Home is a place
where when you go there
they have to take you in.
R. Frost
Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum
Of things forever speaking,
That nothing of itself will come,
But we must still be seeking? W.Wordsworth
*******************************************
TO WRITERS AND OTHER POETS
When all is said, is it enough to sing?
We fluff our feathers, strut and tick our tails;
we puff our breasts and trill our silly notes;
we primp and ply and groom our varied love
of words. Their sudden, startled flights are cast
away as songs or seedless husks to pile
and rot beneath an empty branch. But still
we cant our throttled notes into the air.
No joy is kept in emptiness. The song
remains the same. And on our Certain Day,
beyond the final swoop of tattered wings,
may we be fortunate to fall into
the Whole of Nothingness, to understand:
When all is said, it IS enough to sing!
3/19/07
revised: 3/11/12
revised: 5/02/12
********************
Though balanced on the point of ridicule
'twixt those who know and those who won't believe,
you cannot steal what never can be owned.
If you should take these lines, I only ask
to know the evolution of their use.
Each word, each theme is borrowed from before
and will again repeat when we are gone.
12/29/09
Please contact C. Dahlen at:
[email protected]
(Any notes in italics and parenthesis are either random
thoughts related to the work or background information)