Relics [Notebook]:

Defining love, we fell into the journey. Freud was looking over our shoulders, chastising, with little understanding. Adam awoke and the Universe sang. They could not stop in the naming of things.
Around midnight, the few sparks gathered in an open meadow. These fierce pebbles debated the validity of fire. The water-carriers chirped in defense of the fields. Somebody, held them in check for a Season.
It was love, pure and simple, which brought these bodies together into some semblance of harmony. No Creator could hasten the pieces from falling into place.
The knowledge taken from a tree teaches limits; its rings chart destinies unseen.

If time itself were to collapse, forward motion would be irrelevant. Everything we hold as new would seem like dust particles; here today, gone tomorrow.
We pick things up, turning them in our hands, reaching towards light.

Only in sharing love, the give and take of Ages, do we find the relics to treasure.


`x~William. copyright*02/21/09.~2:48PM

I'm going to...

...try something new.

If I do,
don't be afraid.

Every thing of newness has its rewards and punishments.
When I began,
I was nothing more than a dribble-filled saucer's worth
of half-formed articulations and each vowel sound was music
to my mother's ears and when the time came for over-abundance I let loose
and decided,

quite rightly,

I might add,

to say some thing

new.





`x~William H. Balzac ~02/18/o9~10:43PM.

What We Need:

In these Uncertain Times
We need Poetry.

We call the shots
and call out

the bigger-shots
as they float
their Golden parachutes.

Somewhere,
between para-graphs written
and simple-man wisdom

We see Ourselves...

Us, merging with them;

as luminous as Our

Words.

Poet at Fifty:

Let me write myself

in a corner

and, dare to call it my own:

Its textures were dimpled at birth;

and, the eyes have always had it.

Let whatever wisdom carried

refashion

more stately clothes.

**

Let the Light that shines on all

be ever in my grasp.

**

I praise this day

and my lonely soul

and whatever

its captured;

its worth.

WHB~copyright: 02/12/09.

A Foot In The Stream:

I’ll tell you I’m working on it and you’ll know I’ve never lied;

each small step

sends ripples, circles, outward from this place.

There is no better comfort than boldness in times like these;
times, bespeaking, unsteadiness.

There is also the age factor to be wary of:

On solid ground,
your footfalls are leaving small traces
of your Soul.

[Do you not know this? The path widens your perspective, Child. Open your eyes, breathe.]

Do not attempt to pull me back. Daylight shall find me older today…

…The water is stirred, no matter what words escape my lips…

…Only circles of Time perceives them. I’ll carry myself, straight as the Dutch Elm,

a mirror of growth;

a foot,

in the stream.

[copyright:02/03/09]
W.H.B.