the angels softly gathered winged self
together around God
ten thousand rustles whisper an idea
“teach me of heaven”
God smiling thought “hear the parable of”
then stopped
God laughing said “not hear”
“here”
creating “earth and Us”
--Marty Kummetz
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Playing with Six Words, More or Less (a Sestina)
Mine. Work. Hand. Our. Age. Stars…work
with ease, they shine and hand
their light so freely to our
world, and have done so from first age.
Yet, here’s no ode to twinkling stars’
work, that grace’ night sky, yours and mine.
Our mine-work—stars!—hands age! Mine
own, feebling, but they still work.
Face and form no longer make a star
of me; Beauty slowly hands
me over. Yet, no proclitic to certain age.
My fate alone? No, it’s all of ours.
Stars are mines. Age’s work hands our
lodes to us. Bless these veins of mine.
Where’s the Kingdom? Now? This age?
Almost the theme of this here work,
Yet, no opus to “at hand.”
Our seeking Seers still look to stars.
Age’s stars are handy. My! Work star-
lit phrase to eat. In gentle melds our
words taste sweet. For more money in my hands,
what to provide or sell of mine?
Wait, is this a verse to noble work?
Star nude in films at this age?
Hands age; stars work. Our mine ages,
but, still gives, thank fortune’s stars,
and God, such mercies work.
Angels have Heaven, the Earth’s our
land, yet, no rhyme to “theirs,” “yours,” “mine.”
Age holds big blessings in small hands.
Work, and Sage Mystery: our hands
turn grapes into wine, that ages
much as like ore in mind’s mine,
or what Clever Muse has writ’ in stars.
Hear now what sweet labor is; not our
hands make word-play work.
No toil of hands in poem work,
Such joy in every age of ours,
To mine words from the stars.
--Marty Kummetz
Monday, May 4, 2009
a.m. cows
Inspired by the smallest fragment of a dream...I tugged a little on that thread, and this ballad almost wrote itself.
a.m. cows
In the gentle dawning quiet,
a Prophet wanders through the stalls,
strangely, pointing out the straight
from twisty halls.
Who’s this calling?
The Whys and Hows!
“This way to the a.m. cows!”
Almost, almost as if I’d never
left, I softly fade right in.
Drawn through a very narrow hall,
into this pure and silent place,
where timber rafters, limber walls,
breathe with timeless, supple grace.
Morning’s here, and it’s a glory.
“Let's hear some more or your life story,
and not meaning your biography!”
You'd s’pose this would evoke forlorning?
Not so, it’s just the whisper of each morning,
quite simply all that’s ever asked, you see.
Meekly shuffling, my heart pumping,
“Sorry, I’ve brought nothing here today,
guess I'll need to think up something.”
“Think up? Phooey!” He spits out.
Then I hear familiar shout
of my friend, the whys and hows.
“This way to the a.m. cows!”
He smiles, then lightly falls in hay,
straightens out his robes white cloth,
and wryly looks my way...
“When thoughts use you, you're not quite here,
Use the mind, not it use you,
and bring around what's truly new,
a poem, say, or an answer will appear.
It's you who've asked 'What is the way?'
So, be calm, and tell it quick—
yet, we’ve all day.”
More logical than it first seems,
I sort of know just what he means,
for, the whole tale’s here right now,
“Is that a great, big a.m. cow?”
“When one’s tense—past and pre, not present,
or in the ‘morrow dwelling, is that sin?”
I ask Zeke.
He nods.
I’m feelin’ kinda' wise somehow,
so, you know I pipe right in—
“This way to the a.m. cows!”
Soothy’s jumpin’, his staff thumpin’,
twirling, white robe flying,
now, I’m just dyin'—
laughing as he spins around,
several inches off the ground!
Then, mid barefoot pirouette,
he stops to sing--
“I don’t think that’s everything…”
Then a silence, a hint of death,
reflecting in those loving eyes
what's garnered here in this place’
very breath:
“Hear, let no man put asunder!”
(Here, insert some joyous thunder.)
“When not whole, one’s not Holy, therefore, wholly grieve!”
(Ahem, you’ll see…)
“Not Now did subtle snake deceive.”
Sudden movement broke my trance,
“Now we must resume the dance!”
Said the whys and hows.
“This way to the a.m. cows!”
“Don’t you think this solves all myst’ry?
Fills the holes in our brief hist’ry?
Please, dispense with all forlorn!
Now, with every breath let’s be reborn!”
“Not now, you now know all about.”
Then he gave a poignant shout.
“Always know, I am you Child, see?
Why not put all your how’s and why’s on me?”
Such simple stores from whys and hows,
it’s this way to the a.m. cows!
“Have I penned this familiar poem?”
I ask, “or read it, somewhere, someplace?”
“Yes and yes,” says the Sage, “you’re never alone,
here in this lofty, storing-space.”
How he got in I tried to guess.
His eyes on me gave utmost rest,
and whispered, “all this straw and hay you see?
So perfect for a baby’s nest.”
Always in the dawning quiet,
walks the Seer among the stalls,
leading seekers toward the straight
and narrow halls.
So all, seek your prophet—
Ask some whys and hows.
Hear ye, hear ye…Here ye, Now!
“This way to the a.m. Cows!”
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
a.m. cows
In the gentle dawning quiet,
a Prophet wanders through the stalls,
strangely, pointing out the straight
from twisty halls.
Who’s this calling?
The Whys and Hows!
“This way to the a.m. cows!”
Almost, almost as if I’d never
left, I softly fade right in.
Drawn through a very narrow hall,
into this pure and silent place,
where timber rafters, limber walls,
breathe with timeless, supple grace.
Morning’s here, and it’s a glory.
“Let's hear some more or your life story,
and not meaning your biography!”
You'd s’pose this would evoke forlorning?
Not so, it’s just the whisper of each morning,
quite simply all that’s ever asked, you see.
Meekly shuffling, my heart pumping,
“Sorry, I’ve brought nothing here today,
guess I'll need to think up something.”
“Think up? Phooey!” He spits out.
Then I hear familiar shout
of my friend, the whys and hows.
“This way to the a.m. cows!”
He smiles, then lightly falls in hay,
straightens out his robes white cloth,
and wryly looks my way...
“When thoughts use you, you're not quite here,
Use the mind, not it use you,
and bring around what's truly new,
a poem, say, or an answer will appear.
It's you who've asked 'What is the way?'
So, be calm, and tell it quick—
yet, we’ve all day.”
More logical than it first seems,
I sort of know just what he means,
for, the whole tale’s here right now,
“Is that a great, big a.m. cow?”
“When one’s tense—past and pre, not present,
or in the ‘morrow dwelling, is that sin?”
I ask Zeke.
He nods.
I’m feelin’ kinda' wise somehow,
so, you know I pipe right in—
“This way to the a.m. cows!”
Soothy’s jumpin’, his staff thumpin’,
twirling, white robe flying,
now, I’m just dyin'—
laughing as he spins around,
several inches off the ground!
Then, mid barefoot pirouette,
he stops to sing--
“I don’t think that’s everything…”
Then a silence, a hint of death,
reflecting in those loving eyes
what's garnered here in this place’
very breath:
“Hear, let no man put asunder!”
(Here, insert some joyous thunder.)
“When not whole, one’s not Holy, therefore, wholly grieve!”
(Ahem, you’ll see…)
“Not Now did subtle snake deceive.”
Sudden movement broke my trance,
“Now we must resume the dance!”
Said the whys and hows.
“This way to the a.m. cows!”
“Don’t you think this solves all myst’ry?
Fills the holes in our brief hist’ry?
Please, dispense with all forlorn!
Now, with every breath let’s be reborn!”
“Not now, you now know all about.”
Then he gave a poignant shout.
“Always know, I am you Child, see?
Why not put all your how’s and why’s on me?”
Such simple stores from whys and hows,
it’s this way to the a.m. cows!
“Have I penned this familiar poem?”
I ask, “or read it, somewhere, someplace?”
“Yes and yes,” says the Sage, “you’re never alone,
here in this lofty, storing-space.”
How he got in I tried to guess.
His eyes on me gave utmost rest,
and whispered, “all this straw and hay you see?
So perfect for a baby’s nest.”
Always in the dawning quiet,
walks the Seer among the stalls,
leading seekers toward the straight
and narrow halls.
So all, seek your prophet—
Ask some whys and hows.
Hear ye, hear ye…Here ye, Now!
“This way to the a.m. Cows!”
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Two Poems
Poems
The muse worries thread,
Back words from deep and briny.
The brilliance of the finished cloth?
It isn’t bright, yet, sometimes, somewhat, shiny.
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
Projectorize
Rat's racing,
Wailing, gnashing, teeth,
Broke,
Loose, scuffed-up boot,
While at home Mom made lasagna.
--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--2009
The muse worries thread,
Back words from deep and briny.
The brilliance of the finished cloth?
It isn’t bright, yet, sometimes, somewhat, shiny.
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
Projectorize
Rat's racing,
Wailing, gnashing, teeth,
Broke,
Loose, scuffed-up boot,
While at home Mom made lasagna.
--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
The Sword / Heavy Metal
FADE IN
(silence)
* * *
The Sword / Heavy Metal
(For George Romero)
Lay down to sleep when awake,
Die when you’re alive.
Never rising from the bed, evil works to hide.
Callow slumber walks night-days; Gold film upon the eyes.
Chant "Lead mmmm Barium" [Take five!]
Now.
Will you.
Arrive.
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
* * *
(silence,... still)
FADE OUT
Asphyxiation from Layers of Suffering, Light
Asphyxiation from Layers of Suffering.
Hear now of the true Suffering of Jesus.
He was the one we elected at the beginning, to lead us out of the darkness we were sure to become lost in—waiting outside the perimeter of living, until the appropriate time, or more precisely, when Now had achieved a specific quality, and we became hopelessly lost—to enter in, and rescue us.
The whole of his lifetime he never lost consciousness, he never fell asleep. While this, at first, sounds blissfully wonderful, it really is not. For the Joy in being awake is in the awakening. One who is awake cannot wake up, and only the dead can rise from the dead. Similarly, we can not experience the relief and pleasure of coming home, until we have left home. Jesus, in the entirety of his lifetime never experienced what we, in the dark hours of our lifetime can. Yet, did this ever stop his work?
Did he mope? Drown in self-pity?
No.
He did not even envy this of us. To put envy (the seed of all evil,) away from oneself, and to not covet is the greatest triumph in living. It requires the power of Life, (synonymous with Light and Love--Awareness, which was what he was entirely—Awake.) Thus, all his actions were of love, and accomplished Love.
It is rather bold to say that Jesus was benefiting himself at the same time he benefited us, yet two things to consider. Love benefits all, or it is not love. Secondly, if Love only benefited another, why would we, in our humanity, ever choose to imitate it? (The Divine was poured into fleshy, human vessels. Jesus demonstrated how we can live Divinely, even in our human form.)
So, we can see just how he suffered, and, for his own benefit, as well as ours—so blessedly simultaneously. And this is why he said of his impending death on the cross, “Now will the Son of Man be glorified.” Finally, finally, would he have the opportunity to experience what we have always had throughout our lifetime, thus crying out, as we first did in our sleep, “My God, My God, Why hast thou Forsaken me?”
How hauntingly appropriate this is, for in his own lament, Jesus was answering, and at the same time, the answer to ours. This was also the Lamentation of God, for, in our sleep, as we felt forsaken by God, God was forsaken by us.
More amazing, is the physical suffering of Jesus. Pain and agony!—beating!—nails through one's wrists!?! Or, even if just roped up and hung—having precious, life-giving breath slowly denied--c'mon! Add to it, these components of his Passion—betrayal, denial, isolation, humiliation, all this cruelty inflicted on him, was suffering on top of suffering, on top of suffering, and this cannot be taken from him.
I know I could not have borne it. I'd have cracked, told them whatever they wanted to hear, retracted, or most probably, fled. I'd have broke, or blended into obscurity and anonymity—cowardice--at even the mere possibility of crucifixion. Even in my darkest hours, I've still had friends and family to see me through.
Jesus was not the first ever to be hung on a cross. He would have seen it before, as crucifixion was the preferred form of execution in that day, and always, intentionally, well displayed. Yet he accepted it willingly. With complete awareness, he lived toward this the whole of his lifetime.
Amazing.
--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--April 10, 2009
* * *
Hope is now gone...
...for in Faith (certainty of outcome) are we healed. In Faith it is accomplished, in Faith do we Live (Love.)
Breathe and experience this. Right Now Here, for Life's sake, please.
* * *
Light
Love remains,
Now here's some Grace:
It's Eternal, not forevermore,
Love conquers
Time
and
Space.
--Marty Kummetz
--December, 2008
Hear now of the true Suffering of Jesus.
He was the one we elected at the beginning, to lead us out of the darkness we were sure to become lost in—waiting outside the perimeter of living, until the appropriate time, or more precisely, when Now had achieved a specific quality, and we became hopelessly lost—to enter in, and rescue us.
The whole of his lifetime he never lost consciousness, he never fell asleep. While this, at first, sounds blissfully wonderful, it really is not. For the Joy in being awake is in the awakening. One who is awake cannot wake up, and only the dead can rise from the dead. Similarly, we can not experience the relief and pleasure of coming home, until we have left home. Jesus, in the entirety of his lifetime never experienced what we, in the dark hours of our lifetime can. Yet, did this ever stop his work?
Did he mope? Drown in self-pity?
No.
He did not even envy this of us. To put envy (the seed of all evil,) away from oneself, and to not covet is the greatest triumph in living. It requires the power of Life, (synonymous with Light and Love--Awareness, which was what he was entirely—Awake.) Thus, all his actions were of love, and accomplished Love.
It is rather bold to say that Jesus was benefiting himself at the same time he benefited us, yet two things to consider. Love benefits all, or it is not love. Secondly, if Love only benefited another, why would we, in our humanity, ever choose to imitate it? (The Divine was poured into fleshy, human vessels. Jesus demonstrated how we can live Divinely, even in our human form.)
So, we can see just how he suffered, and, for his own benefit, as well as ours—so blessedly simultaneously. And this is why he said of his impending death on the cross, “Now will the Son of Man be glorified.” Finally, finally, would he have the opportunity to experience what we have always had throughout our lifetime, thus crying out, as we first did in our sleep, “My God, My God, Why hast thou Forsaken me?”
How hauntingly appropriate this is, for in his own lament, Jesus was answering, and at the same time, the answer to ours. This was also the Lamentation of God, for, in our sleep, as we felt forsaken by God, God was forsaken by us.
More amazing, is the physical suffering of Jesus. Pain and agony!—beating!—nails through one's wrists!?! Or, even if just roped up and hung—having precious, life-giving breath slowly denied--c'mon! Add to it, these components of his Passion—betrayal, denial, isolation, humiliation, all this cruelty inflicted on him, was suffering on top of suffering, on top of suffering, and this cannot be taken from him.
I know I could not have borne it. I'd have cracked, told them whatever they wanted to hear, retracted, or most probably, fled. I'd have broke, or blended into obscurity and anonymity—cowardice--at even the mere possibility of crucifixion. Even in my darkest hours, I've still had friends and family to see me through.
Jesus was not the first ever to be hung on a cross. He would have seen it before, as crucifixion was the preferred form of execution in that day, and always, intentionally, well displayed. Yet he accepted it willingly. With complete awareness, he lived toward this the whole of his lifetime.
Amazing.
--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--April 10, 2009
* * *
Hope is now gone...
...for in Faith (certainty of outcome) are we healed. In Faith it is accomplished, in Faith do we Live (Love.)
Breathe and experience this. Right Now Here, for Life's sake, please.
* * *
Light
Love remains,
Now here's some Grace:
It's Eternal, not forevermore,
Love conquers
Time
and
Space.
--Marty Kummetz
--December, 2008
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Red Lintel, Gethsemene
Here we stand,
Poised for boundless,
An open door,
A plate, a cup,
Wine and unleavened bread.
So much Blood! Such life struck down...
And,
Death passes overhead.
* * *
“Sleeping?” “What?”
Three friends,
Reclined against an olive tree,
Discussing an evening's strange events--an odd meal,
and Remembrance?
“It's getting late, and tomorrow? What awaits?”
If they'd had it, a thermos of Starbucks, or strong tea—anything against four cups of Passover wine.
So, for strength, a hymn, a prayer, a verse or two.
“Amen.”
But sleeping? “Come again?”
And He did, speaking of weak flesh and willing spirit.
“We're quite alert and guarding—no, no one has come by this way, go ahead and pray, all is okay!”
Alert, perhaps, yet not aware. Now, you see, they just weren't there.
Why such turbulence in this Garden? What was lacking?
Stillness. Quiet.
And here's a clue: And he cometh the third time, and saith unto them, Sleep on now, and take your rest: it is enough, the hour is come; behold, the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise up, let us go; lo, he that betrayeth me is at hand. Mark 14:41, 42 KJV
And another: “And what I say to you I say to all: Watch.” Mark 13:37 RSV
For, you see, Watching brings the Kingdom.
* * *
Another mystery...
Someone flees into the night.
A cloak, a garment, was but all they caught so tight.
* * *
Here we stand,
Poised for boundless,
An open door,
A plate, a cup,
Wine and unleavened bread.
So much Blood! A Life laid down...
And,
We pass over death.
Red Lintel
--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--April, 2009
Gethsemene
--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--April, 2009
Poised for boundless,
An open door,
A plate, a cup,
Wine and unleavened bread.
So much Blood! Such life struck down...
And,
Death passes overhead.
* * *
“Sleeping?” “What?”
Three friends,
Reclined against an olive tree,
Discussing an evening's strange events--an odd meal,
and Remembrance?
“It's getting late, and tomorrow? What awaits?”
If they'd had it, a thermos of Starbucks, or strong tea—anything against four cups of Passover wine.
So, for strength, a hymn, a prayer, a verse or two.
“Amen.”
But sleeping? “Come again?”
And He did, speaking of weak flesh and willing spirit.
“We're quite alert and guarding—no, no one has come by this way, go ahead and pray, all is okay!”
Alert, perhaps, yet not aware. Now, you see, they just weren't there.
Why such turbulence in this Garden? What was lacking?
Stillness. Quiet.
And here's a clue: And he cometh the third time, and saith unto them, Sleep on now, and take your rest: it is enough, the hour is come; behold, the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise up, let us go; lo, he that betrayeth me is at hand. Mark 14:41, 42 KJV
And another: “And what I say to you I say to all: Watch.” Mark 13:37 RSV
For, you see, Watching brings the Kingdom.
* * *
Another mystery...
Someone flees into the night.
A cloak, a garment, was but all they caught so tight.
* * *
Here we stand,
Poised for boundless,
An open door,
A plate, a cup,
Wine and unleavened bread.
So much Blood! A Life laid down...
And,
We pass over death.
Red Lintel
--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--April, 2009
Gethsemene
--Marty Kummetz (firescarecrow)
--April, 2009
Lament & Deepest Blue
Lament
Vile! Sightless!
Will you sprout larval wings and escape
cloy retense?
No. Stay. Find your own
kind.
Like, you know,... stay.
stay, i need
Large art is a delving,
Here's the profound--
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
Vile! Sightless!
Will you sprout larval wings and escape
cloy retense?
No. Stay. Find your own
kind.
Like, you know,... stay.
stay, i need
you
can fool.
--Marty Kummetz
--1998
* * *
Deepest Blue
Large art is a delving,
Here's the profound--
Breathe deeply,
Live deeply,
Dive deeply,
Live deeply,
Dive deeply,
Raise treasure from lurid depths.
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
Monday, April 6, 2009
Attention (a ballad)
The interlude (bulk of the poem, really,) and first stanza following it is the most awesome and vivid dream I've ever had, put to words. I elaborated on one element, one stanza only, (for me to know,) and in that, only to punctuate and emphasize the dream as a whole.
A love poem, of alienation (self-imposed, as always,) friendship, envy, desire, self-deception and misunderstanding, transformation, redemption (hopefully,) and finding our way, despite ourself.
Objectivity is difficult--it is so crystal clear to me--I also lived this dream. I hope something comes through to the reader. If not, pardon me my self-indulgence.
Attention
Would you only understand—
Bottoms up, last four;
As, Beautiful, a happiness
Drained ’way before the door.
One starting-ending-starting year,
Chance or luck would see me home.
Right arm into left-hand sleeve
Of frayed, unrav’ling fabric of the known.
Don’t mistake the cold, blunt end.
Sharp starts give us the cue.
And by the pointy turns of fate,
Our passage we’re shown through.
Loose, untamed beast drags iron chains,
Wild and mad men dancing ‘round,
Like blood thund’ring in my veins,
It tears through caverns underground.
Primal beat and fev’rish panting,
‘long with an unearthly chanting,
Burning torches, raging strains, and then,
It powers forth into the open.
Clean and mean, its way it’s messing,
Shrieking; gasping; wails; a scream.
As I dread, mid-pounce, it turns,
Its all compassing mind on me.
Fierce-some speed it came so swift,
More like I was brought to it,
Yet, this way, also, seemed to go—
Time stood still, all movement slowed.
In gradient measure, features changing;
Creatureous countenance transformed.
In silent, still, hypnotic pose,
We’re eye to eye, and nose to nose.
This moment, void of time, in no place nor space,
Within me, deeply scored, so indelibly.
I’ll hold it close—periluminous grace—
Young Mythic Lion’s gentle-bearded, human face.
Short--eternity--
Sound, whole, perplexed—(such odd rebirth—)
Naked and alone I’m left,
A dram of blood upon my chest.
Beast now, upward toward
Stars’ own space rushing,
They in concert spin, surround,
Arms reach; crying; beg a Blessing.
Others fall unburnt to earth…
With these, I sit alone, without
Craving, yearning on, such is desire.
Knowing-glasses. “Did you get one?”
“No, not I.” “Me neither?”
Enmity, yet no foe I strove to be
A friend, yes even family.
Now after all, I’ve one too,
And send it, quickly, back to you.
You might say this one’s on me,
With cheers, share this clear shot.
Be sure, true’s every way to stress—
Never was what I did want.
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
A love poem, of alienation (self-imposed, as always,) friendship, envy, desire, self-deception and misunderstanding, transformation, redemption (hopefully,) and finding our way, despite ourself.
Objectivity is difficult--it is so crystal clear to me--I also lived this dream. I hope something comes through to the reader. If not, pardon me my self-indulgence.
Attention
Would you only understand—
Bottoms up, last four;
As, Beautiful, a happiness
Drained ’way before the door.
One starting-ending-starting year,
Chance or luck would see me home.
Right arm into left-hand sleeve
Of frayed, unrav’ling fabric of the known.
Don’t mistake the cold, blunt end.
Sharp starts give us the cue.
And by the pointy turns of fate,
Our passage we’re shown through.
Loose, untamed beast drags iron chains,
Wild and mad men dancing ‘round,
Like blood thund’ring in my veins,
It tears through caverns underground.
Primal beat and fev’rish panting,
‘long with an unearthly chanting,
Burning torches, raging strains, and then,
It powers forth into the open.
Clean and mean, its way it’s messing,
Shrieking; gasping; wails; a scream.
As I dread, mid-pounce, it turns,
Its all compassing mind on me.
Fierce-some speed it came so swift,
More like I was brought to it,
Yet, this way, also, seemed to go—
Time stood still, all movement slowed.
In gradient measure, features changing;
Creatureous countenance transformed.
In silent, still, hypnotic pose,
We’re eye to eye, and nose to nose.
This moment, void of time, in no place nor space,
Within me, deeply scored, so indelibly.
I’ll hold it close—periluminous grace—
Young Mythic Lion’s gentle-bearded, human face.
Short--eternity--
Quick--He strikes at me—
Slashing claw tears ‘way my cloths,
Final roar, to own purpose goes.
Slashing claw tears ‘way my cloths,
Final roar, to own purpose goes.
Sound, whole, perplexed—(such odd rebirth—)
Naked and alone I’m left,
A dram of blood upon my chest.
Beast now, upward toward
Stars’ own space rushing,
They in concert spin, surround,
Arms reach; crying; beg a Blessing.
Others fall unburnt to earth…
With these, I sit alone, without
Craving, yearning on, such is desire.
Knowing-glasses. “Did you get one?”
“No, not I.” “Me neither?”
Enmity, yet no foe I strove to be
A friend, yes even family.
Now after all, I’ve one too,
And send it, quickly, back to you.
You might say this one’s on me,
With cheers, share this clear shot.
Be sure, true’s every way to stress—
Never was what I did want.
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Pageant of Life / Cantata
There is only Spirit. This is Life. All else is but the garments.
Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. Mark 11:8
"Hosanna!"
* * *
Cantata
an object upward thrown how high
for it to qualify
as being in sky
fifty feet twenty six one foot
less or more
is earth merely heavens floor
above below below above
own eye
relative to tall things nearby
is heaven sky is sky air
at half inch high
is air down there
existence
requires
grace of space
truly then where do we dwell
on earth
do we on bellies crawl
We walk and live upright on ground,
The only souls on earth are feets',
Here and Now to Life lets rise,
Welcome Friends to Paradise!
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. Mark 11:8
"Hosanna!"
* * *
Cantata
an object upward thrown how high
for it to qualify
as being in sky
fifty feet twenty six one foot
less or more
is earth merely heavens floor
above below below above
own eye
relative to tall things nearby
is heaven sky is sky air
at half inch high
is air down there
existence
requires
grace of space
truly then where do we dwell
on earth
do we on bellies crawl
We walk and live upright on ground,
The only souls on earth are feets',
Here and Now to Life lets rise,
Welcome Friends to Paradise!
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
A Pair of Poems
Oftentimes, I am unsure of objectivity...personal significance or resonating universal tenor?
I hope the latter.
Forthwith...
Theory
boom
Tears feel so large and good and alive on the face...
I hope the latter.
Forthwith...
Theory
boom
Tears feel so large and good and alive on the face...
Can't live in them, nor swim away.
I'd rather the sea compress on me than
stand on land
with an ocean of kind weight on the cheek
only
that
is sadness a womb?
So comforting in its warm, wet hug?
An amnioexocentrotopic baptismo-bag,
intoxicating, passionating, medicating,
yet,
masticating, acidating, eating away, eating away, still,
to be borne?
More?
or less?
a blister—still painful dry wound when
pressure's broke,
fluid
gone.
Heals.
No!
don't feel, zip it up—
forget the healy-feelies
return to the high!
get the healy-feelies
return to the “Hi”
explosion/
decompression
expansion..............
.................................bo
om
--Marty Kummetz
--2007 (proceeding o/o Journal-angst of '96)
‘Til Now
For Eckhart Tolle
Tears have become
A sea of living water.
By Love’s light I see my face,
So good, know what to do…
In a week I’ll see you.
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
--Marty Kummetz
--2007 (proceeding o/o Journal-angst of '96)
‘Til Now
For Eckhart Tolle
Tears have become
A sea of living water.
By Love’s light I see my face,
So good, know what to do…
In a week I’ll see you.
--Marty Kummetz
--2007
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