Poetry Archive

Buddha and the Melting Flowers

I believed Baba
that to be with You
to be a person of heart
I had to feel the agony
of all the melting flowers of the world.

it broke my body in two
–the fight inside –
the longing for love
and the rage, the tempest
of heartless humanity.

You have milked me now
of all knowing
so I’ve little philosophy
around this point of good and evil
but I do know now
I cannot hold all of either inside of me.

in 21st Century time,
we are pummeled
by save-the-children ads
how to turn our face away?

Elie Wiesel (and others)
have said,
“Who am I if I do that?”

But I will die, Baba
if I try to hold all the
dying Eskimos, dogs, flames, trees,
rivers, and children in my body
I am not You – my Buddha .

He smiles sagely and answers,
“It is only when you live from that place “Yes I AM YOU, my Buddha”
that you can have the heart-of-fire my love.

Look at the child’s eyes
and be the mountain of hope.

Gaze upon the dying rivers
and reindeer bones
with a heart as wide as the horizon.

See them for Me.
See them as Me.
Be Me. Be Me.

and let me cradle you then
as you cradle them
and know that there’s but one pair of arms,
one set of rocking wings
and seeds are planted
as forests fall
bones rot as food for dogs
to one day create
new nations.

that cruelty that you see
is the chipping of the chisel on tree wood.

expand your eyes bigger, bigger
and rest in Me
when you can bear to see no more.”

I asked the Buddha then,
“Is this really the path to enlightenment?”

He laughed and said,
“You imagine enlightenment like you will pop through the bubble,
But that being so, you remain separate, thinking yourself to be free.
Know well that until full liberation is attained for every drop soul,
we all remain bereft.
And every time one drop soul attains enlightenment,
the whole world is saved and transformed.
So do not pop through the bubble. Become it and it will rise,
light as a feather to the golden throne,
carrying all of creation with you,
a step closer towards eternal light.”


Prepare for My Kiss

my heart beat with Yours
as One-heart
expanding and contracting
like an air of bubbles
in the midst of a tidal wave,
we reached into ocean depths
drawing forth pearls
of many colors.

I sought Your eyes
and You met me there,
first deep and sweet,
then we went dancing into the Universe
of sound and music

You helped me back
when I slipped on the bath of thin-air
and with compassion
lifted my limbs
for walking

You touched me then —
as You often do
but this time
the seep of it
went deep and through me.

Tonight you said,
“I am your lover
as you are mine.
Tonight we rest in the whale of time together
and I will caress your heart
over and over
until the fears which run from it
turn clean and true

One day I will kiss your lips
not with mine but with Time itself
so that an infinity of love will destroy you
and your dams and rivers will run together
into one golden knowing.”

You smiled, “My kiss —
is not like any other kiss.
Be prepared for it.

You can prepare for thousands of lifetimes
and when I come at your door knocking,
turn me away, not realizing I, in the form of
a hag or a cripple,
am your lover.

I live in everyone and everything,
come let me hold you now
and comfort you
for love you I may –
but for my kiss
you must long again.

long deep into the canyons
and high into mountain peaks
long until you know no more
the distinction of lips and kiss
of that which you are longing for
and your own emptiness.

then see if I come.”


ocean song —- ocracoke 2003

night whispers
through the blanket of blind sky
promises of my mother
while memories of my father
touch my cheek,

the night expands now
opening and closing like a mouth
its mist making curls
of morning light
to touch my face in the same way.

and the fog-cryer sings
like frogs chuckling
a kind of cry that yelps
like a puppy, and laughs
like a King.



resistance is a poison
which strangles the earth
nations argue ferociously
with one another
while the tears of the people
like the lava of the volcano
remain undetected

but those tears will rise
inexorably, with rose-water
washing through the heartlands
hot, molten, rich, full of

the grief of mothers
and sisters reft of brothers.

all resistance will be overcome
by the sheer heat
of human endurance.
and the shivering of faith which lives in bunkers
and in houses under siege.

Lions will melt in the flow of the lava
and the moneys of nations
will be ground into dust.

The strangled land
which is left
after the rape of earth
will turn over on itself
and for many generations
the reparations will be on –

the love, which trickles through the lava
is the one thing that will endure
when the fight of men is over and long forgotten.

you do not laugh (2004)

lurching into your arms
I throw my packages at you –
I have carried them as far
as I can.

but my surrender is so far from graceful
as to be laughable.

you do not laugh though.
your eyes caress me
as if my thrusting offer
were a bowl of good dahl
or a festoon of flowers
I had arranged
with utter care
for your pleasure.
gratitude wells up in me
meeting the ache
you have stirred
and their meeting
is an alchemy of tears.

darling, how can I ask you to forgive me
when our oneness has erased the blame, the act and
even the remembrance of the sin?


no one but Me

Your eyes were dark
with the grief of nations
and the red of the earth-core shone through.

I raced towards You
to comfort, to hold –
but You receded from me like the shoreline
slipping away as I stepped in Your direction.

I begged You to wait for me
and I saw the beauty of Your eyes
like a volcanic substance flowing in and out of the ocean
until the sea became molten black
and even the fishes screamed in agony.

In horror, I backed away, falling on the sand
then suddenly You were before me
smiling like always.

“You see what I have to put up with!” You said lightly.

and I bent over double in my shame and remorse
for when You had shown me a patch of Your reality,
Your true suffering – I had recoiled.

so now You were light and delightful with me
and I cried tears like rods of iron in flame,
thrusting into and out of me
and into the sand.

You held me gently and said,
“No one but Me can bear my suffering in this world.
The fact that you wanted to try brings me closer to you,
Like the eyelid to your eye.”

I surrendered to Your kindness
in spite of my insane desire to support You
and again, as so many times before,
let You hold and support me.

But my heart still beat quickly
from the shock of the pinpoint
that You had shown me
of Your grief.

and You stayed with me
until my breathing was easy
and the natural rhythm returned
opening and closing, opening and closing
upon the sky.


Whose Voice is Singing Your Song?

The torch of my heart sings songs
born of the hail-fire of Your love.

I have borrowed Your flame
to put a song in my eyes
and wildness in my step.

Now I do nothing but wander
in search of the fire that birthed me.
I dance like a madman, never realizing
that I am dancing on the gravestone of my life
and the very point of the creation
is beneath my feet.

Whatever way you look at it,
I am Yours Beloved.
Meher, You are the divine fire which birthed the universe,
spewed forth the humanity and all of the creatures of the world.

You fed us with Your nectar in Eden,
and triumphed with the angels
when we collapsed into darkness in Sodom and Gemorah.
Our defeat is Your triumph
and good and evil win
when we lose and You hold us in the Victor’s palm.

Oh God, whatever You wish from me, I will obey,
My only thought is of translating these humble tears into
some drop of true longing
which may cause You to pity me
while I walk aimlessly
through this house of cards called time.


Yes sweet angel friend,
You speak with a voice that’s true,
But do you forget whose voice is singing your song?
While you admire your great skills and talent
do not forget what you really are –
a sham, a dream,
a single card in the house
where the whole deck is destined
to collapse and die.


Child Without a Home

I dreamed I was doing
something with my life
that these 4 walls
were sturdy actual things
I dreamed a summer of roses
and a sea of grief
and before I knew it
I dreamed my death
the dust of my body mingled with earth
yet, while raiment decomposed
soul was singing
and for a brief
perfect moment
I knew the truth
before the dream
fell over my eyes again.

like a child without a home
that will have one,
I dreamed again,
even as the wind reached
into my mouth
to call out demons
and the sky unbuckled
itself to me
and entered me like the perfect lover.

such heavens and hells
rolled across my bed
as I sported with the danger
of living
while totally blind.

this time though,
there was a vague recollection
of awake
like a night owl
calling from across
a still night
while the moon slept
in the reflection
of a stream.

a home for feeling (2002)

a feeling is trying to get through.
it takes hold of me
but at first it is like trying to
grasp a doughy woman
and the feeling is as mute
as the vessel is dull
the profundity cannot ripen
in so blunt a field.

so the feeling returns
each time creating an irritation
at the edge of the swamp
and the irritation begins a shaving off process:
the self becomes leaner,
more ready to acknowledge
its utter helplessness
less padded with the poison of platitude
less avoidant of the sun.

like a pebble,
a scratch,
a single ear of corn shows itself
and becomes a field,
a mountain,
a gaping wound.

the feeling stretches
gracefully into the wound
for that’s what wounds are made for
(the wound is a home for feeling)

wounds are like ears
they receive feeling
much in the way
an ear can receive
the sound of God’s voice.

Your beauty has ruined me

yards of skyway
reach out to hold me
expand around me like
yarn of the softest tresses

oh! It is Your hair!
Tickling the heart of my soul with song
embracing my every doubt or fancy
with a humbling yawn
of infinity.

a touch on my breast —
songs of birds
approach the rhythms of angels

oh! It is your hand!
containing me with a touch so rare
that millions of children crave it’s
mothering care.

an ocean of untold truths
certainties, promises, knowings,
an ocean of knowledge
where the heart rests by the dove
truth’s beauty throbs
and dove’s wing-breaths
meet in ultimate

oh! it is Your eyes
tracing my life into fine threads
and throwing them into the fire
now there is nothing left of me
but ash.
oh Beloved,
Your beauty has ruined me,
destroyed the garden of my existence*.

Now there is nothing left for me
So You must have mercy
and finish me off
once and for all!!!

*from “Song of the New Life” by Dr. Ghani, written at Meher Baba’s order

Yet Another Moment (April 2002 – in the hospital)

yet another moment
has come to call
thought I didn’t ask it
even may have shirked it…

yet another moment
has met me at the gate
with arms shining wide
and the domes of Jerusalem
in her eyes.

so close to death
we fly we fly
and court the heavens there
a golden light is shining through
like a canopy of golden hair
and we feel You so close
there – so close

recklessly we beat our wings
upon the canopy sky
death seems inviting
release from earthly travail
and the burden
of body form
the agony of the
human mystery…

but yet another moment
reaches into us
out of us
winds its way around
us like vines at play

(and all that is Your hands, Your hands, my Beloved)

when You are done with us
You extend Your hand over Your courtyard.
another form, another life,
yet another moment
has come to call.


Herdsman’s complaint

oh Beloved, my heart is a stampede of wild horses
I cannot still the wild beat of love which pounds through me.
Sleep eludes me and my days become the dreams
my nights once held.
How can I awake from this endless life?

It is love which creates oceans and craters of my emotions
Moonscapes reach across my days,
the coastal regions hold cues and keys for me.
Can’t You see I’m dying Beloved?
Won’t you come at least to say good-bye?

Embrace me in Your eternal hello
and let the horses do what they will.
They listen to no herdsman,
they seek something higher than earthly grazing and saddle

So I am tending them the best I can Beloved
but my arms ache from this long embrace
and the reaching of my arms to make room for
the trembling and expanding of my heart.

Oh Gabriella,
Life is pretty much what you expected.
My gifts are causing you pain
and that is the real surprise.
Make room for my gifts
through laughing your heart big and friendly
and I myself will come manage
those mares and stallions
with my tender whip.

no mirrors

tonight I wonder who have I become?
what happened to the young girl
who lived in the shell and
treated the sea like her mother?
where is the misery that used to consume
and the fear that contracted the heart?

You have made me a warrior, it seems
and I do not recognize myself.
You have made me joyful and firm
and I cannot recognize myself.

I never liked mirrors much –
(an illusion within the illusion)
they appear to lay you bare
while actually offering a veil
to the soul.

But I depended on mirrors without knowing
and now with no mirror at all, I stand
diffuse like all the atoms have taken
flight and are circling backwards in their orbit
the air shivers around me
and sucks my separateness into the wind.

who am I when the very ache of body
and wrenching of heart
and collapse of mind
feel borrowed
and temporary?

as if I am living the philosophy
that seemed so distant for so long.

and yet I love.
how I love.

It’s like I’m one aching love
— that has no heart –
a love that reaches into me instead of from me.
that consumes me as I extend myself
that extracts from me a delight
and shares it with a voice I know is from
some other place.

The only time I feel a little like myself
is late at night
when I am alone – like now –
and the quiet of the night fills me like a giant song
and whispers to me the secrets of forever
and the pain of love
for the sweet ones I know
and for the spirit of God within them
rests on the waves gently
like a cork bouncing
up and down, up and down
upon the sea foam.


truly alive (India Oct. – Dec. 2002)

your love – how to write of Your love?
it is an arrow which quivers
while still in the quill
promising everything
in the silence of the indrawn breath.

Your love – how to touch Your love –
with song is the only way
I come close
The song which breaks over and over on itself
like the wave at shore.

Your love, how to absorb Your love –
I drink Your voice without meaning to –
whether I sleep through prayer
or stay at focused attention
whether I sin or do well by others
I am guzzling Your Truth like a drunkard
consciously or unconsciously
You, as Voice become one with my cells.

Your love – how to measure the immeasurable,
how to describe death?

I die many deaths as I am
slowly enfolded in Your arms
the sky like a cape closing over me
for a final farewell to the world –

Each death stings —
nettles from the bowstring
and tears connect me.

people race to comfort me
when in truth these are the only moments
I feel truly alive.



sitting outside Your Samadhi Beloved
I chose to sit outside
because I wish to write a poem
though what shred of beauty could I write?
–could I derive from
the arcs of silent water
streaming from Your face
and bathing me
in silent giggles and
love-beads of Your devotion?

still I like the visible
audible proof
that I have been here
to You Beloved –
and a poem can sing
promises of Your existence
later — on a day that the caves of despair
suck the life and memory
out of us,
strip-mining our soul.

So this is my memento
my postcard of heart
as the breeze comes now
to touch me with forever
and the sweet pearls of Your gaze
harbor me
and sustain me
for another season.

how could I choose to be
so near and so very far?
But now in Your mercy
I enter Your real physical abode
and am released
from this oppression
Jai Baba!



Grandma – it is peaceful now
You are in your fragrant rest
like you’ve really gone on
through that portal we opened yesterday
after you danced in ecstasy.

now I am with Him again
and the taste of you like
cinnamon across my chin
(like your delicious cinnamon toast)

the taste of you
will linger for some time
how I love you

the peace is palpable
I say Baba’s name 180 times
for Chai – Life
and the music of you
lingers in me.


After the pain

After the pain seared through me
and You put your gentle hands on me
through the heart of an angel,
I went to the center of me
and saw I was crystal,
and smoke,

I said, “My body does not exist.
I am energy and fire.”

Later waves of bliss poured through me
and consumed all fear.

My body felt new and fresh
as if bathed in Your blood
and carried in Your bag of
tears and hay.

On These Journeys

you do not ask for, Lord.
You want me rare and ragged,
pretention, an object dropped long ago
when the pack was too heavy
and the load must be lightened.

that goes without saying
But Your honesty, oh King —
that was what I had not reckoned for.
your honesty goes beyond my stinking laundry
and into the bed of time
deep in the riverbed of my history.

frogs, squirrels, rats, goats — I have been these
their sounds flood my dream-voices
and awake my fear.

Must we go here Lord – and here too?
Did You always promise You would be with me
Didn’t You?

You waste not a moment on these journeys –
the word “please” is a luxury
so we sit in sacks and silence
and await the train.

I am ecstatic then
within all of it —
You’ve given me a treasure
which seeks a word beyond treasure
and takes me all the way to the grave
in suspension

because in the silence the ecstasy sings like a peacock
or an exploding sunrise.


Human Love (Detroit 1/03)

human love
just back over my shoulder
i gasped, looked back
an eagle over the
baldness of
desert sky.
remembering something else
or was it just the contents
of a promise
someone made long back
(now jeering at me with
a hint of pride
that they predicted my blind eye
and peculiar inabilities)

human love
sheltering a shadow
of pain, like a second self
I carry around with me
like a gun – or shield
the names of lovers melt into one explicit
and I realize in this life
I have utterly failed
to experience
human love
loyal, royal,
melting –
poetic, ecstatic, refreshing,
so I move on
down this other road
exquisite dream
where all the children
have wings
and every insect
seems to have joined God’s choir

where rain comes as an extreme
cleansing sheet of


Baba Tells Me,

“whether you touch me
by your will
or by your reason, by your habit
or by your confession,
the journey connects our hearts
for centuries to come.

whether you lie down within me screaming,
bleating like a sheep or with
stars and moons in your eyes,
the child will be the same

trust me
that is all you need to do
wherever you let me love you,
it is like a flock of birds fly by
and the sound of their wings
is the beating of our hearts
together with the tide of the
universe; the Ancient One.”

necessity of joy’s ardor

I feel like a loaf of bread,
brown from the oven
hollowed out from the
heat of Your love.

Tears splash dutifully on the page,
necessity of joy’s ardor
I dust off flour,
remembering I was
or was I writing poetry?
in this room
they are one and the same.

– after September 11

you’ve flattened me –
ironed me clean and soft
laid me out to sun bleach
with the other tired angels.

I know I’m not alone
and most of the things
I could say
sound vain and pretentious
so my voice has been stilled.

but not-speaking makes me ill
or is it not-crying
in this time where madness
has taken hold of us
by the necks
and shaken us still.

We must find a new resilience
and an old wisdom,
do not throw us to the streets, Lord,
like a forgotten dog.

I used to write lovesongs to You
full-sure You would meet me
and touch my hand –
now I know not
if this civilization
will make it
across the next square
of the game.
so I’m numbed my
amazed pain
with shock.

Oh God, I need You more now
than ever
I cannot afford to be
sick, vain, worried, attached, needy.

time is pure now
running light between
me and You
and I treasure
each splendid moment.

but I’m sick and old and tired
figure out a way for me God
and I promise
I won’t turn off the spout
I’ll pray Baba,
I’ll pray –
can you do everything else?!


Baba Center 5/01

The bliss knocked my thoughts over
like a bunch of bowling pins
the night breeze sings into me
like I am the flute.
–the player?

oh Krishna – this longing
has become ridiculous
I appear like a hippopotamus
on tightrope
a dragon breathing flowers.

tired – exhausted like a rusty pipe
which can only withstand
so much
blazing water through it,
I split and crack
I cry.

these tears are the weariness
of old feet, coming home
coming home endlessly to You.

they are the frayed sleeve
of my coat
which is rubbed across
my chin
in a thousand contemplations
they are ears which
have forgotten
and learned essential languages
that heard a tune, caught it
on themselves like a cloth catches a branch
and won’t let go –

well, it is always the same tune
in another key or candle
and the story is always the eager
youthful willing soldier
meeting the village maiden
a spark of ecstatic
and trillions of children issue forth
to complicate the universe
with questions
about faith.

still I’m dancing at another wedding
while the nerves of my eyes are
racing against time’s hammer
to see the moon
and the merciful light of God
forsakes me not
even as I ransack His
seeking images and idols –
but He has left me only rubble
I sigh, fall into the dust
crumpled in the sign of mourning
and the glory touches my lips
like a kiss,
a flower, a drop
of dew.

a rough gem

seems i must write a new poem
when i love new and serious sweet
when the bomb goes off in the heart
releasing the poison and the grief
and the lotion, the motion, the potion
of love.

oh yes,
you have touched me
and now a vine has grown between
my belly and yours
which is silent,
carrying nourishment
of ages
and healing
of ice and clean,
warm and vibrant release

you are elegant in your
mad and merciful
a rough gem
which found its way into my palm.

now i come to love you
and it is grand

how to thank a blessing
when it comes
in the form
of man.


leave a gift

been waiting to see am i pregnant
felt real good inside
like a bushel of flowers
in one of those old round baskets
they delivered fruit in
back in the old days.

like that smell —
the oily scent of paint
inside the theater
and being backstage
and you’re just 13
and the guy you like
is 16 and every now and then
he treats you like a woman
and you thrill…

i’ve been waiting to see
the tests said no
but there is no blood
maybe i can’t let go.

holding this last little crevice of your presence
this maybe in time

maybe you’ll leave a gift
which could be a twist
of fate.

just the other day, laughing
you told me another name you liked.
funny – i had not told you
i’m waiting.

Pluto’s Tail

Last night my mind was askew
tipped by wisdom’s overreaching
into reflections of moon and planets
which had no business being at my window.

still I saw the underbelly of the sky
and Pluto’s tail sailing by
the red explosion grazed my eyes
leaving me with soot
and the spit of some God
on my pillow.

wholistic light
leads me to dark.
buttocks flip to breasts,
daisies upturn to roots and sod
man is woman
and woman is man.

Morning After Chaos

My being is in
some kind of swoon,
a deep sobering licking love.
I am upset in my applecart
and I am full of tears
wishing I had known this man
since I was small
and hoping I will know him
’till I am old.

To say, “I want to marry you”
is simply a way to say
I am half of you and you are the other –
and how can I overcome this impossibility
of 2 separate bodies.
We come to the precipice but cannot jump
Oh God – the predicament.

I have no idea if we will fall or rise in love as they say
but the foam of the ocean is sweet
and the angels are giggling in mercy and light.

These poems which seem so urgent
Fold themselves into my imagination
For whom? For how long?

when my silence merges
with infinity’s song
mingling with all of

listening is the power
over speaking
for my ears can take in
crickets, planes, birds, wind, lake,
rustling, the rise and
fall of evening’s dark…

Speaking has but one voice –
of my single heart.

until my heart givesup its song of
desire, complaint, expectation,
it will be different
to speak than to listen.

the day the stirrings inside
match the turning
of the universal tide,
listening and speaking
will be one.

when the swallow’s wings thrumming
is my heart
when the minty breeze lifting
is my breath.


I imagined

Oh Baba, I wake wide open like a window which has let the air in all night long.

It is warm and wind-filled here, my heart rests on my belly like a cloud.

Last night was a gift. I remember sometimes before Orion reached me like
this, like scooping into me like the spoon to the cream.

It was sweet, with the edge of sorrow, like all things that come and go.

He is so not mine. Yet for an hour I imagined.

And he was the imagination and the dance of the heart at one.

He permits me to be near him that way. He permits himself.

Turning his heart and mind into one life and giving it to me with eyes open.

Almost never did he unwind from me. When he did for a second, it was a
shock like cold water.

And he could come back in a moment. He chose to.

I told him I was scared – when he was like this: soft, intimate, opening
his mind to me completely, from the inside. He laughed and said, “How can
you stand it?”

And he said it’s like all things like this. Love will end. Like the call ends.

But it didn’t end. I hung up. I lifted and widened until the room was
full of roses.

And they soft-bedded me all night.

Lately, the consciousness has flown into high trees and nestled there most

I have never felt so one with wind and sky.

Orion’s gift, like a pleasure of greens and sorrow, rushes into me, meets
me, tosses me into that vastness which is You Baba.

It reminds me how very much I want you, God.


lovers due

I’ve earned the right to whisper
heartland’s mysterious poetry
into my lover’s ear.

I’ve crushed the vain desire
to cascade my body into places
where dikes and dams
contain me.

I’ve created and recreated
my mind,
straining it through a sieve
of decency.

the world has turned on its axis
several times.
I’ve counted on it.

A Stillness Overcomes Me 08/99

a stillness overcomes me
a cloud sails beyond darkness,
my Beloved is smiling
and withing the scope of His smile
Universes are born.

when He yawned, the planets
fell from His teeth like jewels,
spinning like rafts
in the surf of skies
and tides of thought
poured like liquor
from His lips
the thoughts split like droplets
each finding a place to live,
sprouting in many heart-abodes.

we are very unusual amongst
the creation
each unique, no flower like
any other flower
yet we are one and the same
in the surf and surging
of our hearts towards God

how delightful each of His rays,
the rainbow would be bereft
if any color fell from
its arc
each strand of color
is perfect in its sun–spotted way,
when the color has been
completely submerged
in the pure Light
we, as thought, will return
to our Master
as docile as any milking cow,
trotting after its keeper
to manger,
for night.
there, we find ourselves, soft,
in that place
that stillness overcomes.

God’s perfect motion

God’s perfect motion
has brought you here
near the broken bed
on the straw floor
with the pecking hens.

a riot of glory
tears through the sky
it is the tears of
the rickshaw driver
of the night,
colored with stars
and masked planets.

there is a secret sound
of dancing,
a mashing of minds
a splitting of revelations
a nakedness
a spitting,
and we are born
in another perfect motion


the gifts keep coming
like sheeves of swans across waters,
more abundant and full and fleecy
than we thought we could receive
in the heart-lands.

the dreams entwining
with realities of blues
the shapes of time colliding
with the unexpected.

if you look at the news, you’ll say the world’s gone crazy
but honey, it was always mad.

look inside, that’s the only way
that ever had a real possibility
of being home.

this turning of corners
into new zeros
will make us infinity
and nothing
if we have the willingness.

reach deep into yourself
and draw from the ancient text
there will be opportunity
to read it
at the sacred table of
the new humanity.


Baba’s Eyes

I saw the snow
each flake a nation,
each nation a spasm
of the human dance.

I saw the magic
contracting from its glow
seeking worlds beond worlds
hoping for some relative peace
in the threaded field of time.

I saw your eyes
these few millimeters of reality
sinking their truth into me
while ribbons of fantasy
were added and subtracted
and added and subtracted
from me
like a flower
molting petals in fall.


Intimacy 03/04/00

You were gliding in the Gondola
ferried by your many lovers,
and I especially noticed the way
the light touched Your face.

It danced in and away from You,
as if it could not bear to separate
its glow from Yours.

kaleidoscoping beauty
and sending my heart into safekeeping
within Your promise.

I saw You closer than I ever had before
As if You’d heard my deep request
You offered me Your intimacy
while still showing
You were God.

It’s as if when I first met You,
You made Yourself my best friend
and I took You to tea with me
and You held the book for me
and made sure the light was just right
before we read together.

Now I know You are God
truly know it more each day —
but in becoming truer in my Knowledge
I was losing You,
my intimate friend
because of the awe
growing in me
like tall corn.

but this moment,
You were in view
supreme loveliness
showing me Your natural colors,

and letting me know
that the light that touched You
was the very same
as Your lovers
and how they reach to touch You
across oceans, canyons and stars.

I dare to wish
that one day
I will be the very light
upon Your skin,
with only a breeze between us.

then even that veil will fall away
and there will be nothing
between us
at all.


Khorshed 08/99

you have gone now
who will carry the sound of His voice
in their mind?
the Ancient One’s silence
will be felt more and more deeply
now, on the earth.

You, who in later years clumbered about,
reaching and touching
reaching and touching,

who in younger days
climbed into His heart
to live
and stay.

we felt the drops of His grace
as you shook your shoulders
from His shower,
and we drank them as
You told your story.

Oh Mandali,
Sweet friends of the Beloved,
you are passing through now
like the rain sliding down glass
I watch through the window of my heart
crying as the trail forces me back
into the God inside
dry, ancient, to be dug.

Your succulent stories were for the taking,
we ate them like fruit, mango juice on our chin….
Now so many gone,
yet, memories close,
your gifts
not forgotten

as you rock in His arms
the bitter trail of truth
comes to Life.

Fly dear Khorshed —
you who in crippled last years
held Him to you like an apron.
certain, solid.
I will not forget you Khorshed.
Oh yes fly now,
and as you fly
spread the memory
of His voice over us
like a canopy of stars.

I Have Caught the Bug

it is such an opportunity
and in 20 years
or 200 —
such inspiration may not
be there…

so I write now
and sing now
in the glory of
Meher Baba’s advent.

His circle is so close
to Him
and I am one who
has come close to His
so I have caught
the bug.

The bug of longing for His pleasure
Union — I’ve given up
the thought of long ago,
Liberation, realization —
all these are words
useless, lifeless

But His pleasure —

that is a reality,
I can feel, hear, and

I saw Your pleasure in
Bhau’s eyes tonight,
and heard it in his words
and felt it in his caress,
and that felt good
that felt like my life
had a reason,
for a moment, in the realm
of reality, my life
had meaning.
How rare and precious,
Now if I saw You as
clearly in all people
as I do, in Your circle,
my life could have meaning
every day,
and since I cannot
chase after Your
circle members
as they have no need for me
as I am just a trouble to them —
I must take up
another way.

I must determine
how to live this New
Life for You Beloved,
because in so doing,
I will give You pleasure


mixed up shoes

Your air
like a bath of summer roses
liquids me
into ocean
while Your water
spits into me
like fire
and covers me
with the sharp sting
of nettles.

such is the confusion
of elements
around You, my sweetness
where everyone
is dancing.
The shoes have been
all mixed up
at the door,
and all leave with
unfamiliar footwear!

What was bitter, now tastes sweet,
and sweetness becomes salt.
the one thing that remains
the same
is saying goodbye to You, my Lord.

That foul breath of thought,
ocean cannot extinguish
and I avoid
like a small child
on burning pavement
to avoid the heat.

How will I ever unravel the mystery of laughing out loud?

Who will muse me
when the willow wanders
into new destinies?

Does she creep in silence?
There was a day she laughed aloud.

How do we know when a lesson is over
When a gift is given
When the triumph is truly won?

I take on the color of those near to me
The cold caked snow, the dim horizon
each is a personality, a music waiting to be sung.

And your colors were my favorite
My favorite hue.

How to hue myself?
How will I ever unravel the mystery
of laughing out loud?

We can only be the birds that we are –
ostrich, peacock, swallow,
all substantially different.

You are that red arrow, I embraced with my heart
The drops on the snow made rainbow love to the sky-reflection
I fell in love with that reflection
my art, called it our art
for it was arranged by you
and played by me.

What now? Who am I without the defining glow?
And what will you do with all those muddy ponds
that come to offer themselves to you as looking-glass?

We are strange and beautiful birds
lost in flight

now losing sight of each other
lost into light.


The Small Things 02/01/00

Great swathes of sand
Soaked with ocean love
retract and grow by turn
as lace-like, waves
groan — over — and over themselves
writing the weather of time
as patterns on the land.

Such messages in archives
impermanent as we,
yet known alone
by God, eternally.

So too my Lord
I wonder —
and by turns I know
as the ancient waves
roll over in my heart
I wonder…
if You know the details of my life
the tiny graceful lacing on my soul
the knit one pearl two moments
are they too by You seen?
Do You know the flecks of change
my temperament reveals
my temperature adjusting by degree?

I wonder if You know
the times I bit my tongue
and speech it did not hasten
down the gangplank of my throat
to hurt another soul

Did You see the moment
that there was more strength this time
within me than had been a week ago
my will now had capacity
to adapt my mood to cheer
a smile could appear
for a face I still found hard —
to love.

They talk of spiritual progress
on the path
while all I have
are these minute-by-minute reports —
I feel You surging in me
all night long
And I hear You singing in the morning
I notice You on my in-breath
And I rest on You on my out-breath
I abide in You like a nest in winter
While the wild and angry shrieks
of sky may fall about.

You, my Lord kiss me
With angel finesse
While I cry for lack of kissing
Never knowing I am blessed.

You my Lord stay near me
with infinite calm
While I gasp at being abandoned
by a human form.

Sometimes I wake up
Like this moment
And I feel You push my pen
I feel You digest my food
I feel You as the strength within my food
and the inspiration of my pen.

At these moments I know You are also there
in the tiny things – perhaps especially then.



one grand motion 02/00

wide bands of solar sound
bounce from the bottom to
the brim of me
cosmic joy like layered sweetness
upon sweetness
resisting and resting the moon,
wrecking her and rescuing her
in one grand



you awake on tiptoe
stretch like a leopard
turning regretfuly
from the moon.

you walk through the market
enjoying the simple sounds
and tasting the fruit
of the women.

You reach without anchor
for sky.

You sit in a posture
it is turquoise and silver
it is shit on the pavement
it is why you were born
you scream silence to cells
you wish death to your mind.

a patch of heaven
breaks through from skies
you gulp it in one breath
and feel.



I am delighted at possibilities
and am teaching my heart
to roar
melodies of hope.

Once long ago
I was a virtuoso
in this key.

now I am an acorn
that forgets it was an oak.

rely on thoughts that seem pure

As I blend into God
I cannot relate in
the way
I had done before.

Who to speak to
if I am You?
I am in some
half- shell posture
not fully alive to God.
not fully dead to myself.

I need guidance to turn
and the heaven’s book closes
above my head
there is silence at shore.

Yet remarkable moments
are pushed through my pen
And so I rely
on thoughts that seem pure.

or that
which I cannot see, hear or feel
which dies and grows
in sleep.



the moment I sang
my invitation
You entered
without forewarning
or pretense.
You filled my eyes
with friendship
and my heart resided in Your
vest for some time.



a quilted airiness
completes me today
a golden bird
sits on the edge of
the sanctuary.
my heart is ready
to leap in one bound
into the waiting arms of
and the golden bird
is ready
to sing
as for a thousand