Bag of Tricks

comments 8
Poetry

High up
in a cathedral of sky,
in an alcove
sunken into a sheer face
of towering stone
where few sounds dare to reach,
where first percentile
vultures congregate
on weekends
like a caste of the chosen
and on whose sunbaked ledge
adolescent mountain goats
dream of one day
standing motionless but
for the waving of their beards
in the icy winds
and the steady chewing
rhythm induced by
a mouthful of snowbells,
there is a being
whose devotion is total,
whose every thought
is a heartfelt sensation
containing all of time
that settles in between
the high peaks
like a gentle blanket,
whose every breath
is a diamond of compassion
blown from the palm
of his hand to fall like
crystalline flakes of snow
upon every
other thing that breathes—
a being who
fills the silent space
of his alpine retreat
with wanton and unceasing acts
of break-dancing and air guitar,
a being who,
at the end of this poem,
I will take down
from the ledge
and place back
into the napsack
at the center of my being
before giving the sack
a few good shakes,
and then reaching
into the darkness
to pull out another
surprise.

It really is unbelievable
what you find in there
some days.

8 Comments

    • Yes, adolescent mountain goats with long white Gandalf beards pixellated with ice crystals, trailing in the breeze. Thanks for sharing in my commitment to spontaneous enjoyment. 🙂

      Michael

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  1. Love the “diamond of compassion” and “crystalline flakes of snow.” Your blog was one I have neglected of late. I have no poetry in me to write and it is hard to read but I am going to get back to it, certainly on the appreciative end, dear Michael.

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    • Thank you, Ellen. While you may feel that you have no poetry at the tip of your pen at present, you most certainly have poetry within you. It is just busy right now, whispering quietly to your hard-working cells.

      Sending healing and love-
      Michael

      Like

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