On Finding a Dead Deer in My Backyard
I saw them a few weeks ago. My wife called me, something urgent--
so I left the computer and went to see what
so excited her.
Three deer, 3 young deer meandering around
our ¼ acre backyard.
They look thin, she said-- I agreed
(not saying it was not a good sign with
winter coming near).
We enjoyed watching them through our plate
glass door, their
casual grace, that elegance of walk deer
have when unafraid.
They were special, even more than the
occasional cardinal
alighting in our yard like a breathing ruby
with wings-- so
we stayed as still as possible. I told her
that deer can only see
what moves, so we held ourselves tight like
insensate statues.
Two of these white-tailed beauties grazed
daintily on the ground
but the third was drawn to our giant holly
tree, resplendent
with its myriad red berries, like necklaces
thrown capricious.
I was concerned-- something alarming about
even deer drawn
like the proverbial moth-- safe, I wondered,
for deer or tree?
The triplets soon left our yard, as
casually as they had come,
and a week went by-- then one day a single
deer came back.
I say back because she went straight for
the holly tree, and
I banged on the plate glass door and yelled
as fierce as an
old man can yell to scare off the now
unwanted intruder, for
something told me the holly tree would be
death to the deer.
She fled, but the next day came back again,
again alone, and
again with eyes only for that tree, an Eve
that could not say
no to the forbidden fruit-- or berries or
leaves it appears.
Again I chased her away, and for a few days
saw no return.
Then one brisk morning our neighbour
called-- he saw what
we could not see in the deep green
thickness of that holly tree.
The doe lay sleeping under its canopy (so
death always seems
with animals, unlike a human corpse where
something is gone),
killed it seemed by berries or the leaves
of the innocent tree.
I called my township-- they said, put the
carcass by the street,
we’ll send someone to pick it up-- but I
couldn’t or wouldn’t.
Not just because I walk with a cane, and am
old and unsure
how such a moving would be done-- no, no,
it was more--
when I saw the deer lying sheltered beneath
the tree it loved,
the tree it died for, it seemed a sacred
place, consecrated--
and I could not bring myself to violate
nature’s holy ground.
Fortunately, I have a neighbour who is not
sentimental, and he
dragged the dead doe roughly to the curb,
and I knew, by
its pungent unearthly smell of death, it
was the only answer.
Tasting Eternity
My old friend and I went to a restaurant for lunch,
a ramshackle little place, but my friend
told me
the food was great—and it was! Three
different
chicken curries, a lovely lamb curry, and a
half-
dozen veggies, and mango drinks to wash it
down.
I suppose we visited the buffet more times
than we
should have but we were talking philosophy
as we
always did when we got together and
speaking of
God and the soul and the meaning of life
really
can make you hungry--then my friend said he
believed in God but had trouble with
Eternity--
it seemed scary, terrifying even to think
of time
going on forever, endlessly, a road never
ending.
I laughed a little, then smiled at my old
friend--
‘THIS is eternity! ‘I told him, ‘Right
now, this
moment as we eat this delicious curry and
try
to figure out the meaning of our
existence’.
I swallowed a mouthful of lamb korma and
laughed again-- ‘wherever we exist is
eternity,
and we always exist somewhere, and time is
an illusion, time does not exist, except as
a
moment’-- And the next moment, I asked him
if he had room for the rice pudding….
On the Way to the Ballet
The old ladies march
Onto the
elevator,
Steadied by
their canes,
Each a shrunken
frailty
Wrapping an
unending
Soul—they are
going
To watch young
people
Dance dances of
grace
And beauty,
while re-
Calling their
own beauty
Long dissolved
in the
Acid of time.
Yet, they
Are happy—I
even joke
With them as I
lean on
My own cane:
“Come
Ladies! Let’s
have a
Foot
race!” They all
Laugh, as the
young
Girls within
their
Tattered frames
Flirt with the
potent
Young man
hiding
Behind my time-
Marked mask.
For a moment
We all feel a jolt
Of that spark
We call life.
What Is Ego…
What is ego but an ostentatious coat,
designed only for show, providing no
warmth, no protection from life’s
wintertime—and it is a heavy coat,
pulling down the heart, slowing the
mind, even poisoning the soul….
The wise never put that coat on, or
if their wisdom is late bought and dearly
paid for, they struggle to throw it off
until they can breathe free-- I am one
of them and I still need to cut up the
last remnants of that hoary illusion,
but bit by bit, piece by piece, I am
freeing my mind, my heart, my soul...
What Is This Thing Called Love
What is this thing called
love?
What holds two together
as though they were one?
What makes forgiveness
even possible?
What spans time and space
and even death itself?
What is this thing called
love--
that a soul could
no more do without
than a body the air?
MY DREAMS ARE LIKE POEMS
My dreams are like poems,
They come to me
Through that unseen door
To the unknown mind.
Why and when they come
I know not—in my youth
They came as child’s play
First, then later as poems
Of soft love and hard lust,
Some written, some lived.
As my youth aged,
The poemdreams faded,
Until one forgotten day
The great door slammed
Shut without a sound.
For half a lifetime
It was sealed tight,
Forever I believed—
Until some small wonder
Chanced to pry it open.
(What I do not know-
Perhaps the memory
Of a tangible dream
Of a long lost love.)
Now the dreams come
In platoons, the poems
Oft with them—two sides
Of the same golden coin?
NOW THAT I AM OLD
Now that I am old:
Did I know the gold I held,
the softness of a woman’s kiss,
my flesh binding to her flesh,
the look in her eyes as they sought
my hidden soul…?
Now that I am old:
Shall I grieve for my young days
When I swam through the world
Carelessly and oft without grace?
Now that I am old:
Does it matter that I can see
Clearer, feel deeper, love in
Freedom and regardless of
The inevitable sadness life
Blankets us all in-- finally?
Now that I am old.
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