bare arms of winter tree

bare arms of winter tree

ebony harmony

swaying beautiful because

it has survived

and spring shows its nose

turning that corner

in crocus pocus

in buds of rose

farther and farther

farther and farther

away from your goal

Paul Simon sang

he was slip-slidin' away

I thought he was crazy

or a pessimist, still

after all these years

there's no conquering that hill

warplanes, cafe jazz

the warplanes are not blotting out

the cafe jazz, here at Blackbird

I'm certain, where the buildings crumble

there is no music but jets above

bombs below, and roadside explosions

I am fortunate, as so many find themselves

even the tiny sufferings and shame

that mark my charmed existence

are small enough to be immeasurable

in the jetsam and sputum of history coughing

washed down the gullet of time

inconsequence and grace

make me more fat and comfortable

than I have right to be

to be honored

any spectacle

worth honoring...

      not the tacky red gaud

      of TV reality

      not your derisive laughter

      nor your feeling superior

      in how you live --

      punching into the world,

      knifing the air in front of you

      with a clean nose

...but a window

onto a slice of life

so sweet and charming

so full of baby's s laughter

and old man's wispy beard

the hand that rocks the soul

has held the infant Jesus

while Mary relieved  herself

in the brambles

that hand reached in

and pulled twenty men

out of a collapsing coal mine

everyone deserves transformation

but not all should be inducted

in your heart, holy of holies

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