch
Supposing I jumped in with both feet
New Privacy Settings
Martha Keys
Seeds of war and Seeds of peace
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