Thursday, March 5, 2009

I sprout and blossom
along the fertile earth between
the pragma and dogma of love
A lone butterfly,
mindless of the noon sun,
is at its rapturous trance.

The taut veena strings are frothy.
The playing finger smears wet ragas.
The melody is much erect
oozing an unending line of

crystal music of lust.

As I place these wonderful thoughts upon my own space, I recall what my fav. poet

Gothey wrote.....

Oh, happy he who still can hope in our day
to breathe the truth

while plunged in seas of error!....
Oh, if I had wings to lift me from this earth,
to seek the sun and follow him!
Then I should see within the constant evening ray
the silent world beneath my feet,
the peaks illumined, and in every valley peace,
the silver brook flow into golden streams.
No savage peaks nor all the roaring gorges
could then impede my godlike course.
Even now the ocean and its sun-warmed bays
appear to my astonished eyes.
When it would seem the sun has faded,
a newborn urge awakes in me.
I hurry off to drink eternal light;
before me lies the day, behind the night,
the sky above me, and the seas below.
A lovely dream; meanwhile the sun has slipped away.
Alas, the spirit's wings will not be joined
so easily to heavier wings of flesh and blood.
Yet every man has inward longings
and sweeping, skyward aspirations
when up above, forlorn in azure space,
the lark sends out a lusty melody;

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