I, Pilgrim

I, pilgrim
wandering soul
reaching forward
palm to palm
from a hero's pose
I kiss the holy bridge
where loving souls of saints
have trod before me
Palm to stone
this moment joins lives now,
lives then,
now again
My benediction
a font of loving praise
for those before,
after
Who wander the bridge

Barbara Butler McCoy

[This photo shows the underside of a bridge
crossing the Chattahoochee River in Fulton county.
It evokes a medieval cathedral to me, one likely reached
across a bridge.]

Tears

In the sylvan Sunday silence
While preachers pass the plate
The palms catch lest they evaporate
Celestial tears whose birth was violence.

Lifelines bleeding on ruined palms,
Sweetly etched before birth,
By those misguided erased of worth.
Tears bear mute witness in savage calm.

Barbara Butler McCoy

Outpost

I am come here
Forgotten outpost
Roof open to the sky
Open to celestial light

Notes for the ear
Whispers from a ghost
Music to make you cry
Music, river, dancing light

Roses, too, hear
Climbing round a post
Scent to falls will fly
Perfume river at cloud height


Then from your bower
Mandalas composed
Your sand tossed up to fly
Testament of your truth, might

Your light so clear
Here I am to toast
Here you run and meet sky
Here I find celestial sight

Barbara Butler McCoy


[I am enchanted by the work of Robert Hite. This structure, whatever it may be, I found along the canal in Augusta in October '08. All this time I have sought a poem for it and today I found the one.]

Three Sisters

Blindness descends

Loose talk, fast talk, false talk
Climbs the stairs, fouls the chambers
Loose talk, fast talk, false talk
Lurks and hisses, twists sleeping minds
Loose talk, fast talk, false talk
Chases blind footsteps into the abyss



We hear our Mother's whisper
We keepers of the Light
We know a different fate

We hurry, we three sisters - the hour grows late
Silent, we ascend past decay
Past rooms where 'danger' was loved
We meet atop the tower
Above ducal counselors keeping the view
While we keep our faith

We hear our Mother's whisper
We keepers of the Light
We know a different fate

With the dawn our Mother we greet
For Her we rise
To Her we listen
We are deaf and blind
To the mistaken minds
Who say Her love is filth

We hear our Mother's whisper
We keepers of the Light
We know a different fate

We Her daughters
Her dissident daughters
We dance for Her
We raise our arms to Her light
We stretch and take in Her truth
We salute Her rising

We hear our Mother's whisper
We keepers of the Light
We know a different fate

We daughters wrap our minds -
Wherein All begins -
In Her glorious light
The light of soul-truth
The sweet light that sets
Its seal within us

We hear our Mother's whisper
We keepers of the Light
We know a different fate

"Let Me tell you, daughters,
Your love is generous, your love is kind
In you My garden dwells
And perfumes mankind -
To the antipodes and back again
To heaven and back again."

Light rises

Barbara Butler McCoy

Now

One foot before the other
One breath at a time
River of life flows past

Bees sup for Queen Mother
Dewed rosebuds innocent of crime
Time stops and Love lasts


Barbara Butler McCoy






[If I hadn't been watching where
I was going, I would have missed
this rosebud.]

The Writing on the Box

Puffs, crunchs, crisps
Flakes and squares
Giants sit down to breakfast
Yes, they sit to eat theirs

They sit and they stare
In the cool morning light
And the laughter does flare
As they read left to right

This one shows a father of four
Spent life living as his daddy did
Never asking if there's else or
If there is life beyond this box's lid

Here, this one, shows a gal
Razor tongue, all armored in black
In her box without a pal
Happy to be a party hack

Funny thing about these boxes
The giants read few younger faces
Which makes them wonder 'bout the foxes
Confining older minds in tiny spaces

Barbara Butler McCoy

I wrote this nearly four years ago, just after the '04 election and it is still, well, more than a little relevant. The idea came to me one day while wearing one of my 'Life is good' shirts. It has an image of a t.v. on the front with the admonition to "Think outside the box." I thought of people inside the t.v. - y'know, like little kids do - and then faces outside the box. Then the whole cereal box idea just bloomed forth. Maybe I was channeling Roald Dahl or something?

As I Find It

As I find it
I am nothing
no thing mere
One form rising
from the great, vast sea -
Emptiness

A paradox
nothing teeming with possibility
Break all down
You will see
you must see
it comes to nothing
Emptiness


From nothing springs
the forest rooted and reaching
Pry open slice into that seed
You will see
you must see
the heart of sprouted seedling
Emptiness

Heart of water
three mere atoms
Separate them break them down
to level where all is void
Empty heart
the source of springs
Emptiness

I find my friend we do arise
not from the dust
but from the void
I and thou dear friend
spring from possibility
Nothing and
Everything

Barbara Butler McCoy

[I'd been reading Fritjof Capra's "The Tao
of Physics" and the Dhammapada and some
of the Upanishads]