Bob Schwartz

Category: Poetry

Dreams

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Dreams

In dreams
those who can’t walk walk
those who walk fly
the long lost is found
the precious disappears
hearts are broken and mended
without reason.
Is the night different from day
sleep from wake?
All and nothing
are possible.

©

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Front Yard Birds, Back Yard Birds

Front Yard Birds, Back Yard Birds

Sitting between
open window and open window
I hear the birds articulate and awake
sounding sweet, sometimes shrill,
and wise by nature.
They do not compete or argue
and I in the middle
listen and learn not to talk back.

©

Key

Key

When you leave take the key
even for a few steps out the front door
out the back.
What if the door locks behind you?
Even if there’s someone inside
to hear you knocking pounding
ringing calling.
What if she locks it
not knowing where you are?
What if she needs help
and you are locked out helpless?
What if she knows and decides
that this trip to the trash
should be your last?
Only a few possibilities
there are more
prevented by that key in pocket.
One man’s prudence
built on irrefutable logic
is an observer’s key to personality.
What of it?
Analysis is theory
being locked out an inconvenient fact.
Take the key.

Wordsworth: The World Is Too Much With Us

The World Is Too Much With Us
by William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

Note:

We are the people of more or all.

We have never before been able to have so many different things and to tell so many different people about so many different things. We have never been able to want so many different things and to hear from so many people about so many different things. Things include not only material, but events, experiences and ideas.

We may try to have, want, say, hear it all, or as much as possible. We may believe that we are the fortunate beneficiaries of living in this unprecedented situation, and that even the occasional imbalance is outweighed by finally being the people of more or all. Anyway, we are just taking advantage of inevitable progress, are we not? Why shouldn’t just a hint about the next iPhone be a milestone in our lives, making it a major global news story?

Writing more than two hundred years ago, William Wordsworth was in a long line of those who have suggested—begged—that we get our priorities in order and look for relief from a condition we don’t even know we are suffering from. His prescription was Nature, which stands in more broadly for consciousness of the deep essence of existence. We can have more or all, already may have more or all, if we look in the right places.

Cactus Flower

Cactus Flower ©

Cactus Flower

The rare rains have come and gone.
Only in the first hours of the dry sun day
splendid petals unfold then hide.
Catch them capture them
with words brush or camera?
We are as arrogant and grateful
as they are beautiful.

©

Organ Pipe Flowers ©

For a While

For a While

After the desert heat the dusk
with low growl whisper of thunder then
the roar and the cracked sky
emptying the rain.
Every night it will be this way
for a while.
Wall shaking and roof patter
call me out to see what the
matter it is.
Sound light and blessed water
and when I stand skin to air feel
a trickle of cool breeze streaming my way
for a while.

©

Border

Border

The border of melancholy and joy
is the color of washed out orange gray
late sunset in lingering heat.
The playlist alternates
requited longing to despair
with no choice.

©

Trio Gnossieme

Trio Gnossieme

The birds
The cicadas
The wind through the branches.
A yellow flower twitches.
Nothing still.

©

The Secret American Sea

The Secret American Sea

We never knew
Who read and lived
The history and the law and the maps
That bounded by the oceans and the gulfs
And neighbors north and south
There was an unknown sea in which we
Floating and flailing, swimming and sinking
In waters we don’t recognize
Wait and wonder what company and creatures
Threaten us in waters that seem hardly
To be lightened and heated by the sun.
This sea is not in our books or memory or imagining
At least not here.
Point to the mountains and valleys, deserts and plains,
And people, yes people, you know are there.
Say again and again that there is great and good
And if we are to be lost for a time or forever
In the dark secret American sea
Now is not that time.

©

Bird Breakfast

Bird Breakfast

The birds on the morning grass
Are happy.
Easy pickings
Company
Conversation
A little fighting
A little flirting.
I supply
The coffee.

©