Showing posts from April, 2009

For The Anniversary Of My Death

by W.S. Merwin

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star

Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what

The war is over --

by Bob O’Hearn

As long as we imagine there is something to defend, we will find enemies.
The war is always with ourselves in that respect.
Mind divides itself into self and other,
and so the wild rumpus continues.

"Except for deserted wilderness what is there to protect?"


The war is over --
nobody survived.

No time to mourn the dead,
sunrise over the settling dust
was too captivating for any lament.

Crimson trails of mind's lingering exhaust
scar-streaked dawn's early sky, as if
the dream of night itself exploded,
as if from now on there would be
flooding daylight only, though
even that wild wonder will
fall in time from the eyes,
till what remains is
not of time, not of mind,
yet even in its flash of vanishing --
true balm for wounded hearts.

We wake and rise and fall breathless
into this luminosity, this sky meadow
vibrant with vernal signs, hues,
and vivid budding wonders --
the ordinary evidence of everything
changing, even as we ourselves are