Van Gogh’s chair sits patiently
with the stubborn dignity
of something that has held
more weight than wood should bear.
Its legs splay slightly,
as if tired from listening
to the long monologues
of a man who painted
as though the world
were always on fire.
A pipe rests on the seat~
a small, domestic witness
to his restless hours,
the way he paced the room
searching for a color
that could tell the truth.
The straw seat glows
with a worn, sunlit patience,
a quiet counterpoint
to the fevered strokes
he left on every wall.
And the room around it
leans in,
holding its breath,
as if the chair
might speak at last
and tell us
what he carried
when he sat down
and let the world
fall away.
The waves
of indigo
sing songs of contentment
and Spring sings counterpoint as joy
gathers.
Inside a frozen moment you wait
the door ajar
as if to capture the faintest echo
of footfall
the mirror scrutinizing that empty space
on the couch
my reflection endlessly snared
in mute counterpoint.
PROMPTED ASSOCIATIONS-:-
typical
grounded
contrasts
natural
counterpoint
in VIRTUAL VALUES
filled
elegant
idealistic
manifested
motifs
with NOTHING CONTRIVED
overall
decorative
conceptual
definite
declarations
Weightless love, purified and perfect seek out your place
Floating into the unknowing darkness, in your face
Carry off this lowered head of shame and sin
Bring it out of the blinding damp dark fog harbouring within
Raise it up into the splendour of Your ineffable light
Into the everlasting beauty of Your eternity, without night
Weightless perfect love lift this soul from its depths
Like counterpoint rising in melody ascending in simple steps
On staffs of hymns written to the praise of Your Glories
Sweeping away dissonances of disturbed minds and horror stories
Arrive within the hidden harmony of Your sublime height
Within the mysteries of Your creative genius and might
Weightless purified perfect love, imprinted on everything You’ve made
Shine through the shadows of blinded reason and senses unsaved
In two volumes two different ages are
Advised.' So I am informed.' Perhaps
Its filthy lies.? Do let me know because
I have never read.' Of the quran or talmud
On their lines I've never fed..I hear
An age of nine years old..In the quran is
Advised? for females as suitable for making wives? And in the talmud four years
Old here I must be bold.' is the
counterpoint there carried.?
If this is so.? I wonder not that Yeshua
Took a stand.' And turned the tables over
He drove them whip in hand.' Out of His
Temple out to the streets, where later they
Would (send Him?) hln His cross to meet.'
I wonder not why He died to quell this un-palatable division that sketches hell.' No
More to have islam and jewish strife.' With
such lies to tell.'
Rather to cut away the dead flesh of laws
So rife, with disadvantage with slave and free.' Who were; yet both in darkness as far
As i see..I say call to Yeshua in these troubled hours, put no faith in worldly kings
And cold stone towers.'
( it is finished !)
Is the ego a friend or foe?
The answer lies not in taking sides,
but in tracing the curve of its mystery.
It is the whisper that calls us to rise,
to create, to love,
to guard the tender spaces of the heart.
Yet it also shadows us—
with fear,
with comparison,
with the lonely ache of being separate.
Our task is not to silence it,
nor to let it claim the crown,
but to meet it as we would a restless friend:
listening, discerning,
guiding fire toward gentle light.
When it lifts, we soar with it;
when it binds, we breathe until it softens.
We learn humility as counterpoint,
empathy as compass,
and the dance becomes less of struggle
and more of grace.
In time, we see—
ego is neither friend nor foe,
but a companion on the road of becoming,
imperfect, transforming,
always traveling beside us.
eccentric
mischievious
quirky
sensations
insouciance
splashed
in
glimpses
of complicated
offhand
fashions
witty
comical
coherent
counterpoint
so
unnervingly
curious
in exaggerated
nonsensical
carricatures
seething
teeming
augmented
elongated
elaborations
absurb
amusing
into
rough-hewn
reminders
Its a reggresive sight to see the condition of hostages
Being released by hamas?? Its a sad counterpoint to the
Whole sad situation.' And gnaws away at hope of there
Being any good solution, any way to sanity..For barbarisam will
But destroy all souls that employ it.' Enough.!! Time to
Consider on our humanity surely' and the positives it can
Facilitate.'
Two people on the beach in Malibu
gazed at the ocean linking their two lands.
One of them was me. One of them was you.
To a drumbeat, deep, we were joining hands.
The waves and the rhythm of our young hearts
kept time to a flowering melody,
punctuated by cautious stops and starts,
lovely point and counterpoint by the sea.
A tasty dinner, Ye Olde King's Head,
then home, as I recall (though old and grey),
how on this journey, you were gently led,
as we found heartfelt treasures on our way.
It was like a gift given from above.
Your first time was when I first fell in love.
The Cynicism Trap
apathetic engaged
withdrawn open, free
distrusting entrusting
pessimistic feeling hopeful in outlook
always expects failure ahead strives onward for success
skeptic about the future to come altruistic in hope for the future
selfishness, deceitful, dishonest truthful, honest, cooperative
emotionally detached, withdrawn engaged, committed, sharing
gives up easily, becomes inactive resilient, determined to stay on
alone, stifling creativity and connections encourages partnerships, joint efforts
From here
I can see the morning ferry
pull out from the wharf
trailing its long tail
of noisy seagulls, a churning
wake catching the sunlight
before healing to a calm.
I too would like to be healed,
to feel that quietening
when resistance is laid down
and repair comes with a still.
It would be good to be
at ease with what is,
to be transparent and not impede
the course of light, to trust
and be at one with a drift
towards the unknown.
Not to push against
the turbid swell of an incoming
tide but to remain motionless
within it and ride its lift.
From here
I can see the trees along
the foreshore quiver in the slight
breath of a breeze.
Things happen.
From here I sense
an incomprehensible still
across which the morning moves
in a vast pantomime.
To be still is to let go
of all that is passing.
Note.
This poem is a counterpoint to
the previous poem “Yesterday”
which treats stillness in largely
negative terms. Here the idea
of stillness is seen as a means
to transcendence and a central
attribute of Being.
concentrated
richness
of
sound
to
educate
the
ear
to
sustained
attention
of
strands
of counterpoint
self-discovery
by
a sense
of
experence
to
arouse
the body
& mind
in
a collective
engagement
A friend that fishes for his selfish good,
He who flatters and placates but to please,
His sweet words venom under a veiled hood,
He, whose hiss disguises as pleasant breeze.
One not found when his friend’s lost in a wood,
Who deserts ship in need of renewed lease.
There too are friends like a pair of spare hands—
Friends that back up in times of utter strain,
In tricky turns of fate stick together,
And stretch a helping hand, pleasure or pain,
Whose counsel’s harsh but works like smooth feather,
Whose words pain, pierce like knife, prove sane.
Friends come in all shades of a rainbow band,
Yet, he that sticks closer than blood is friend.
___________________________________________
Sonnets | 05.03.2004| friend
Poet’s note: An atypical sonnet with two sestets posing a premise and a counterpoint, ending with a couplet.
silence blesses us
life is not a quiet experience
ever the friendship of heartbeat
the rush of blood in our veins
and the din of the blustering world
heartbeat ever our friend
it measures out our days
the din of the blustering world
counterpoint, inner and outer
heartbeat measures our days
we must turn inside for silence
counterpoint of outer and inner
it is under, beneath, and prior
turn inside for true silence
trust the big field and rest there
it is under, beneath, and prior
never touched nor seen nor heard
trust the big field and rest there
solace for our broken, sick world
you can’t touch it but you can be it
rest in the silence that blesses
life is not a quiet experience
the rush of blood in our veins
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