The diviners


I grew weary of the foreign cities Though these diverse faces Make me wonder in awe —————————————— I find empathy in their clear fortunes Of being from undiscovered lands Their glad far genes of gleaming ——————————————– Opportunity, skin tones of celebration For the heart of man must Seek and wander to find knowledge ———————————————– It is the human way, the ancient mariners Knew this, the space finders, the Forest builders, the native custodians ———————————————– I grow loving of immigrants, more So than the homogenous white folk I feel more kinship with those who struggle ————————————————— Simply for their birth-line to endure I find not the privileged have much To truly offer humanity, I see ————————————————- Prosperity in the self-made women Who must brave adventure in a patriarchy And tame men to tender understanding. ———————————————–

When I pass thy door at night poetry



In the strange destiny of men
I must confess to be lost
Or having gone astray
To have gained little in action

Accomplished little with art
But loved the silver songs
Of guess and soul’s weight
With human flight, I have loved

Gone wrong, chided, sworn
What a lover Sappho was
In my merry mind, the indignity
Of poverty, the distance of loneliness

I lived lazy hours and soft summers
With little to show, strange and far
Until my heart stopped for
Wild, keen, tender trembling

Making magic music in the dark
The life of a poet, that was my lover
In the blue foothills of faint and dimming dreams.

Of these and uncounted hours


Heart of mine, if all the altars
Of the ages stood before me
Would I devote myself maybe

To a higher cause and have faith
In the sacred ways of nature?
Instead of trying to profit

Against my mortal echoes
With not one hour pure enough
Or one month of sacred work

I am not I guess, great enough then
To love thy spirit with this mortal body
Or this brain too dramatic in the self’s
Lonely worship to remember

Any temple of the sun that lives eternally
Soul of mine, built for cosmic cycles
If my love, in all its portions of sweet service
Would ever learn how to serve thee true

And my whole life long find courage
With small prayers, gentle language
Thou wouldst smile to hear
My small worship, worship of words

The poetry of my bronze music here
And recall that I too loved the inner world
And in a subtle shrine of utter gladness
Found peace below the tranquil stars

And divine nectar to call upon
After the weary day and brutal work
Of living, in the tumult of so much change.