Image Marriages

A gray financier in a thin black auto Drove over a snake on a country road; Birds flew up in the dust that gathered, Oak leaves trembled throughout the wood. Decisive indeed the defeat of Evil; And inconclusive the triumph of Good. William Jay Smith Redmer Hoekstra

I cannot think unless I have been thought, Nor can I speak unless I have been spoken. I cannot teach except as I am taught, Or break the bread except as I am broken. O Mind behind the mind through which I seek, O Light within the light by which I see, O Word beneath the words with which I speak, O founding, unfound Wisdom, finding me, O sounding Song whose depth is sounding me, O Memory of time, reminding me, My Ground of Being, always grounding me, My Maker’s Bounding Line, defining me, Come, hidden Wisdom, come with all you bring, Come to me now, disguised as everything. Malcom Guite Franz Mark, Birds, 1914

A good man muttered to himself as he walked on a hill; And Echo followed after him, as Echo always will. Good man:  I bend my neck to be Thy sacrifice;  My final throe will win me Paradise.   Echo:   One final throw will win, me pair o’ dice!  Good man:   I seek out God behind his shining gate,  Where cherubim and angels scintillate.  Echo:   Where cherubim and angels sin till late. Good man:   Flesh, fall away! I climb the spirit’s heights! How futile now, these orgiastic nights! Echo:   How few till now, these orgiastic nights! Good man:   Beyond the grave, eternal life begins. But what is life? Forgive me, Lord, my sins! Echo:  But what is life for? Give me, Lord, my sins! Willard Espy Dimitris Makrygiannakis

Rosemary, marjoram, cinnamon, basil— Oh, what delightful words to say! Oh, what sensations, verbal and nasal! Savory, juniper, anise, bay! Who was the poet, who was the paragon— He who discovered these names sublime? Caraway, cardamon, chervil, tarragon, Lovage and borage, nutmeg, thyme! Oh, how delicious the delicate savoring, Tongue-tip-tasted on outspread palm Or merely read in the chapter on flavoring! Sesame, saffron, fennel, balm! Morris Bishop Starling Murmuration,  - RSPB Minsmere,  Airwolfhound

His aspirations won’t exceed The limits that are set. Adaptable, he’ll never need What he’s not apt to get. There is no multi-colored bird Would ever catch his eye, Unless it answered to his word. He does not wish to fly, Nor would he chase a mermaid down Beneath the silken wave. He’s walk with purpose through the town With Harry, Tom, and Dave, And talk about the usual things, And go about his day. Should hope arrive on little wings, He’d brush the pest away. Alfred Nicol The legendary corn vendor,  un2112

The scene within the paperweight is calm, A small white house, a laughing man and wife, Deep snow. I turn it over in my palm And watch it snowing in another life, Another world, and from this scene learn what
 It is to stand apart: she serves him tea
 Once and forever, dressed from head to foot
 As she is always dressed. In this toy, history Sifts down through the glass like snow, and we 
Wonder if her single deed tells much 
Or little of the way she loves, and whether he
 Sees shadows in the sky. Beyond our touch, Beyond our lives, they laugh, and drink their tea.
 We look at them just as the winter night
 With its vast empty spaces bends to see
 Our isolated little world of light, Covered with snow, and snow in clouds above it, 
And drifts and swirls too deep to understand. 
Still, I must try to think a little of it,
 With so much winter in my head and hand.
 Gjertrud Schnackenberg schön gefroren,  tinka1364

Toe after toe, a snowing flesh, a gold of lemon, root and rind, she sifts in sunlight down the stairs with nothing on. Nor on her mind. We spy beneath the banister a constant thresh of thigh on thigh; her lips imprint the swinging air that parts to let her parts go by.   One-woman waterfall, she wears her slow descent like a long cape and pausing on the final stair, collects her motions into shape. X.J. Kennedy Nude Descending a Staircase, Marcel Duchamp

They never see themselves, the great blue spaces, And, clear and pure in the eternal cold, The snowy mountains never see their glory, The flower cannot watch itself unfold. So it is sweet to know that if you wander Through woods, or if you climb a craggy rise, Nature delights, discovering her beauties With Your insatiable eyes. Stepan Shchipachev Nuclear Sunrise,  Fabian F_

How far is it to you by foot? Ten thousand stones, Two million grains of dust and soot, All my bruised bones. How far is it to you by sea? Twelve hills and hollows Of water, each one risking me, Gulped in salt swallows. How far is it to you by rail? A myriad meadows Sweeping the window in a gale Of golden shadows. How far is it to you by air? Ten thousand thunders, Countless ice crystals set aflare With rainbow wonders. How far is it to you by light? Two parted petals Of eyelids flowering with sight Where sunshine settles. How far is it to you by love? I have no notion. For so to seek and find you prove One selfsame motion. Vassar Miller Semmering's Little Brother,  The Hobbit Hole

Blue porcelain, bronze Buddha, Buddha of Stone Beaming and benignant as the moon— Light in the gallery is late afternoon And momentarily I am alone. Peace within peace, the peace of Buddha’s smile, The peace of sculptors in some sheltered place Smoothing the last flaw from the smiling face, And here for me, peace for a little while. Yet even while the craftsman curved these lips, At that same moment of impervious peace, Other men, somewhere, crumpled to their knees, Broken and bloody underneath the whips. Robert Francis Autumn Buddha 2,  Toby Marshall

15 Whate’er thou doest, never grieve thy brother, Nor kindle fumes of wrath his peace to smother;     Dost thou desire to taste eternal bliss, Vex thine own heart, but never vex another! 38 With outward seeming we can cheat mankind, But to God’s will we can but be resigned;     The deepest wiles my cunning e’er devised, To shirk divine decrees no way could find. 41 Sobriety doth dry up all delight, And drunkenness doth drown my sense outright;     There is a middle state, it is my life, Not altogether drunk, nor sober quite. 49 In synagogue and cloister, mosque and school, Hell’s terrors and heaven’s lures men’s bosoms rule,     But they who master Allah’s mysteries, Sow not this empty chaff their hearts to fool. 60 From mosque an outcast, and to church a foe, Allah! of what clay didst thou form me so?    Like skeptic monk, or ugly courtesan, No hopes have I above, no joys below. 63 Hearts with the light of love illumined well, Whether in mosque or synag

I feel less lonely when I watch TV: The heartbreak and the healing both go quicker, And Marketing’s best minds keep courting me As though my name were capping a marquee— It might as well, since I control the clicker. I feel less blue, too, watching: though TV Can’t do much more than mute a tragedy (The ten o’clock news scrolls its frantic ticker), It compensates with ample comedy— Reruns alone could last an eternity! That comfort bathes me in its bluish flicker. I feel less lonely when I watch TV, Though lately not as often. When I see My favorite sitcom couples snipe and bicker— They used to smile, to beam, accepting me Into their homes; now they seem less carefree, And the canned laughter sounds like one long snicker. I get so lonely when I watch TV, Where everyone plays a part apart from me. Stephen Kampa Television Interference,  Steve Taylor

The buzzard never says it is to blame.  The panther wouldn’t know what scruples mean.  When the piranha strikes, it feels no shame.  If snakes had hands, they’d claim their hands were clean.  A jackal doesn’t understand remorse.  Lions and lice don’t waver in their course.  Why should they, when they know they’re right? Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton,  in every other way they’re light.  On this third planet of the sun  among the signs of bestiality  a clear conscience is Number One. Wislawa Szymborska  Translated by Stanislaw Baraczak and Clare Cavanagh. l'atlante di Selene,  Andreas Aldebaran

Early blossoms – could a single Hour preserve them just as now! But the warmer west will scatter Petals showering from the bough. How enjoy these leaves, that lately I was grateful to for shade? Soon the wind and snow are rolling What the late Novembers fade. Fruit – you’d reach a hand and have it? Better have it then with speed. These you see about to ripen, Those already gone to seed. Half a rainy day, and there’s your Pleasant valley not the same, None could swim that very river Twice, so quick the changes came. You yourself! What all around you Strong as stonework used to lie – Castles, battlements – you see them With an ever-changing eye. Now the lips are dim and withered Once the kisses set aglow; Lame the leg, that on the mountain Left the mountain goat below. Or that hand, that knew such loving Ways, outstretching in caress, – Cunningly adjusted structure­ – Now can function less and less. All are gone; this substitution Has your name and nothing