Thanksgiving 2006
I’m not the body
I move, own, am tied to
giving thanks today
as I consume the flesh
of friends Tom Turkey,
plants I love,
along with air and water…
What is this communion,
one form devouring others,
transforming, mind giving credit
for the privilege
to a god?
.
Gandhi
“The only tyrant I bow to
is the still voice within.”
Knowing the difference,
he chose between dying and living.
.
Regarding Van Gogh’s Advice
Not to Be Afraid and Not to Try
to Make a Painting Pretty
It takes courage not to try
to make a painting pretty.
Few souls can resist,
the desire to please requiring
that ugliness be hidden.
Tell it like it is,
beautiful and ugly,
the best you are able –
serve no other master!
Was that commandment made for man
who has so much to worship, and forget?
A Van Gogh baby is big,
drooling, eternal –
a fat promise
held by a vigilant mother,
her apron wrapped tightly
over simian bones like a second skin,
strings hanging like tails.
It is in related gestures too –
their straight backs,
a jutting hip,
a small leg dangling
and hands ready to reach –
that love and attitude
raise immortal heads.
.
Winning
(prose poem)
Early on in school, I learned long fingers indicate aesthetic bent
and vision. Felt discouraged, until I saw pictures of chimpanzees
with very long fingers, long arms too, especially adapted for
grasping and swinging.
One of my professors remarked that in his experience people
with wide triangular eyes have benevolent souls and those with
round eyes evil ones; his own eyes were remarkably wide and
triangular and when he saw me looking, noting their glint too,
he frowned. Every time he heard his round-eyed dog bark
he put it in a closet, on a vegetarian diet; it lived five years.
We make many things better or worse because someone
has to lose, we think; so why not play more games like
who can be more honest with good will?
.
New York City (1996)
In touch
with the heartbeat
of the world
we have a sense
of action snowballing,
of impending upheaval.
In my neighborhood
a darkness beyond the ordinary
has been settling in
for a long while.
It penetrates the daylight,
walls of buildings,
pores of faces.
We know it is never too late,
but is there a future here?
That is an incredible question
in this City of high energy
where people of every kind
live together in a harmony
unheard of elsewhere.
We play out our dramas
deep in the womb
of a sleeping volcano,
await the purifying fire.
.
5 haiku
big white fish hiding
under red October leaves
closes, opens lips
***
brief as a firefly
a goldfish glides under weeds
in dusky water
***
carp swims up my scroll,
turns into silver crescent
predicting long life
***
elegant bamboo,
the lucky kind, curls 3 times;
yellow base means death
***
my boots sometimes sink
climbing over a snow bank,
ice cream cone steady
.
The gnostic
To follow the Christ spirit
manifest in that one
who was a son of God and knew it
even in the bloody eye of his storm
allowing truth
open to what the winds will bring
trusting
open to dying, to being born
is too difficult for me.
I opened many doors once
and turned my life authentic
but love won’t bear another undergoing
I think, looking back –
still, today appeared a hurricane
and I am walking through it upright.
.
Shoes
Feet flatten,
holes grow,
a push and pull
wearing down concrete,
leather and bone.
Like wind and roses,
stone and sun,
like us,
each shoe’s life
depends on crafting,
what it is made of
and what it rubs.
.
The magic footprint
Whoever puts his foot on the side of the cliff
in the place a giant footprint is stamped
will be granted the wish there he makes for himself.
In our town, this is a living myth.
Over the past 30 years, four have tried;
one fell into the sea and broke her hip,
the others say their wishes have come true.
I decide with certainty
what will have come to pass for me;
un fait accompli,
it manifests on time like magic
if I let it be.
.
A Reflection (after Rumi)
How does softness leave a petal,
or hardness a stone?
But the parts, when lost bless,
bring you to all there is,
the Friend you seek beyond them.
.
The Future’s DNA
The future unfolds
the intent of living things
to die and be born again.
The caterpillar inches towards death
spinning its cocoon
willing to grow wings.
.
Chalk and Board
(or Cheek and Tongue)
Vice makes virtue possible to know,
like white chalk on black or green,
thus there is no role I would not play —
sage, madman, robber, king —
changing skin and gait
on a Shakespearean stage;
the more identities I can have
the more knowledgeable I can be,
act deliberately,
not re-act mechanically
and be fooled by Loki spirits
hovering near.
This reminds me of a dream
in which a traveler lost his way
but that was before I found my devil
looking out just for me
while I hop leg to leg
finding-missing parts,
loss to gain back to back;
the devil with a stash of scalps
who tells me I’ve been chosen
and others haven’t.
.
Plea to a friend, to act wisely
When have you or I
stopped pursuing folly
before many falls?
There is a Zen saying
that some horses only need
to feel a whip lightly,
others in the marrow of their bones.
.
For David, the Painter
‘Sometimes I want to paint
something as corny
as a sunset,’ he said.
‘Why don’t you,’ I asked.
‘Maybe you could paint it
like no one else has.’
But he shook his head,
‘I have an image to think of.’
He paints abstractly
and, instead of things, an idea
that life is an unending plateau.
His paintings remind me of sunsets.
.
only caught
He plays on rims of chaos
testing his intent to live
and disciplines self
by choosing not to obliterate
certain foes and faithless friends,
remembering his drive to kill
before being killed must be on edge
– else he could forget, grow hapless
and life be lost — maybe his;
he’s come close when playing
with all he’s got for a good cause
not certain if he’s right or not
which doesn’t make him wrong —
he’s only caught
.
It is better to live one day as a tiger,
than for a thousand years as a sheep.
(Tibetan Proverb)
I agree but would prefer to be
anything I choose
neither trapped nor fleeced
captured only while I’m willing.
.
Friendships
I’ve often wondered
which friends I should value more,
those who exploit my weaknesses
or those who stand by me.
The latter offer love;
the former, loss
followed by opportunities to rise
I wouldn’t have sought directly.
Wanting to know my world
and find the treasures hidden in it,
what can I honestly say now
other than I’ve been lucky?
© poems by Joneve McCormick 