A Test of Time

late winter and early spring blend & merge like narcissism and oedipus
late winters and early spring blends & merges like Narcissus and Oedipus

 

A cool, late winter morning,

–the signs of spring in red budded tree tops,

and the gently moving yellow of the willows.

A narcissist bud is begging the sun to penetrate

its delicate membrane and impregnate it

with the energy of birth,

the bitter/sweet connection, the periodic table, the elements with which it breaths.

Narcissism ought not to be shy,

it lives with the same birth right as the lilac, blooming in the door-yard, by the Brooklyn Ferry, by Emerson’s Rhodora,
And the transcendentals,
Who failed to thrive one hundred years ago or more.

This gives me not my warm kindness.

I lie in state, conscious, but vulnerable with no object.

The damp wood smells slightly of a spring bog,

while the snow melts around the granite stone,

the only rock of ages that have been clef-ed for me.

The post card reads, wish you were here…

To which I reply, “yes! wish I was here with me as well.”

And, another morning kisses my eye lids

with colorless gray ideas,

with a forgotten hopefulness that you will one day return with your spoils of war.

Blessed art thou, Penelope, for you have inherited the yarn of time.

Go forth, you who are young in heart; the inheritance is short lived,

and we must, all, take the test of time, despite,

that we shall never pass it.
Mindfulness in psychoanalysis

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If Only I Had Lived Like a Heron

 

 

a bird of paradise 2

If Only……

 

If only I were a heron, I would wake the world
with a cry of joy that the rivers and the forests
and the streams were here for me to employ. I would
open my eyes and look at the closest thing to me
and I would say, Good Morning:  I Love You.

If only I were a heron, I would waddle slowly
through the grasses and I would dip my wings
in the holy waters and I would thank the gods for the
wonderful world that they created for me. I would
slowly lift my spirit and my wings would, with a
deep and heavy flapping, lift me above the riff
that is the earth, and I would glance down and
glimpse the wonders that were mine for the taking.

If only I were a heron I would cast a shadow over
the water below me and I would watch as I became
a miracle in flight. If only I were a heron, my life
would flow timelessly through space and my instincts
would guide me even as I had no consciousness of gods.

If only I was a heron; and, “if-only,” only worked like a dream….