Marching Tune
Here and now
Early in the morning
A single little lamp
On the desk keeps
The cold and dark at bay,
But not the old days
That pulled my heart strings
Taut over and over…
That was then.
Here and now
Seven decades under my belt
I make allowances for doubts
That I had let dig their heels
Into the ground, refuse to move
On after the game was lost,
Not hearing that the play
Was still on…
That was then.
Here and now
The play still pulls the heart
Strings and I let them go
Following the orchestra,
No digging heels into the ground
That is the difference
Between now and then.
Here and now
I know that the well
Got deeper and it still runs
Carrying the music
Even though I can no longer sing
The finishing line,
The blue sky above the well
Allows the troubled cloud
To pass, I know
How to sit under the umbrella
And wait,
What a difference between
Now and then.
The game is lost
But the playing field
Invites a new game
Like love is never lost
It’s only the perception.
Like the water particle
Even after the long windings
Of the sea and crashing
Onto a shore,
The essence remains
Regardless the shape
Still floats our heart
Here and now,
And there and then.
March on!
Yenna Yi
************************************************************************
Prompted by the call of Rumi’s Ruminating Poem
Notice how the motion of noticing, notices itself—
so if I notice enough—perhaps I double myself?
Notice every hour—arrives here from previous notice,
with no postage due, ready to open to further notice…
Notice how a moment’s breath meets me half way through.
feels my inner needs and feeds itself as it feeds me too…
Notice how I’m awash in the late rinse cycle of time—
I hope i’m hung out in the sun, rather than tumble dried…
Notice my wish for a scrambled breakfast dish again,
served with ketchup-heart-words from parted friends…
Look at the pit from the peach I just ate and contemplate
this wrinkled texture that looks, feels like my ancient brain…
Look at me looking in the looking-glass-mirror of you,
to find a same kind of Alice like mind—amazed, bemused…
Look at how I vanish when this blind mind fine grinds,
decaffeinated daydreams, fills up cups of wasted time…
Look at Rumi’s human guest house, welcoming all souls —
raised to heaven, fallen to hell or playing facebook rolls..
Look through the hum of a mother’s love-scrubbing eyes,
watching her baby’s playful bathing, entirely smile-wise…
—Mike Macdonald