In awe, and language

*Photo,RevMarisa Gumercinda Stephens

 

 

'I am in awe'                               timothy r gates, 9/26/2015

Looking into their eyes,
I recall when I saw
fairies, imps, gnomes, angels,
and God.
Then I listened to the detractors,
they said they knew better.
So important to be able, need,
to prove that this romantic,
Peter Pan heart is not fact.
Fact?
Funny, what are called facts,
these change too.
I stopped seeing.
Today, for a moment,
I put on the lenses
of a little friend's, unwitting,
innocence.
Looking into the heavens,
I find myself beyond faith's and science's declarations.
I am in awe.
Hello, my friends,
fairies, imps, gnomes, angels --
I am in awe.

'The Dance'                                 trgates, 9/13/2015

before one pirouette
before one roll
before a tattoo noted
before poetry or pigment on canvass commented,
i beheld the turn
i beheld a bow
i beheld a form in icon
i beheld lines and colours in an extended hand.
i beheld what i behold --
The Dance.

'Singing with the birds'       timothy r gates, 7/23/2015

at one time I sang with birds,
Great Horned Owl
a Cardinal
four or five Finches.
singing with the birds,
not unlike intuition of your dog
or indifference of your cat,
until sitting on your lap.
one of my Sons offered,
"Dad, you like the idea of nature."
True.
when I sang with birds
they sang with me
thought, maybe a St. Francis or Seraphim thing?
I laughed out loud.
Finches and Cardinal hung out
standing in finger's length from them,
sun and dew reminded us -
yes, it's early morning. 
heart moved into my throat,
feeling a Great Horned Owl
six feet shadow closing in,
this royal winged Bird glided
up, into my well aged Spruce.
Go ahead, stand with these birds,
sing out of tune, even a half step,
wait and see before they peck your eyes out -
i'd only suggest that you find your part.

A piece worked on in my sleep. Live these

'Each day, an exile'              timothy r gates, 9//05/2015

Suns set,
Moons rise
Sleeping without rest
Resting, yet fidgety
Virgin, but promiscuous
Chaste without indiscretion.
When a Sun drenched Moon
rises,
who would not tear up,
recalling their recline hours before,
rolling over and
finding each other, still,
discreet in unclothed chastity. 
Until such an apocalypse,
each day, an exile,
Suns and Moons are,
in waiting.
(Like Moses, of old,
hiding his face from G-d.
lest he die,
some Angels, Women and Men
only see a Sun or Moon.) 
Behold.

'Language'                                     timothy r gates, 6/30/2015

words said,
not said
darkness blanketed light,
then words were heard
logos before,
during, after
a word arrived,
or left unsaid.
no word is unsaid -
though not always given voice
loud as a ruling lion
quiet as a rippling stream,
behind a forest's arms.
whisper in brevity
language opens windows,
when embraced as icons.
Do I think that words,
collected into my profound thoughts,
written for everyone's edification,
capture the sublime?
Or, do angels in flight stop to listen?
Hell, heaven - no.
I attend to the silence of their flight.