Author: Brian

“May Morning”

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The still pond in its rested state sings
With sun-sparkling glints heralding spring.
Birds land and take off again,
Content whether on the ground or in the air,
As elsewhere women and men hustle through swarming streets
In pursuit of antiquated notions of happiness,
While ancient Buddhas disguised as homeless drunks
Sit against grafittied walls with knowing half-smiles,
Welcoming the warmth of the season.

I welcome the sound of a bird behind me in the Utahan morning
With its owl-like hoots, and I think of the owl,
Seeing in the dark; and myself,
Writing in the pre-dawn darkness.
What owlish spirit soars out of me
When the world is dark with half-remembered dreams?

“Still Seeking”

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I sought ecstasy, and ecstasy
Threw me from a tall building
And commanded me to fly.

I sought Grace and Greed
Tortured me with my lack.

I sought more of whatever
Would take me from myself,
And more was granted,
And I was more trapped in ‘I’
Than ever before.

I sought Beauty, and hidden
Loveliness revealed herself
With shy, gentle vulnerability,
And I called her ugly, unfit
To be seen, unworthy.

And it was I who was blind
And not worthy to see,
Not able to perceive,
To discern between,
To see in one, the other;
And in the other, the one.

I sought oneness, and knew
For certain I would always be separate.

I looked deeply at my separation
And the realization of oneness restored me
To my true and undivided self.

“At Year’s End”

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The wind blows in
As I sit in sin and count
My failings thrice.

I would surely give in
If I could only begin
To resolve or to suffice.

I live in this den
With a yen to surcease
This damned and pretend game of dice.

And so the year ends,
Let’s be merry, my friends,
And hope we don’t go through this twice.

 

“Christmas Eve in the Early Morn”

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Christmas Eve in the early morn:
An open window and a strong wind.

She was strong and opened herself
To me in the brisk morning
As I braced myself for her parting
Gift of unutterable loneliness.

It was her gift I needed
To be alone and to weep
That she was not with me.

Why should I not keep
This window open, and listen
To the falling rain, and let
This pain fall to meet me
In the desert of my longing?

Do you need to speak
Like the wind, like the rain?
I will listen.
Do you need to weep
For lost nights and lost days?
I will weep with you.

I want nothing more
Than to weep with you,
And on that long awaited night
When there is nothing more that I want,
I still will live
To weep with you.

“If You Were Here”

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I would like most of all for you to be here
Maybe then I could face the day
I yearn for you above all to be near
When you are not I do not know what to say

I am withering here where you were
For lack of your body and your smile
I know I will never sink or stir
If your wondrous heart leaves me this beguiled

If only I knew of your angelic grace
I might have let you in
But now I cannot look myself in the face
I cannot weep and I cannot grin

You are an angel, you are yourself
So why have I fallen this deep in the mire?
What looks like pain feels like health
My condition has never been this dire

It all has been lost and now I seek
To retrieve what of myself I still can
To inherit the world one must remain meek
I’ve been given much more than I can stand

And so I sit, here in this chair
And wonder how we all survive
In this demise where we are laid bare
Cut in pieces with venomous knives

“William Blake, A Lonesome Angel, and Me

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I hear my neighbor start to sigh,
I see her as she starts to cry,
I cannot bear to hear her cry,
Yet here she weeps, so near to me.

Come, my neighbor, do not sigh,
And come, my neighbor, must we lie?
Come now, my love, do not ask why,
Why, will you not die not to lie with me?

Oh, my neighbor, you must fly!
O, my love, I lie! I lie!
But my dear angel, I alone will die
If you flee from here, away from me.

“A Shimmering Light”

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I struggled and strained and failed to enter
A guarded palace with a golden center,
The light to which I held the switch:
It switched off, and Fall fell into Winter.
 
A shimmering light held my eyes through the night,
Whence it came, where it went, I don’t know.
Brimming and bright, the sun took its last flight,
While the light I’d beheld laid me low.

“How Can I Be A Writer”

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How can I be a writer
When I always forget
What aphasia means?

And why do I usually
Forget why I used to
Need to forget it all?

I remember only when
I will myself to give up
My will in this sinful

Renunciation. I remember
Now, as I forget how to be
One who has never been one.

Can I be with you once more,
You who never have been
Who you wanted to be, you

Who were never with me
And never will be again?
Let me be with you. Oh Lord,

I pray, let me be. Oh, God,
As I lie here on this bed, I
Plead, please, let me be.

That is Enough

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Isn’t it strange to see the sun full on? I always feel better seeing it through a tree or trees or seeing it in the reflection of a lake. I do not deserve to see it full on, up in the sky, not reflecting or shining through anything. It is too much, too great, too full of passion and life. Only the great may see it full on. It suits them and to all others it is too much. And what if it is shining above the ocean? The ocean and the sun! To see God and then to see another no less Godlike! The brave man stares directly into the deep, directly up into the glory, with nothing to protect his eyes. Ah, but who am I? I am not a brave man, so I look at the sun through the branches, with sunglasses to protect my eyes, and that is enough.

“Not Knowing Myself, A Poem Is Written”

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No other on earth knows me as I am.
Those who think they know me best
Know me least. Those who know
They don’t know me, at least know that.
No other will ever know me, as a whole, in this world.

This is written not with excess sorrow or pity or pride.
No other needs to know me, and I do not need
To be known by any other. I alone need to know
Myself, that other I am. I do not know
Why I do not know, but I do know it.

The knowledge that I know
Nothing is painful, difficult to bear. But before
Being can be known, Nothingness must be borne.
Only when I know myself do I exist, as myself.
If I have no knowledge, then I have

No being. I am not, for I know not
What I do or why I do it. I know
Nothing. I do not even know
Why I write these words, or
Why I wake up and find life

Only in these hours when the rest of
The world as we know it is lost in dreams,
Or dreamless sleep. I must wake up
At this time, or in time this distance
Between what I once knew and who I could be

Will grow too great for me to bridge.
I am not still, for I still do not know
What I do or why I do it.
Do you know what you do?
Why do you read these words?

What do you need to know?
Are we born not knowing, so we are
Forced to yearn till death make us whole?
Can we ever know? Can we even live
In this world of dreams if we unearth

The shattering reality of who we actually are?
The knowledge that I know
Nothing is painful, difficult to bear;
But if I knew myself, would that knowledge
Bring even more pain? Could I live with it?

I must wake up now, at this time, or in time
This distance will keep me tied down
To dreams, seeing only what seems
To be, forgetting what I need to do,
To remember who I am.