Chance Meeting in Mystical Terms  

Yoga class at the lake, she catches his eye
An electric charge in the brain…
Not the spring lilac, nor the plum in bloom
Something more unnatural
The odor of perfume, the beauty in surprise.

Waves of the seasons ring the shore
Spirit seeks a form, an afternoon union–
They do not know what
Causes their communion– She invites him
Tilts her head back in abandon to receive him.

Mother of time, days gestate in the womb
Men may spin all to doom, but she is summer
Winter long, spring in December
Meadow of unlived hours
Wildflowers glow in shadows of the moon.

They will say it was not by chance they met
They will claim it no mistake
Birth reveals the truth, was a newborn fate.

 

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Reminiscence

Fishing at the river, some boys jump in
Swim across and back so quickly
It makes my head spin.
Were I as trim and lean as them
I’d join in–
I did when I was that age
Set down my rod
Shed my clothes
Took to any lake or stream
Swam my sweaty body clean
Lay on the bank and dreamed of love—
But I am old now, these days
I need prodding
Just to take a bath!
A boy needs no prod, only doing
Without hesitation or regret
Sagacious are the old men, but wisdom
Does not come
Unless the joys of youth are done
And as the mind goes under, we learn to swim again.

 

Experiment with Time Travel

They led us to sunlight on the grass beside the school
Brought an extension cord and phonograph with a box
Of long silks of many colors, played Stravinsky’s Firebird
Ravel’s La Mer, Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, and suddenly
We began to move like birds, like deer trailing scarves!
We began to come alive outside the classroom, the box.
We became human for the first time in our public school.
This was kindergarden, no thought, no conditioned response

We were happy to be in the light with melodies enchanting us
Inspiring wonder in motion as in many innocent moments
Unaware of gender or race, only a spontaneous urge to run
Dance in circles with colors glowing over our heads, sway
In time to leap and fly celebrating two or three colors,
Yes, simply being as children are, free to express and play.
We were fully alive for thirty minutes–  it felt like hours.

The teachers smiled when the experiment was over, they had
Done their best to evoke some creativity in us, but that
Was never needed, we needed only to be worry-free, fearless
Willing to listen, to laugh, and you know, I can’t tell you
How many yearless moments, I’ve wondered why this memory
Returns like a dream of an old love, time and again– Well
I don’t anymore, but fall, into a reverie and dance, dance again.

 

 

 

Poem appeared 1st in “Of One & Many Worlds” by Rayn Roberts Poetic Matrix Press