OF THE HABITS OF GEESE AND STARS

Cold geese were screaming
on the solstice lake
at midnight.
And the Great Bear
kept circling, circling
Polaris.

But the night is quiet now.
Somewhere the geese have settled
into goosely resignation,
and the Great Bear circles
unperturbed.

Do you never tire, Bear,
of the ancient track?
Do you never want
to leave the march,
go somewhere and settle
with a blanket and a brandy
and tell old stories
of constellar courage?

But on you go, stars,
circling, circling — yes,
and in the morning
cold geese will scream again.

               Ted Black, 12/23/2013

STRANGE APPROXIMATIONS

Jupiter,
you jolly fellow,
I see you there,
eastward to zenith,
brightening my winter.

You are in Gemini this year
(or so we say)
hobnobbing with the Twins.
Or I wonder now,
I wonder,
do you even know them?
Do they know you?
Are you friends with Castor,
with Pollux and their gang?
Or are you simply passing by,
rubbing shoulders in the crowd,
jostling each other in the great
busy department store
of the stellar metropolis?

Do you invite them over
for afternoon coffee
when blue skies hide your wanderings?
Or are there others
more to your liking,
other fiery folk
of a more congenial
camaraderie?

I know what it’s like for me —
many of the dear embraceables
are far away from me,
and many of those in earshot
are distant from my heart.

Anyway, Jupiter,
light-years divide you
from those we fancy close
on the celestial map.
Is it the same for me, then?
Is proximity a myth?
A trick of birth and fantasy,
and of the telling over and over
of fictional perspective?

Am I a dweller in
my casual birthplace?
Or do I, absent the knowing of it,
inhabit another city,
resting my troubled head
in the lap of a lover whose name
I have forgotten.

              

 Ted Black, 12/23/2013

LONGING TO FLY

O my dear soul, your wings

are sodden and stale.

You cannot fly.

You have stayed too long in the waters of seeking.

You have covered your face with wings of sobriety

And that is not their use.

Come out of the dark cave, O soul,

And let the sun of courage dry your wings.

Be intoxicate, O soul.

There is no danger.

Be drunken with the wine of majesty.

Here is the air clear

And the winds are soft.

Let water be at your roots

And the fire rise

Into the vast and vacant crucible

Of your intent.

All shall be well and you shall again

Fly.

                              Ted Black, 10/23/2013