Tuning Fork
Strike and resound
A single perfect note
Against which
Our poor play is practiced.
The texts are ancient
Thoughts in a case
Replaced by the
Younger and fresher.
This tuning fork
Centuries old.
Bring me a gadget
A gizmo
To give me my pitch.
Ah but
The warm simple beauty
Of the vibrating metal
Is the practice
Before the practice.
Fallen Petal
Petals
The petals have
Begun to fall
This one still
Moist and colorful
Soon dry and brown.
At first
Mindlessly discarded
Now retrieved.
The stems
Will be bare.
What then?
Reason
Reason
as solid
as a rock.
Clinging to it
in the middle
of the ocean.
When I look to friends, colleagues and mentors who have taught and influenced me, I see in many of them a happy and helpful balance of reason and spirit. I thank them, and recommend having such people in your life.
This may be what I might want others to say of me, that I neither abandoned reason nor clung to it too tightly.
Magic
Magic
must be
real.
1
Prayer Rope
Prayer rope
Strung with knots
To count
But not
To untie.
2
Knots
Cut off
The knots
You can’t untie
But keep them.
While You Are Sleeping
Messages arrive
While you are sleeping.
Ignore them.
Would you rather
Wake up to a postman
Intruding at the door
Or to the dawn, sun
Silence and thoughts
From eons ago?
You’ve got mail.
Gravity
This beautiful truth
Lifts me up
Weightless in the sky.
This ugly truth
Drags me down
Into the abyss.
I try knowing no difference
To make peace with gravity.
Dawn Moon
Full moon in the West at dawn.
What rare magic.
What picture could tell
The time and direction
The sounds and sun
Reflecting off
Its distant pale
Pockmarked face
Now fading?
When it happens again
What record will there be?
This and memory.
Seasons Meeting
Seasons meet
In August.
This morning
Green trees
Hiding houses.
Heat and sun break
For gray clouds and
Cool breeze.
Not now, soon
Trees will explode
Color to bare,
Houses revealed.
Breeze to harsh wind.
These flimsy clothes
Will grow thick.
But not today.
The Grateful Dead’s Workingman’s Dead album (1970) is a showcase for the brilliance of lyricist and poet Robert Hunter. (Hunter was inducted into the Rock Hall with the Dead in 1994, and is the only non-performer member of a band ever to be so honored.)
Listen to New Speedway Boogie, or read the lyrics below, and see if it doesn’t have something to say today.
Please don’t dominate the rap, Jack
If you’ve got nothing new to say
If you please, don’t back up the track
This train’s got to run today
I spent a little time on the mountain
I spent a little time on the hill
I heard some say better run away
Others say better stand still
I don’t know, but I been told
It’s hard to run with the weight of gold
Other hand I have heard it said
It’s just as hard with the weight of lead
Who can deny, who can deny
It’s not just a change in style
One step done and another begun
And I wonder how many miles
I spent a little time on the mountain
I spent a little time on the hill
Things went down we don’t understand
But I think in time we will
Now, I don’t know, but I was told
In the heat of the sun a man died of cold
Keep on coming or stand and wait,
With the sun so dark and the hour so late.
You can overlook the lack, Jack
Of any other highway to ride
It’s got no signs or dividing lines
And very few rules to guide
I spent a little time on the mountain
I spent a little time on the hill
I saw things getting out of hand
I guess they always will
I don’t know, but I been told
If the horse don’t pull you got to carry the load
I don’t know whose back’s that strong
Maybe find out before too long
One way or another, one way or another
One way or another, this darkness got to give
One way or another, one way or another
One way or another, this darkness got to give
One way or another, one way or another
One way or another, this darkness got to give
Written by Jerome J. Garcia, Robert C. Hunter
Bob Schwartz 