Plough & Feather
Rickey Lee Bauman
2012
"You can travel with the moon
high above the trees
You can dance amongst the notes
between the reeds and the strings
free always to laugh and cry
and do as you please."
~
Turn to Table of Contents ~ Turn to Longer Poems ~ Turn to Shorter Poems ~ Turn to Prose ~ Turn to Short Stories ~ Turn to Ars Pingendi ~ General Comments ~ Artist Info ~
"You can travel with the moon
high above the trees
You can dance amongst the notes
between the reeds and the strings
free always to laugh and cry
and do as you please."
~
Turn to Table of Contents ~ Turn to Longer Poems ~ Turn to Shorter Poems ~ Turn to Prose ~ Turn to Short Stories ~ Turn to Ars Pingendi ~ General Comments ~ Artist Info ~
A woman's love is her garden.
And a man's voice his song.
Of the praise he sings
it should be sung so boldly
that it wakens the birds in the trees.
And the beauty of her garden
veiled and protected
held high on earth
to be respected.
But possession is the poison
drank up by the many.
As he seeks his song in another
and she thinks her garden plentiful
only if he in plenty is offering.
~ Return to the Table of Contents Return to the Blue Book Return to the Yellow Book
A
Melody from the Past
On
the banks of the Neckar
I
sang a song for you
One
would think today it powerless
for
distance and time and disillusionment
should
have washed the lyric away
buried
it or simply made it hopeless
But
I recall the rush of the lindens
the
rain drops that fell to the earth
of
the impressions of nature
that
sweet song of earth
filling
me with a continuous rhythm
to match an eager heartbeat
The
words and deeds are all forgotten
but
this song remains unchanged
not
for you or me or memory
but
for the trees, the Neckar
and
the worn out stones
its
all the same -- the melody.
~ Return to the Table of Contents Return to the Blue Book Return to the Yellow Book
Dry Winter
In the dry winter
slowly slowly brown leaves
float down the river
without the rain or the warmth
everything dawdles, everything waits
from the still, white trees
to the black, formless algae.
Hearts too move so slowly
carried by the faint wind to waver
and tumble and then reside
with the cold stones on the banks
I too must tumble now
for full of caution and reluctance
I peer at the inward nature
of this winter beside her.
~ Return to the Table of Contents Return to the Blue Book Return to the Yellow Book
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My
Soul Song
"O,
Soul! Why do we hesitate?
Breathe
into me the energy
Let
me be the molten wax
around
your bouncing flame
warm,
fluid, moldable.
We
will be great;
part
of a whole
a
self-actualized, movable
individual
—whole.
Rather
I'm a fly caught in a web
clenching,
stiff, and turning
always
exhausted, if not already dead
Soon
to be so.
—
That's me
how
sad I am, and depressing.
And
soul you carry on, don't you?
always
growing and growing young!
The
magic fairy hidden in the oak
or
like the sacred places and holy days
enchanted
and ever-returning
—That's
you
how
beautiful you are — inspiring.
You
can travel with the moon
high
above the trees
You
can dance amongst the notes
between
the reeds and the strings
free
always to laugh and cry
and
do as you please.
And
here I am kneeling,
pressed
heavy to the ground
torn
by time, suffering and aging
all
too quickly life passes from youth
How
many times
shall
we meet in the middle,
see
eye to eye, before you simply fly
and
I, on some anonymous hospital bed,
die?
Soul,
now that tears hang in my eyes,
How
can I entreaty you to stay?
"My
poor host," my soul answers,
"Bring into your heart
Essence
and Joy!
Its
in those fertile hearts I will always stay,
even
upon the day, you pass away."
~ Return to the Table of Contents Return to the Blue Book Return to the Yellow Book
It is their deficiency that becomes the Simple Material
with which we craft wonder, refine spirit,
and draw energy."
~
Moon Rise Over Rosslare Great Mother Dream of the Siren Wandering Stars Wenn Es Geht Um Liebe At The Bridge Ice Cream |
Mood Rise
Over Rosslare
Tripmaker.
Peacemaker.
Kissing the dead.
Salty sea.
Mountainous waves.
Rock me to bed.
From the night
a hazy vision came.
A white raven.
“Let me follow
seven days
I'll cross the deserts
to be with you.”
And in a tower the Head of Ben
Speaking riddles:
“There is one myth
for every man.”
Over St. George's Channel
The boat glides west.
From my weariness
the approach of Ireland.
A lady exclaims,
“You've slept through it all,
the giant waves and the storm.”
Sardines taunt my tongue
As my passport's stamped red.
I praise the divinity of the Mother
the earthen vessel that holds
my singular flame from days in utero
to deepening nights post partum
I cast into her arms my desirousness
The many things I gather
from daybreak to night, in limitless
scenes of striving, yearning, and failing
To praise the song of her
of the tranquil wind in the lees
music that ever, rebuilds, recharges
reinspires and whispers until the end
when I lay to rest in the valley
Dream of the Siren
I dreamed that I held your hand.
You appeared and I gave you form,
Like the dream of a siren on Mt. Purgatory
or some other whore
out of Elliot, Miller, or Trakl.
Your eyes dark, your clothing tight
you were the actress of my phantasmagoria.
And I recalled you often, Woman of Longing,
and forgot those deflated desires left unsaid
Such golden threads held your limbs,
that as before I played your puppeteer.
And found your eyes demented then
with lust and madness until
from the clouds of nothingness
I augmented prophesy.
One night from elsewhere I heard a voice
From inside, a beacon of love and divinity
A fire burning ever in the breast
A voice to bring me back to my sense.
This voice commanded me to tear you apart
So I placed my trembling hand on your dress
opened it up and revealed no loveliness
but a belly sucked of life and wholesomeness.
I remember it all to well, this appalling revelation:
I had made your scrawniness into voluptuous
At that moment your vestiges
the cold chains projection
that held my lust
had fallen apart.
Where once you sang
I then invited kinder things
Where once you haunted me
I then built a funeral fire
and burned your very image
as an offering.
Beyond a time, once
a dream came upon...
Brilliant Wandering Stars
Across heaven etched
their tails stretched
a million Olympiads long
and transfigurations
poured out like the many fruit
from the conch of cornucopia
Venus arrives in song
the pitch to which birds sing
the embrace that warms lovers
and tender duets that rise and fall
a man wishes he could but he can't
hold her beautiful image forever
Mars the War-maker
the crashing of antler and bone
the raiser and faller of heroes
never a thing was done
that did not exclude the fire
that in his hands empowers
Jupiter the resolver
the chuckling believer
the marry and well-fed
with him we dine, smile, and laugh
for he's the heaviest of guests
and redeems our happiness
Speak not so cruel of Saturn
the reaper of wheat
the sower of thoughts
He has kept his keep
in the hearts of the age'd
Sent his regards from the other-land
And Mercury quick and subtle
comes first with the bearing vision
of the great renewal, saying,
"The Gods have finished warring
and they reside again in man."
a dream came upon...
Brilliant Wandering Stars
Across heaven etched
their tails stretched
a million Olympiads long
and transfigurations
poured out like the many fruit
from the conch of cornucopia
Venus arrives in song
the pitch to which birds sing
the embrace that warms lovers
and tender duets that rise and fall
a man wishes he could but he can't
hold her beautiful image forever
Mars the War-maker
the crashing of antler and bone
the raiser and faller of heroes
never a thing was done
that did not exclude the fire
that in his hands empowers
Jupiter the resolver
the chuckling believer
the marry and well-fed
with him we dine, smile, and laugh
for he's the heaviest of guests
and redeems our happiness
Speak not so cruel of Saturn
the reaper of wheat
the sower of thoughts
He has kept his keep
in the hearts of the age'd
Sent his regards from the other-land
And Mercury quick and subtle
comes first with the bearing vision
of the great renewal, saying,
"The Gods have finished warring
and they reside again in man."
Wenn es Geht um Liebe
Wenn es geht um Liebe
bin ich wie ein Kind
Wie blumen und Schmetterlinge
gebe ich mich immer hin.
Wenn es geht um dir
bin ich noch Jung
die Hoffnung rührt in mir
und auch die Enttäuschung
So wenn es geht um deiner Liebe
die ich gerne hätte
bin ich keinen Knabe
sondern deinen Gatte.
At the Bridge
Cold mist upon the grass blades
and in my heart the warmest tune
I have but to think of you, lady
and this coldness fades
as my lips melt the glittering dew
At the bridge, I stopped awhile
to hear the pretty voices of the birds
and took them as a chorus
to help my song fill
the inaudible distance
between me and you.
The water falls and falls
on and on
the hymn of eternity
I have but a singular moment
to, with droplet words, show
my gentleness, love, and gratitude.
Ice Cream
Like melting ice cream
I have only this moment with you
mmm but your short presence
has given me countless
second looks
and doubled my desires
So that tho I may kiss your lip
but once before you depart
it gives me such sweetness
that it will carry it with me
like those familiar, sweet
loves of childhood
By Hermann Hesse
For Margot Finken "meine Oma"
Stages Childhood Love Song We Meet Again Elisabeth The Height of Summer Children of July |
Stages
Like every blossom unfolds and every youth
turns to old, blooms each stage in life
blooms every wisdom and every truth
each in their own time and may not last.
The heart must be ready at the call of life
to break away and newly begin,
without grieving others, holding fast
to courage, and embrace a new connection
And at every beginning a magic lives within
which helps us live and offers protection.
We should walk from place to place joyous
not attaching like home to any of these places
the Great Spirit doesn't want to bind or suppress
step upon step it wants to lift us, expand us
So seldom are we at home in a life cycle
and truly comfortable, only those ready
to escape the threat of relaxing and travel
care to forfeit the weaknesses of security.
It might be still that at the hour of death
a contrarily young space will be sent
Onto us the call of life will never relent...
gladly then take your leave, Heart, and keep health!
You are, my far off valley,
enchanted and submerged
often in times of need and stress
you have hailed me from the shadow land
and opened your fairytale eyes
so that bewitched and in a fleeting illusion
I become totally lost in you.
O darkened gate
O hour of death
You draw near, but I'm healthy
and from this lesson of life
I turn home to my dreams!
Love Song
I am the buck and you the doe
you, the bird, and I the tree
you, the sun, and I the snow
You are the day and I'm the dream
In the night the golden bird
slips from my sleepy mouth
soft is his call, colorful his wing,
He sings to you the song of love
He sings to you the song of me.
We meet again
Have you forgotten it all
that once your arm hung in mine
and joy unmeasurable
went from your hand to mine
from your mouth to mine
and that your blond hair
once was the long, fleeting spring
that holy mantle of my love
and the world once so fragrant and musical
which now lays in a bitter gray
no longer cradles that foolishness
that tower of love
What pain we do to each other
the time washes away,
the heart forgets
but the sacred hours
resting in a shimmer know no end.
Elisabeth
Like a cloud so white
up in heaven's height
you are, Elisabeth,
such a white, distant delight
The cloud moves all about
you're rarely in her sight
and yet through your dreams
she moves in the dark night
Moving and resplendent silver
from now on, endless
you'll have for that cloud
sweet homesickness
The height of summer
The blue in the distance clears already
impassioned and a'glow
for every sweet and magic sound
September writes a poem
The ripe summer over night
wants to party itself high
for all things in passing laugh
when their willing to die
Get going, soul, now's the time
get going from your suffering
and get ready to fly
into the wished for morning
Children of July
We children are born in July
love the scent of the white jasmine
we wander into blooming gardens
quiet and lost in heavy dreams
Our brother is the scarlet poppy
which burns in a flickering red shiver
on the thorny field and on a hot wall
the wind blows those petals over these
Like a night in July our lives want
to complete a dance heavy with dreams
to dreams and hot harvests submit
wreath of thorns and red poppies in hand
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