Bhagavad Gita Rubaiyat, Part XXXIV

11:14-34

And thus Arjuna, wonderstruck, beheld
A vision of the Lord unparalleled,
The hairs upon his arms stood up in awe,
E’en as his heart beyond his bosom swelled.

A million suns could not produce that Light
Which in Its divine glory blessed his sight,
And every atom of creation now
His soul traversed in instantaneous flight.

And in each planet, star and galaxy,
Each particle that is, was, or will be,
The Lord of All was gazing back at him
In neverending love and ecstasy.

The Nuthatch

Upside down,
the world is new.
Your life’s eccentric
point of view
may seem to others
gauche, taboo.
But leave them there,
stuck in their queue,
to gripe, complain,
and cry pooh-pooh.
Though you are inverted,
their hearts are askew.
So carry on!
Your dreams pursue!
And trust your soul
to know what is true,
for no one knows
the truth of you.

[after Kobayashi Issa]

Winter to spring to summer,
day to dusk to night—
balanced and even,
the earth, the moon, the
perfect clockwork of stars
harmonizing. And you—you are
at the center of this whispering
eternal connection. Listen to
it and know that, in this universe, each
one of us is each other.

Three Lunes on a Field Trip

I

Calling my soul

to the temple of freedom,

tulips are blooming.

II

You are powerful,

the river said to me.

Find the sea.

III

After a century,

a new carpet of green

over the goldmines.

Bhagavad Gita Rubaiyat, Part XXXIII

11:2-4
Arjuna said, “O Krishna, Lotus Eyes!
Through Your teachings into bliss I rise,
And yet I long to see You as Your Self—
That boundless Truth behind Your worldly guise.”

11:5-7
The Lord replied, “Arjuna now behold,
As multifarious forms I will unfold
Of worlds and wonders hitherto unknown,
All held within My form of joy untold.”

11:8
“Yet mortal eyes cannot this vision see,
And so, Arjuna, dearest devotee,
For this boon I grant you sight Divine!
Open your inner eye and gaze on Me!”

ceci n’est pas un poème

after René Magritte

The destiny of this wood,
grown and shaped for fire,
is held now in the hand,
its heart a smoldering pyre,
its breath a ring of smoke,
ascending ever higher.

Cleaning the Classroom

Please put the raucous ruckus
back in the debacle bucket,
and the boisterous bangarang
goes in the commotion compartment.
You’ll find the affray and the fracas
both fit in the fiasco file,
and the hubbub and hullabaloo
in the humbuggy hullabacupboard.
To many, too much of a tumult
just brews up a hateful brouhaha,
but just be uproariously orderly,
and you’ll feel less forlornly than formerly.