'tears fall' timothy r gates, 9/14/2009
tears fall
flow
fill that Psalmist's bottle
too full, needing more
bottomless tombs.
we join in,
baptizing
what we do not know
with what we hope we know,
knowing
no lone tear
hits
a dry earth.
my favorite things timothy r gates, 9/16/2009**
some,
but not merely,
things,
to borrow a phrase,
my favorite things,
i pause, finding myself
saying,
thank you.
child, adolescence, presumed adulthood,
my youth too, now,
i see:
linear
vertical
cyclical
abstract, when trying to interpret
surreally real, when enjoying the flight.
my favorite things,
found in the splendid,
a favorite word,
the lovely, the guileless, loveliness, the beautiful,
especially Beauty,
Dostoyevskys intuitive sketch,
what he wrote,
saves the world.
my favorite things,
thing too,
is not mine alone.
places me into a dervish
swirl.
favorite, indeed.
**I began, and will come back to it in time, this piece regarding my only job that Ive loved, and would still love to do again. Bookseller in an independent bookstore, managing it only because herein I am assured that Books as they loved by some, and
not known to be loved until you help endear them to others, here I have found the work
of a Poet and Painter wed with others in their respective pilgrimages. I do remember every love and lover, some would say too many, and others would question why so few. Bibliophile, myself, but at least as much one who loves to pass it on, I long as much to be found herein as I do be found in the arms of another, not knowing for sure the beginning or end of it all. It amazes me how such a genesis brings something bigger out, though
not changing the more narrow note here, or changing this desire to participate in this
more narrow way of Beauty shared in vocation. Another day
tears fall
flow
fill that Psalmist's bottle
too full, needing more
bottomless tombs.
we join in,
baptizing
what we do not know
with what we hope we know,
knowing
no lone tear
hits
a dry earth.
my favorite things timothy r gates, 9/16/2009**
some,
but not merely,
things,
to borrow a phrase,
my favorite things,
i pause, finding myself
saying,
thank you.
child, adolescence, presumed adulthood,
my youth too, now,
i see:
linear
vertical
cyclical
abstract, when trying to interpret
surreally real, when enjoying the flight.
my favorite things,
found in the splendid,
a favorite word,
the lovely, the guileless, loveliness, the beautiful,
especially Beauty,
Dostoyevskys intuitive sketch,
what he wrote,
saves the world.
my favorite things,
thing too,
is not mine alone.
places me into a dervish
swirl.
favorite, indeed.
**I began, and will come back to it in time, this piece regarding my only job that Ive loved, and would still love to do again. Bookseller in an independent bookstore, managing it only because herein I am assured that Books as they loved by some, and
not known to be loved until you help endear them to others, here I have found the work
of a Poet and Painter wed with others in their respective pilgrimages. I do remember every love and lover, some would say too many, and others would question why so few. Bibliophile, myself, but at least as much one who loves to pass it on, I long as much to be found herein as I do be found in the arms of another, not knowing for sure the beginning or end of it all. It amazes me how such a genesis brings something bigger out, though
not changing the more narrow note here, or changing this desire to participate in this
more narrow way of Beauty shared in vocation. Another day