Sunday, April 26, 2009

Poem of the Week #69

Time to Wake Up

The willows are greening
and so is the grass, aghast
at the new life spring brings.

The fruit trees are pinking,
thinking: time to wake up!
Time to unfurl our flowered heads.

The meadow is reaching, teaching
all those who lay in its bed
to inhale spring’s sweet aroma.

Lisa Vihos

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Poem of the Week #68

The Walk

I went for a walk
in the clouds
and looked down
upon the world below,
I saw life’s show. I saw
a child with eyes aglow
riding the merry-go-round.
I saw just there at the end of my hand,
a red salamander in the sand,
a ripe and luscious pear.
Big and small
I saw it all.

I stood on the line
between day and night
where sleep is moot.
I knocked at the door
between heaven and earth,
looked back and forth.
After all my looking
from the vantage
point so high in the air,
I will tell you something rare:
If at first you do not see,
try, try again.

Lisa Vihos

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Poem of the Week #67

The Lake

The lake is awake; she turns herself over
all winter she slept, now spring, and she moves.
Each wave is her way to beckon her lover,
the sun. By his warmth, his constancy proves.

Ice upon ice, all winter she waited.
To feel herself dredged is now her reward.
To raise from below that which is sated
with nutrients, taken from that which is stored.

She meets him and greets him, wave upon wave
Together they tumble in sparkling embrace
Renewal of resource, protect her and save
her. Bring jewels of light to color her face.

She smiles. I smile and watch from the sand,
and welcome the lake with a wave of my hand.

Lisa Vihos

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Poem of the Week #66

Spiritual Flesh

A light shines forth
from a bag of bones
carried by an old beggar.
He dumps the contents
on the bare earth
to tell a story.

It is the story of a little boy
who grows like a beanstalk
from lad to man to fable;
lives on as the giant—
but gentle, not an ogre.

Even a mean giant grows feeble,
decays like any other fruit;
age creeps across the surface,
a wrinkled peach.

Softness ossifies,
becomes brittle,
pulverizes into dust.

Back into earth and air
the giant goes
like the rest of us—
floats by on a breeze,
the smell of night-blooming jasmine;
someone you once knew.

From essence to flesh
and back again;
like water
from mist to ice,
so too, Spirit.

Lisa Vihos