The Guest House - Persian Poet ` Rumi -

` 

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning  a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes 

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of all its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

She/he may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond. - Rumi -

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The photo was taken in Lunenberg, Nova Scotia. CA.

They create Scare-Crows and Perform Music Concerts. 

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Neurotic in July - Marge Piercy - ( She's a good morn read. )

` 

Even desk and tables have edges sharp

as the blade of a guillotine today. 

The wind gnashes its teeth in the oaks.

The transcendent pearl fog of mourning

is tarnished with my fear. One friend

dies at home in whatever pitted dignity 

pain allows. Another friend lies dying

while doctors in the hall mumble 

their lies  unsanctified as white lab rats.

Another comes out of a comma that almost 

killed him, mischance exploding in the hands,

while in high glittery summer out on Route 6

tourist try to drive through each other's

bodies. The rescue squad drags their fatigue 

to the third accident today, broken

glass and broken organs, the stench

of spilled gas and blood.

`

I jerk with anxiety, the reflexes

of a severed tail. Straw and sleet I am.

My thoughts spill, the contents of a dash

board astray, butts, roaches, seeds,

cores, bottlecaps. What I dream stinks.

Only in political rage I scorn danger.

In daily life I quiver like a mass of frog's 

eggs. Quaking I carry my breasts before

me like ripe figs a thumb could bruise

and, 'Be Careful! Be Careful!' I croon

all day like a demented cuckoo with only

one harsh plaintive cry to those I love.

`

They pay no attention at  all but wander

freely in and out of danger like sanderlings

feeding on the edge of the ocean as the tide

changes, chasing after each wave as it recedes,

racing before as the wave rushes back. - Piercy

`

( The Inspiration @ Open Salon is great. Amazing )

There's no drought. Thoughts came today - Poems -

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