Contents
Art
Poetry
Prose
Interviews
Reviews
Contributors
Editorial
Submissions
Avatar Index




Poetry
Bio

Ghazal of White

Flare of apple scent, ancient caress. A wind arose within
and silently called me home to the White
Rose within.

Silence is music's white heart. Through its blaze pass all sounds,
returning to the Beloved's gaze
that grows within.

Sunlight animates cell and eye, but cannot match
the gold that leaped from His touch and
now glows within.

I'm after the whiteness that winnows essence from pith,
a mysterious wind of love
that blows within.

Give up your white lies. We are fish in an ocean of God.
Why whisper, when every thought
He knows within?

White music emerges from His word. Its timbre
strikes my heart awake after its age-old
doze within.

Rose of Silence, You are the fulcrum of absence
and fullness, the perfect balance one rarely
knows within.

White blossom, your offering is a divine hint
of the flowering that, petal by petal,
unfolds within.

Seeker, bleach your veils. Unthread your wishes and put your hand
in God's. As desire dies, its gold marrow
is disclosed within.

speaker.gif: Ghazal of White.mp3

bar-silverplate.gif:

Morning Mnemonic

From a twig in the vast candelabra oak
the hummingbird's castanet ticks off time
by inches. It paces my feet as I climb
past grounded doves that huff and squeak
into flight, trailing handkerchief wings.
I slip through a slur of slowing cars, weave
a list of duties through brain's chatter, but leave
routine behind as the jazzy morning rings,
telegraphing something I once knew:
how to pot-stir, sage up an inner brew.
I bend to the impulse to run away and see
poppies' wild alleluias on chartreuse hills.
To hear a dither of voices as water spills
down a ladder of monotone symmetry.
Recall if I can this one forgotten thing:
to rock grass water under sheer sun ? and sing!

bar-silverplate.gif:

Ballet Teacher's Catechism

You'll practice every day until you die.
When years of sweat have dried, call it Art.
Eight en croix, thirty-two on each side.
You kids only like the easy parts.

When years of sweat have dried, call it Art,
glittering threads whose weft you never see.
You kids only like the easy part.
You don't understand the work behind simplicity.

Glittering threads, the weft you never see,
beauty is woven on a loom of pain.
You don't understand the work. Behind simplicity.
Is a dancer with a one-pointed brain.

Beauty is woven on a loom of pain.
Only repetition can make a movement pleasing.
The dancer with a one-pointed brain
trains sinew and bone past habit and reason.

Only repetition can make a movement pleasing.
Eight en croix, thirty-two on each side.
To train sinew and bone past habit and reason
you'll practice every day until you die.

bar-silverplate.gif:

The Snap

My sleep is cut in half by a latch's snap?
What was that, a closing door? I look
around in the dim and quiet room. Perhaps
my beloved came in the night and took
a strand of my hair in his graceful hand,
transforming its dark tangles into gold.
Waking in brightness, I can understand
why the scarlet leaf cracks away, why old
seasons revolve to admit the new. Why should I dread
doors snapping shut, the clap of an incoming call,
an envelope's rip ? any harbinger ahead?
They are only the beat of coming awake. All
change opens into the immortal room
where pure light flashes across age-old gloom.

bar-silverplate.gif:

Night Wind in the Garden

At the darkest hour, a stir of wind. The flicker lights
the mind, opens a door. In pours light.

We sat on the sea wall all night, watching
mist rise and thin. Then, on the far shore - a light.

A child's glance crumbles the world
in a blink. Blinks again to restore it in light.

Longing for God is a gypsy circling a fire,
a lawless revel made innocent before light.

Tell me in riddles, in poetry - where is the Beloved?
My ear inclines to words that adore light.

Dreaming in steady rain. What holds this damp ark together?
Steering for love's beacon, that pillar of light.

In the lover's game, wager your very life -
birth and death will cancel every score in light.

You cannot hold a breeze, yet it holds you.
Only luck blows you toward the Light.

Lucky, the night when a wind steals into your garden
and washes away the dust that has buried your light.

bar-silverplate.gif:


 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2004 Avatar Review
Comments or contact: contact.us@avatarreview.net