El Bosque no Conoce

In the forest I was lost
So made the trees my home
But by and by, with skin on bark
It grew quite tiresome
I acquainted self with elf and lark
But scoffing was the gnome
For all the branches I might cross
And never nearer come

Beauty as Essence

Beauty is the striking stone
Which alone is meaningless
Stricken with zeal, an evanesce
Will then reveal gestalt and spark
Kindling into flame and light
Dwindling night glimpsed for first
Lasting as long as sight has durst
To join the throng of glowing dark

The the fire, the flint, the flare
As one: the flying lark

Schmidt the Buoy (Veil of Distraction)

When I outdoors in private misty dark
Survey the firsts to separate away
From blur, these stars come forth and make their mark;
Yet fog of false light keeps the real at bay.
The ground’s the culprit that emits this light
That disillusions me, and makes me see:
From nearby town this sick-orange shade is spat,
and forces focus on least entity.
Again I find myself by ground confined;
Surrounding sounds now hold me in clenched hand.
I strive in vain to reach out with my mind,
To hear sea’s sounding buoy from loud land.
Life’s higher callings are this way suppressed
By things that people sooner must address

Placid Moon



The moon was ruler of this night

In its full grace and peaceful still.

Earth resembled her hush and white,
Yet blent the peace with chill.



One forest which, subject to cold – 

But also Winter’s proceed, snow –

Through its sounding silence foretold

What seemed imminent woe.



An owl perching in its hollow 

Made ready wings for nightly hunt,

Soundlessly glided like a swallow –

Searching below and front.

A mouse crept solely on the ground;

Attentive, now paused just to list’n,

Though its stalker made not a sound.

Hark mouse, hurry; Hasten! 



The owl closed in toward its mark, then;

Mouse unwary of the sleuth

‘Til the deluding white darkened;

Moon shone light on the truth.



Humanity has the same cry:

A moon in life’s dark night it craves.

A light that will evil descry,

Reveal the truth, and save.



Moon moaned, and shed tears of white snow

Her peace she could not share, she knew:

Life’s absence is the peace she knows.

Abundant void parts Earth from Moon;

Earth’s life’s eternal host-

True peace no life can boast.

Tokens become a Type

What do we seek? The good, of course (no thought to what that truly is, could be.) Well, if the ruler lets us measure deeds, showing what is right, then good’s the stick we see. Known good to goodness is thus transformed; the standard here is made. And suddenly they see all this world should be; first that “goodness” rule is paid. Sticklers to the ‘what,’ they fail to measure the ‘why’. Concerned with mere immediate, the reason they even have the stick cannot, and won’t apply.