Rusted Archer
—Poems and Photos by Katy Brown, Davis, CA
All in the way you look at it:
I sometimes envy the country life,
the life I think is
more authentic, closer to the bone.
To wake with the sunrise,
pull on a pair of worn boots,
greet the morning
with a cup of coffee in the yard.
Nothing keeps me
from early rising in the city.
No one locks me in my house
while birds stir
in the olive tree out front.
Nothing keeps me
from the olive tree out front,
from early rising in the city
while birds stir.
No one locks me in my house.
Ah, to wake with sunrise,
take a cup of coffee in the yard,
greet the morning
in a worn pair of boots.
More authentic? Closer to the bone?
No need for envy.
I have the life I want right here.
I sometimes envy the country life,
the life I think is
more authentic, closer to the bone.
To wake with the sunrise,
pull on a pair of worn boots,
greet the morning
with a cup of coffee in the yard.
Nothing keeps me
from early rising in the city.
No one locks me in my house
while birds stir
in the olive tree out front.
Nothing keeps me
from the olive tree out front,
from early rising in the city
while birds stir.
No one locks me in my house.
Ah, to wake with sunrise,
take a cup of coffee in the yard,
greet the morning
in a worn pair of boots.
More authentic? Closer to the bone?
No need for envy.
I have the life I want right here.
Contours
I’ve startled them again,
those lovely boys
who come to my door—
hopeful, cheerful, smiling—
talking of death and salvation.
It has been a while since
one of the God-teams has knocked.
I’ve missed them, frankly.
We have such lovely talks.
One of them asked me
how I pray. A rather personal
question I thought. How do you
begin your prayers, he probed.
Loving Father Mother God,
I said. He blanched and glanced
at his companion and wondered why
I chose those words. Why Mother?
Does the Bible not say that we are—
that I am—made in God’s image?
Well, yes? He senses some unpleasant
line of thought in my reply.
And I am female—therefore God
must be female, too. And if God is the
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost—
God must also be Mother, Daughter, and
Holy Spirit, as well.
The Christian symbol is the fish.
These boys had it just right:
with mouths that opened soundlessly
like divided carp on the shores of Galilee.
I’ve missed our little chats.
Hill
From The Book Of Quantum Genesis*
1. And on the Eighth Day
Man trapped the Light and kept it still.
German researchers have frozen
the fastest thing in the universe: light.
And they did so for a record-breaking one minute.
2. At last, Man held power over the First Creation.
Light hissed in unknown confinement and cried out
to the Lord of All to free it once again.
The reason for wanting to hold light in its place is
to ensure that it (light) retains
its quantum coherence properties.
3. Man stepped into the shadow of God
and asserted his power over the serpent,
which was also made of light, as all things are.
Behold, said Man, I have frozen Light.
Over the course of a one-minute span,
it can travel about 11 million miles (18 million km),
or 20 round trips to the moon.
So it’s a rather wily and slippery medium, to say the least.
4. From the shadows, Man stood beside God,
as God had put woman beside man,
and Man said, I have total understanding
of making and unmaking. I will speak for you,
oh, God for I have power to stop your Light. I understand
the science of miracles, the trickery of constants.
Researcher Georg Heinze and his team converted
light coherence into atomic coherences.
5. Man took up The Book and reinterpreted all scripture
to support his dominion over the First Creation and
all things created since.
Field on Hill
Dust of Flowers
Ring the bell. Close the book.
Sweep away the dust of flowers.
Blow out the candles before we leave.
Glaciers melt and rocks erode
in time so slow we cannot see it.
Ring a bell. Close our books.
Pay attention to the clues:
canyons carved by rushing water,
fires quenched before we came—
bones of monsters clawing upward,
murmuring of lessons past.
Close the book and ring the bell—
our time for study ends right now.
We are dust in animation;
candles snuffed by time’s dark breath.
Cosmic dust and ash surround us;
the even-dying stars look on.
Ring the bell and close the book;
before we fade to candle-smoke.
Ring the bell. Close the book.
Sweep away the dust of flowers.
Blow out the candles before we leave.
Glaciers melt and rocks erode
in time so slow we cannot see it.
Ring a bell. Close our books.
Pay attention to the clues:
canyons carved by rushing water,
fires quenched before we came—
bones of monsters clawing upward,
murmuring of lessons past.
Close the book and ring the bell—
our time for study ends right now.
We are dust in animation;
candles snuffed by time’s dark breath.
Cosmic dust and ash surround us;
the even-dying stars look on.
Ring the bell and close the book;
before we fade to candle-smoke.
Archer from Back
Today's LittleNip:
little master
(for Scout)
small force in a boundless world
exuberant chaser of dragonflies
joyful tracker of lizards
canine child of Buddha
lost in the infinite now
no past no future
so utterly
alive and present
then gone
(for Scout)
small force in a boundless world
exuberant chaser of dragonflies
joyful tracker of lizards
canine child of Buddha
lost in the infinite now
no past no future
so utterly
alive and present
then gone
______________________
Our thanks to Katy Brown for today's fine poems and pix from the Capay Valley! We also have a new photo album by Katy on Medusa's Facebook page—check it out!
And note that (1) Ginosko Literary Journal has a new issue available online at GinoskoLiteraryJournal.com, and (2) tonight will be the next-to-the-last reading at Red Alice's Poetry Emporium, and a fine line-up it is! Scroll down to the blue box (under the green box at the right of this) for details.
—Medusa
Reader