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“8 Short Poems” by Marc Isaac Potter


Each Step


Each Step

The Ancient Ones step through me.


Each step,

So fresh

No step was ever taken.



Purity


Two dozen Purity Roses.


The aroma embraces them

Like an aura.


Frederick hands them to

Katherine,

Five years ago.


Now she stares at his picture

While sipping watery ice tea.


And talking with their daughter

Whom they never had.


Something New and Hopeful


Pushed off the Mountain.

By the fierce wind.


Joey chased his kite,

Grabbed it,

Hid it behind the rocks.


Joey stood up to the wind,

Protecting his kite

From all comers.


As the last gust exhausted,

Joey’s kite rose

To the permanence of their

Bond

Flying through the sky.



Understanding


I do not expect you to understand.


Very few people can see

the clear blue in a field of bluegrass.


Or the blue - way back - behind a girl’s eyes

When her teenage man goes off to war.


Mother made blackberry cobbler


That Last night before Tom went off to war.


What we got back 4 years and 3 days later

Was a man with no arms and legs

Who opens his mouth to be fed.



Eventually


Eventually in meditation

One sees the blank wall.


Not a vehicle for something,

Just a blank wall.

Then you are home.


You, a person, get up

From Meditation,

Drive the kids to school,

And wash the dishes.



The Study of Ego


The Ego

Is a Blackbird

Perched

In a Pitch Black Room


Pecking at itself

In a Mirror.



A Study of Blackbird *


… the way the blackbird

quickly and curiously

darts his head

to one side at one angle,


then quicker than quick

to the other side

at a slightly different angle;


he is sitting here

on the thick cable

that goes

taut

at 45 degrees

as though it is securing

something.


the bobbing and weaving of

his head

shows off the high sheen of his feathers.


how very much his

coat of sheen has to offer the world.


Footnote

* I saw this blackbird while I was walking along First Street between Hedding Street and Mission Street... I was walking along North First from Mission Street toward Hedding Street, San Jose, California.

Sunday, November 18, 2012




As


As morning breaks too late,

I am always here

Passing through the fiber of every

being, every space, every note of music,

every rock, every pail of goat's milk.

At this moment here in the Sous Valley, Morocco

they are

blessing weddings with the scent of orange.



Endnotes


1. Goat Industry in Morocco … https://www.iga-goatworld.com/blog/country-report-the-goat-industry-in-morocco … … … … retrieved on Mon, July 12, 2021 … … …

2. Goat Milk in Morocco … https://tinyurl.com/3npny427 … … … retrieved on Mon, July 12, 2021 … … …

3. MOROCCO’S SOUSS VALLEY: WHERE GOATS GROW ON TREES … … https://thevalemagazine.com/2020/01/15/morocco-tree-climbing-goats/ .. … … … retrieved on Mon, July 12, 2021 … … …

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