with one voice

we sing with one voice

mine, the same as yours

the moon pulls our strings

three-quarters water, one quarter mud

the moon moves our tides

influences our moods

the sun is mother to planets

moons, meteors, other debris

it is a lonely job

the whisper of distant stars

keep her company

warm her endless night

link to my substack blog -- short stories and memoir

 https://marcmannheimer.substack.com/

More Catastrophe and Bliss

the she

I tell people

she comes from my hometown

they think I am delusional

"that doesn't mean

you are meant for each other"

she comes from Mumbai

and I, from Cleveland, Ohio

her heart sings a one-note

symphony, lets me know

I am alive and well, and I am good

her smile

breaks down the wall of every grand 

temple housing a false god

her feet forge a path

to the secret, sacred lamp

of my innermost heart-hovel

the power of confusion

don't underestimate

the power

of confusion

in a field

in the dusky mist

of early autumn

I cannot see

what I cannot imagine

but the horses come

eat apples from my hand

bestow their grace

on my eyes

I see the quivering light, then

of my bewildered heart

the beginning of the end, or, blame is always shared, isn't it?

i

she was kind

to outsiders, always

a defense witness

for anybody living

on the fringe

 

I once asked her "If Jesus came back

and asked you to do one thing

would you do it?"

she smiled

and said nothing

 

later confided in me

she felt Jesus wanted her

to finish college

get a religion degree

become a pastor

 

so she applied for a student loan

went back to school

for two weeks, then

declaring there is no God

dropped out

 

ii

the loan dogged her

she moved out of town

 

a defense witness

for everyone scrapping their way

through an alternative lifestyle

fell in love

with a heroin addict

 

the rest is calculable

simple math, but exponents

must be tacked on

to the grief

spread liberally

amongst us all

from one cup to another

science and religion

which were both there before you

at one time, were indistinguishable

may your hope be manifest

a car was once just a thought

maybe that's how it works

if you are of a scientific mind

open it

maybe God doesn't exist

but maybe does

maybe God is a teacup full of consciousness

in a palace of consciousness

dreaming you dreaming peace

upon a world of wretched Godlings

take your place among the disquieted

and discontent

maybe together we can decide

what to do about this constellation

of conflict

we project onto one another

going home

"I've never been there

But I know the way

I'm going to go

back there some day" --

Gonzo, The Muppet Movie

--

the myth of the orphan

often a boy king

a great woman shaman

a savior of their people

I'd rather just be happy

stop feeling like I was miscast

in a play about someone else's life

a misfit? THAT doesn't even fit

a stranger? even stranger

make no mistake

we are all orphans

from another place

another plane, another world

the real loss

when we are so embroiled

fixated on attaining something here

we don't even care about something

that remotely sounds like peace

windchimes ringing in the breeze

from the front porch

of a home we never knew

poetry that matters

if you're looking to impart meaning

you've kind of missed it

the point that hits home

is the one so close to heart

fed by swoosh of blood

and the reason you put it on paper

is because you must

compelled like frog croaks

from the depths of its belly

it's froggy lust, it's genetic imperative

or maybe you write for no reason at all

the poetry falling out on to page

a baby giraffe from a height

into dusty earth below

a mess of afterbirth following

return of the pale orangutan

  

some 25 years ago they were all of 18 months old

playing on ropes and branches

natural comedians, easy attention addicts

 

a couple of hundred pounds later

they bask in the humid rainforest

a much larger enclosure where

with backs turned to those who crave a glimpse

of their vine-swinging, or face-mugging

even a drool…a long, grotesque strand

would be nice

 

no one gets what they want today

but I am content

 

these are my spirit brothers

I have come to visit

to absorb their dharma transmission

learn a new Zen gag

their higher order humor, these days

is pretending to be sluggish

dumb and depressed

full well knowing they have the upper hand

us two-limb walkers, consumers, gawkers

will get no share of entertainment today

wave

a wave

moves through this world

stands still

quivers there, gentle

like a tiny rabbit

roars

a building

about to topple

Monkeys, We

We monkeys

Learned to clean our teeth

To use a tool

Pick bugs from feet

In time, sold lattes

For exorbitant loot

Built corporate entities

Leeched common good

Smashed their unions

And tip jars to boot

 

Over oil to ship our delicate scones

Went to war with sticks and stones

Bombs and drones to shield our wealth

Destroyed each other, then ourselves

 

Empty handed

Empty souled

Thought we’d won

Then kingdom come

Refused us in

Voted us out

On butt cans kicked

Us bloody louts

 

So we monkeys conceded to share

We monkeys learned to open hand

And not demand

To give of heart

Be just one part

Of synergistic, mystic whole

That fills the well

From empty bowl

For them and thee

Instead of me

Come full circle

Monkeys we

it's never just yes or no

brown bed clothes

pajamas I cannot

lift

so heavy with

regrets from this

flightless day

never knowing when 

the sun will set

again

it will be blue

a hallowed orgy

of secret engines

karma shawarma

is it true

I am alone

with my karma?

this doesn't bother me so much

but if it is true

that means you are, too

then, what can I do for you

your suffering, not my responsibility

nor the world's fractured agonies

is there any way I can help

is this even my concern?

some will surely ascend, unblemished

what of those who burn?

let's pretend

we're just people

by birth or cosmic joke

and my hand reaches out in space

for yours and you take hold

the way light

the way light

romances the glass

hits her with a slight

matter-of-factness

and me

a room away

getting only a bit

enough to read by

be by

understand

the shapes

in my mind by

that diluted gist of hope

I get by by

(any good gambler knows when to) Let It Ride

 

We are sitting at 2^nd Seder

A temple-sponsored event

He asks which one is the wine glass

And which the water glass

 

I say it is simple

The wine glass is smaller

He asks if the waiters can tell us

I say, of course they can

Wanna bet on it? he asks

Can we bet during Passover?

Sure, it’s not the high holy days

So we each put a dollar on it

 

When the waitress rolls around

He asks her

Could you tell me which one

Is the wine glass?

 

It is exactly as I said

 

His response,

Okay, good job

We’ll let it ride

Til the next bet

a not entirely untrue story

Tonight

I found her Google signature picture

Next to her comment

Under a video

On youtube

 

The War on Drugs

Singing to us about “Holding On”

Acoustic set

Adam Granduciel’s voice, someone comments

Is just like Dylan’s

I think – it is reminiscent

But oh so much grander

Sliding home

On a fine dust of silver

Yearning always for moments

Unreachable

 

She thinks, she writes

These boys are golden

They were there for her

She explains

When others

(Like me, I presume)

Were not

 

And the boys have fashioned

The perfection of regret

Into the perfect expression

A horrific muse

Turned sonic hologram

That stands before me now

Haunting

 

Because I loved her so much

And was afraid to show it

vocations

babies know what to do

at the Mellow Mushroom

rant and scream

mom's know, too

wisk them off to the restroom

firmly, with panoramic care

 

the TV’s know

what tune they play

Sponge Bob and ball games

 

and I am learning

to attend to my own business

yeah, real slowly, I am

 

read my magazine

about the Desert Fathers

waiting for my meatball hoagie

John the Dwarf, Abba Anthony

theirs was an interesting era

did nothing but toil

enjoyed their labor

no eye on the fruit