This poem is made up of book titles from books all written by Mary Oliver

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beyond the line of white pines
when in cold winter
the northern winds blow
causing the trees to bow
in prayer for a new budding spring
the leaf and the clouds
set the rules for the dance

across many miles
and many new mornings
sailing upstream on wild waters
the wind turns round in tight circles
and blows from the warmer south-west

after all the things I have seen
and memories saved
in the halls of my deeper mind
this vision strongly remains

i awoke early
in the field of iris and cornflower
in the house of misted blue pastures
when a strand of crystal clear light
cut through the violet haze
and turned all the blue horses white

The moon sees many things

And many moons see more

As many moons go by

There comes a stage in life

Whether you will or no

You find

That you come from another time.

Many moons ago,

When I was a child Christopher Robin

Went down with Alice

To take a good look at the Palace.

Children made up their own games

Reciting rhymes centuries old.

When I was a child spring came on time

So did the snow and the rains.

Telephones had four numbers

Far easier to recall.

The shopkeepers knew our names.

In the hedgerows were many more flowers

And flocks of butterflies.

The moon looked down on quieter roads

Before the domination of the mechanical curse.

The milk cart was drawn by a gentle white horse.

The milk cart was followed by the hearse

And then the horses were gone,

Seven hundred moons ago.

How swiftly times have changed.

The clouds sweep across the face of the moon.

Looking up I see it’s deranged.

The world’s made a sad exchange.

i missed the bus again today
i also missed it yesterday
i missed it going back the other way
i don’t care what you say
the times it comes are wrong
the walk i have is kind of long
good thing my legs are fairly strong
good time to try and sing a song
a plainsong
a folksong
a mournful song
a marching song
as i go along, along
here comes the bus again
but I’m nowhere near the stop
it’s really caught me on the hop
and I’m fit to droop and drop
I hope it’s blasted tires go pop

we try not to let important memories retreat
though the remembrance is often bittersweet
i recall my fathers steady breath
the very thing that vanished with his death
then in my own gestures i see him again
unconsciously inherited they quietly remain
I feel him as I move my hand in that special way
i see it every day
he hasn’t gone away

My name is demanding,
Far too much to live up to
It hover and soars overhead,
Higher than others can reach.
I light the high altar
In temple, chapel and church.
I comfort the dead.
I sit very close to the source.
Close to my hope
Close to my dreams
But this meaning
Is only a chance choice at birth.
No name will ever be me.
My name is so secret
I don’t even know it myself.
I don’t expect to find out.

today the world re-awoke

from a dreadful sleep that came

when the open land was enclosed

this stifling sleep was long and old

overnight the angels came

they pulled down fences

brought back the flowers

that we had killed

reinstated extinct species

undid our foolish acts

refreshed our souls

and rolled back time to Eden

tamed the snake

enchanted him

embraced him with their love

and now all the world is one

Hermes stepped through the airlock

Into alternative history

And twisted our fate.

But it was too late

And so came the earthquakes.

Where hot molten rock

Met Tsunami

It created an island.

Nothing there was reality.

Avian avatars floated in dreams

Around beanstalks to asteroid belts.

With my eye to the chronoscope, I climbed

Clinging to Hermes heel,

Avoiding his wings,

To emerge in a vast hall, divine,

Where the planets vibrate in harmony.

I rest in the sublime

Wishing the gods had stopped us

Or we had listened in time.

Dear Senora de Vinci,

Please do forgive me

I write because I feel most disturbed.

Please let me convince you.

Your sons’ pursuits are unhealthy.

You may think it cute.

I do not. It’s not normal.

Madame, set his direction.

Arrange for studies more formal,

Less focused on strange obsessions.

I recently saw his drawings.

I confess they made me flustered and hot.

All those seeds and stamen, open throated blossoms,

Convoluted stems entwining, copulation suggested

All very unseemly. His eyes strip one bare,

Beyond garments and flesh to internals.  

I feel my morality tested. He’s a boy.

Nothing more. This is wrong. I deplore it.

Madame, explore his mind.

Be strict. Be strong and train him.

And why does he jump off walls

Flapping his arms and kicking his legs?

Madame I beg you, restrain him.

With respectful good wishes,

Your neighbour,

Senora Maria Carlucci.  

My dear Senora Carlucci,

Maria, may I?

It is true, Leonardo is strange.

We could arrange to meet and discuss it.

His obsession with flight is a problem

It’s unsafe. It does seem capricious.

Other boys climb on walls to steal fruits,

But Leonardo’s pursuits are honest.

His drawings distract him from mischief.

I don’t know. His father says he is gifted.

We can’t know what our children may be

When they grow.

I am sorry to hear you feel flustered.

A nice cooling bath is soothing.

I do understand your position.

Moral poisons are drawn out by mustard.

There are potions and herbs for your condition.

If you wish, do come, and see me.

In neighbourly friendship,

Senora de V.

an old rubber band the postman dropped
disintegrates with time and age
meant to bind things together
nothing here to bind
all the letters lost

‘industrially darkened, reformed humans’

my passport with nine years left
rests beside the rubber band
nowhere to go, illegal to fly
paper clips, staples, a badge with a bee
contents of a draw, rarely opened

‘shapes of life, we are the breath part’

in the distance drum beats, chanting
ancestral voices, distant voices,
calling me to earth, to earth
any earth away from concrete
dust or grass,
mud or mountain,
hill to sky,
we must grow,
flower, rebirth

(two quoted lines from John Trudell)

I must give the blossoms their heady scent
even in mouldering, their powers not spent
it can set free a mind and bewilder the heart
I am Pan, this is my all consuming art.

I must arouse the lovers and strengthen their passion
the world is made pure in this wanton fashion
let then be drenched in ravaged sweat
I am Pan, I am the place where dreams are met.

I must call the hart, the hare, the hound
to bring them close to safer ground
they need my vigilance and care,
I am Pan, all life is joy when I am there.

Don’t forget the elder gods.
Don’t forget the blessed trance.
Don’t forget the sacred dance.
I am Pan, the first and last.