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Poems by the author  .  .  .

 

 

 

  Queen of the Sea

 

 

Surrender like a woman,

Hold the clouds to your breasts,

The earth turns in majesty,

Drowning in the West . . .

 

 

The heavens love a drunkard,

The drunkard is a Queen,

Surrender, like her majesty,

And come home, once again.

 

 

 

 

 

Trees

 

 

Trees do not sleep in the night:

In the blue-white winter night

They stand long and hard

And rise to the lips of God.

 

 

Then who am I of flesh and blood

Who counts by nights and days,

Who feels with skin and bone so soft

That sleep must soothe the kiss of God?

 

 

 

 

 

Forest

 

 

Forest . . . ?

Forest of the sun and the moon.

Forest of the yellow light eternal,

And of the slow, life and death.

Forest of the realities!

Let me come into your amber rooms.

Let me come,

As a single blade of grass

In your grassy seas.

Let me come,

As the shadow stroke of a branch

Flits silently, somewhere, beneath the moon.

Let me come

into your countless forms.

I want to belong to the realities,

And I lack the articulation

Of a leaf.

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Death

 

 

 

The sun at sunset glows upon the walls

But for a moment . . .

Red bricks redden,

And then falls the light,

As light from faces

Lit by fire

In a darkened room

Must fall.

It was beautiful and strange,

Yes, strange,

To find you once again within me

But for a moment . . .

Will you never die?

 

 

The light that slants across the lawn,

In evening long

And yellow on the grass,

Falls from a distance beyond the darkened trees . . .

The air that opens is a path of light,

That leads me towards the past

As towards the distance,

That leads me inward

To a distance

That shall never die.

 

 

Light trembles briefly on all faces we have seen,

Yet the memory persists

In those images which describe the hidden self;

You have illumed in me what long ago I knew -

My time has come.

Red roses redden,

In the dusk,

Across a distance

That has not been touched . . .

Dark flowers darken,

Ere the dawn,

We hold within

The light,

Of someone who has come,

And gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

             Bolinas

 

 

Wind driven waves scud across the lake,

Pearling black and white they foam and break,

The air, the water with its hands and teeth does rake,

For I have come home.

I have taken his hand at last,

Falteringly, I have dared to believe

That what whispers always to me,

Seemingly alone,

Is truth.

I have come home.

But the doorway is my own,

Familiar, oft despised -

(The walls, the floors, I have seen these before)

The sky, the sea,

The birds flying free

In his mind,

in my mind,

We are one of a kind.

I have come home.

 

 

Where will you walk with me today, God?

It is all too new for me to hope such excitement

Every day,

Yet there you are pulling my leg

And giving my childís heart strength.

Such a lover.

How dare you tease and affront me so?

I want you so much.

Do me again!

 

 

What is it I want from you, God?

I donít really want to be you . . . yet.

Iím not ready for the job.

I want to be me and you at the same time.

And, in time,

you allow me that delusion:

ĎI am perfect,

I am not perfect,í

ĎHe loves me,

He loves me not.í

Ah, child,

When will you waken

And see you are totally, totally free

in me?

 

 

Please play with me, God.

Show me your favorite home movies.

Letís have some popcorn together,

And then take me to bed

And make me forget

That I am me.

 

 

No, child,

Letís see the home movies,

Have some popcorn together,

And then you take me to bed

And remember

That I am you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  In the Beautiful Fields of Fall

 

 

In the beautiful fields of fall

I have stood,

So fine, so small,

At the helm of the sea that tossed near the town,

And pranced from the house in reeds of brown,

Where I spent all my days in a silver gown,

My beautiful days of mourning.

 

 

And those days they were numbered,

I counted them three:

There were those when I worshipped

All others save me,

There were those when I worked

For another manís pay,

There were those when I ran

Far, far away.

 

 

And the sun did soften my back of gold,

And my body opened its faceís fold

To let in the sea that could not be told,

That billowed and wept

In the wind so cold,

That rolled

Like a sea in a tale of old,

My beautiful sea of mourning.

 

 

For this sea still does hold me,

It holds me so still

That the years that have passed

Have not passed,

Nor the thrill

Of my motherís new body

Awaiting me still

In the reeds

Stretching gold on before me.

 

 

Then was I there,

And happy to be,

Yet her voice sounds, still,

In my memory -

Of longing.

A stranger,

Yet in her sound

I hear my own:

To be touched, to be found . . .

We are all alone,

Together.

 

 

And the leaves and the houses did tumble down

In the seas of the field that roared near the town,

And the cold winds carried a velvet gown,

And we all went away with a magic clown

Hand in hand,

To a place that can never been found

In the beautiful fields of fall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

        The River

 

 

A thousand faces flow past me,

A thousand voices clamoring to be heard:

The stories of my life:

beloved, abandoned,

hated, feared.

Which mask shall I wear in this moment?

Which voice shall I claim as my own

in this moment?

In this moment

I am a river.

I am the watcher of the river.

Grabbing no mask

They are all my own.

Choosing no voice

I see them all

flowing through me

endlessly changing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

      Together

 

 

Shall we travel together

O'er sun-tinged peaks

And golden seas,

In search of fabled lands

Lost long ago

Within us?

Or shall we stay, we two,

At home together,

And play love's zither

And love's harp together,

Moment after moment

Sharing time.

Have we seen enough without

with these two eyes?

 

 

 

 

 

 

       Fire

 

 

Tell me, my love,

Where my body has gone.

Tell me,

(With your hands)

That life is worth living,

Now, before the storm.

Where are you, my heart?

Throughout all time

Multitudes rise and wander

Lost within this dream.

Die with me, my love,

Now, like dust upon the hearth,

Ignited,

Before the flame.

 

 

 

 

 

 

      To my Wyfe

 

 

I am the wind and the rain,

Come up from the North,

Come up from the South,

To fall upon the earth

And bring forth life again.

I am the sun by day

And the moon by night;

I am the life that shall not perish;

I am the truth and the joy forever.

 

 

Come to me, my mate.

Let heaven and earth find marriage within us.

I husband you as the sun her flowers.

You are the earth I walk upon,

The table spread before me,

The bread I eat,

My cottage, castle and keep,

My altar of joy.

Fine raiments of love shall glorify our souls,

And we will dwell in the house of the Lord,

Forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Elisabeta I

 

 

We met at a drunken party.

At least the two of us were drunk -

as you helplessly

gave me your body

over and over again

under the moon.

 

 

Mona Lisa, Indian Princess,

Tower maiden,

Never have I been received

by a daughter of earth

as you receive me now.

Everything moves you:

In your stillness

Feeling so deeply

That I am filled with the glory

of feeling you feeling you.

 

 

Maiden of the Tower,

Sleeping Beauty, Spanish Princess,

in silent communion

each night

our bodies speak their speechless love.

Discovering ourselves over and over.

 

 

How can it be given to me

to feel you so much?

How can it be given to me

to care so much for you?

Riding your steed across the fields of heaven,

Riding your steed across the fields of love.

Riding our love across the fields of heaven,

Riding our love across the fields of love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Elisabeta II

 

 

Glass shards -

My heart

broken

into glass shards.

 

Great stones

ripped from the earth.

Raw holes in the earth

In Ireland.

 

Great stones

ripped from my heart

Raw holes in my heart.

From staying.

 

Great heart

Still holds her -

Great holes in my heart

From leaving.

 

Green moss

On great stones,

Returned to the earth

In Ireland.

 

 

 

 

 

 

             JoAnn

 

 

When you arch your back,

Cities rise beneath me

In which I wander

Lost in your fleshy continent.

 

 

When you dream of desire,

I fall into my body

Through the miles of you,

My Queen.

 

 

 

 

 

a short story
all there is is Love

 

 

 

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© Carl Woebcke: The Author's Poetry, 1991-2017. All rights reserved.