Passion

Passion is leaking out

slowly and

I work to stop it from

emptying itself out

completely

because I need to feel and

need to talk and

spin on my wings and

jump and joke and desire to

fill the entire space I am given and

love, love, love until

I'm all scrunched up or

all blown out from

smiling from ear to ear with

the big Yes.

The Sense of Yes,

pervading my emulsion–

the Sense of Yes,

evading all expulsion–

The Sense of Yes, with

its foot in the door and

its eye on the prize,

its pedal to the metal and

its hands on the wheel–

singing the Key,

singing the Key.

The Black Window

Most of the time, I concentrate on bringing the speckles closer. They first appear so far off in the edgeless grey distance. The sequence begins with the glowing sphere coalescing in the center, pulsing in expanding rays flowing like a red dwarf sun radiating fire, orange and gold. Sometimes indigo blue and rose violet bands appear and sometimes it swirls in spiraling colors turning clockwise. It is so beautiful to behold. I can hear sounds— swishing, a deep toned hum growing soft to loud, soft to loud. Eventually, all color and movement blend into the pure grey field. In the distance I see the tiny cluster of black dots. I invite them, come to me, closer, closer, yet I must not focus on them, keeping my view wide as possible, as if I am inhaling or widening myself in order to pull them toward me like gravity or space for them to fill. As they near, they gather to form an oval pool floating horizontally in the grey. I move toward the night-black shape to look into and see it’s a window through which i can view stars in the vacuum depths of space. I poke my head through looking down to see tiny sparkling lights. Flashing, as if images on pages are turning, as though flipping through a book on it’s side, the pages, one after the other, moving so fast it’s a mystery, strange and wonderful - dazzling. I realize it is a directory possibly of everything there ever was and is to be. All at one point, the gates of now and forever. As I watch, the spinning stops. A page lays open black on black yet begins to take on depth and dimension. I am looking down now upon the curved surface of a planet as if from a ship in space. There are cities with sharp futuristic spires, arches defying gravity; a tumultuous webwork of lace highways, buildings and towers with sparkling lights all blinking bright with energy in shiny blackness and I realize I am climbing through the oval window and almost all the way through when a thought intrudes like a floating question mark in the blackness of outer space... How long will the window stay open? Will I be able to return? Suddenly aware of myself in the middle of an endless universe, I am human once again, pulled back in the snappy wink of an eye out from the depths, away from the planet of spidery lacework. Snapped back through the oval window which is murdered by awareness, shattered to pure black shards, receding into the distance from whence they came, and I, now through to the open, infinite, grey demesne, then back into my world, my room, my chair, my meditation. Colors in the room, light in my eyes, cat on my lap. The Warlord’s asleep. Is there no one I could tell? Who would believe my story?

Contemplation

I watch the water boil,

Bubbling up, ancient herbs scent the air.

I'm meditating. Looking for signs,

Wanting information, insight as to

What the world will bring.

"Show me" I ask, "what I need to know now."

Then I have an answer, something that i feel,

Contemplating love, and where it is.

Bubbling up. Then I have an answer

In the feeling of love.

Contemplating love and where it is.

Here!

Searchers

Here is poetry. In a space, a place by itself, this lonely poem. This lonely poem, is searching for the words, the words to make some sense in this space.

And here is art, with all excitement and hopefulness. Hanging on the wall, waiting for poem to come along. and make some sense with words in this space.

Waiting for the poetry, this lonely poem to come across this art and recognize his face, because he’s in a place without words, a place by itself, this lonely place.

And here is beauty and hope and love. They are dancing in a circle arm in arm, spinning and laughing. They find the art and they find the poetry and they fill the space so it isn’t lonely and they lift us up with art and poetry to a place that is filled with words and images that is tempered by beauty and hope and love.

They’ve all gone off now… in search of music.

Erik Frandsen & Host singing at Café Vivaldi

A Night On The Town

Out last night – walking & subwaying all over the Downtown New York City East and West Side. Playing my dulcimer whenever possible and everybody within earshot seems to enjoy it. Started with playing 2 songs at my Saturn Series Poetry reading at Nightingale Lounge, then took the L crosstown & A downtown to west 4th st. (played in the station while waiting) to Café Vivaldi. Sit down to listen to the open mike Banjo player and I am handed a plate of Black Forest cake for the lovely singing hostess' birthday. Glass of Merlot goes well with that. Hearing some fun music and next there is Jim Petrie playing his guitar & song. He came to the music open mike I host recently (suggested by poet friend Puma Perl) and I also bumped into him at Falcon Ridge Folk Fest. So fun to run into people like this. I play one song at Vivaldi too, at the end of their open mike (i got my nerve up and asked since there were 2 cancellations and the lovely host was kind to let me in on the list.) I even remember to announce my book is at St. Marks Books and my open mike on wed. It turns out that "The Closer" is Erik Frandsen who’s sitting at the bar with sunglasses on, surrounded by several lovely young women of course. He chimes in about the open mike and the great feature. We’re treated to a marvelous short set of charming whit and wisdom from this master songwriter & finger style guitarist. Just wonderful. Erik then announces that he's coming to my open mike on Wed 8/5 to sit in with David Massengill (the feature) So maybe some of the others there will tag along. Getting more excited about Wednesday's event. Then I am off to the Ear Inn, seeing as it’s nearby and as they always have late music on Monday nites. Gratefully, I hear some Rockabilly & Western Blues from the Times Square Romeos including some Lefty Frisell songs & Buck Owens. Having some nice mussels in white wine sauce with a lovely glass of Malbec makes this hole in the wall visit even more enjoyable. Then I head over to Arturo's with the hope of hearing some great piano music from Harry Whitaker and others who may be sitting in with their instruments wanting also to sit in for a song, practicing Lullabye of the Leaves and In Other Words on the way there. (time for Jazz vocals – wouldn't expect to play the dulcimer there!) but they were closing, oh well. Then I wander by The Bitter End but they don't have anybody playing I want to hear, but I see the all night supermarket is open and stop in to shop for eggs & smoked salmon, then I head to Spring St. Station for the No. 6 train and play my dulcimer while waiting a long time. There are a lot of subway wreck & wreck crew hanging about waiting for something & some tourists liking my playing. Got off at 23rd street and people hanging out in front of what may be the only 7/11 in Manhattan waved hello to me (the lone musician) with their Slurpies in hand. Then to home. about 2 am. Wow, what a long walk that was. (and some subway) Thank you New York! Fun!

Sunrise at the Farm

Some Place I Keep Empty You Touched

Remembering you now; from three years ago,

yes, it was a surprise to meet you.

I was compelled to urge you to play your music.

When all along, you played for years. Good to know –

You have such friends to collect about you and love.

You came to play in the curved tent. Sleepy hours

In the walking minstrel night. I was asmile to see you,

hear you, you're intensity, your lovely face.

I wanted more yet how could that be?

Now your gentle blue eyes are in my thoughts. I will see them

For a long while. How it felt to look into them directly

Looking into me,

A comfort, a place to rest quietly, a person to love.

So close that eyes could meet, yet lips could not take the chance.

Yet a kiss with eyes so deep is as soft lips brushing.

I see you now. Our hands

Are touching gently.

I remember you now and wish for more.

How can that be?

Notes of music, a torn off piece of song

dance in sleepy drifts with glimpses of you peeking through

Avoiding you as long as possible till it was just too hard to walk by.

And you remembered too. Do you wish for more?

How can that be?

Turning Stones

A windy day 

Brings a sense of new direction

Of letting go —

Relax of tension

Leaves are pinwheels on their branches

Twisting off some fall to water

To sail along in swirling dances

Till some settle on a stone

To decorate with their dried bones

Bones and bones, their dried bones

The shifting waters of the stream

Speak ceaselessly of living dreams

Secrets someone needs to seek

Distant lines to cross and keep

Waterfall and tumbling stone

All writing on the Earth

Of home

Smoked Mozzarella Reminds Me

Campfire on the mountaintop

Flickering red/orange light

Highlighting hands reaching out

For warmth in this crisp dark

Tunnel that is the forest shroud

Trees looming in the limelight

Proscenium arch of pine and cedar

In the morning, dew dampens

Everything – except the white ash

Dancing from the lingering heat

And it all smells so smoky

The tent, the down bag, the pack,

The clothes, the boots, the parka,

The dirt under your fingernails,

The woolen hat

All so smoky. 

©2009 Su Polo 3/30/09 

In Waves

Oh you last, bright sliver of Sun

I watch as you set down between buildings

With my heart

Sinking,

In waves of light

Sine, Cosine,

Sine, Cosine.

My heart rides the 

Tangent Boat.

I sing my heart.

The sound pours in

Watery waves,

Sine, Cosine,

Sine, Cosine.

My words ride the

Tangent Boat.

Footsteps take me across town,

Heels rapping the pavement

Echoing up and down town,

Sine, Cosine,

Sine, Cosine,

I pace the deck of the 

Tangent Boat,

Rocking along

Endlessly

Rocking.

©1998 & 2009 Su Polo 

9/98

www.SuPolo.com

Night Dream

Tonight, when the edge of the world 

Presents itself,

I will acquiesce;

Letting open the door to

That messy room – overstuffed 

With the undone

And the confoundlings, the hysteric 

Children of my mental children in 

Constant replication in proportion

To the pattern of uninterrupted issues & time.

They will call to me

For review and release.

Perhaps I will pick one orphan to 

Bring to light – to adopt for a time

Till it finds a home.

A Whisper

I was wondering how you are, though

Our friendship did not go far

The cold, dark night of fear crept in and 

I fell into that dark.

Did you find yourself in love?

Is she with you now?

Does she fill your heart?

Does she really care?

Pull back the night

Pull back the day

Pull the surface back

Pull it all away.

I am burning still, after all this time

My thoughts are flaming coals

A burning light

Has invaded my soul.

I send my thoughts out to you.

I hope they brush your mind,

Your cheeks, your lips, your eyes.

A touch bound by the wind

A touch light as a feather

A touch as quiet as a whisper

A whisper is a kiss

I whisper

All the time

Your name

And mine.

© 2009 Su Polo 

Lone Soul

It's Night in New York City

Alphabet City wake up call

The muse wants me

Wants me to wander

The lone soul jonesing 

For sounds

Background noise

Is a song

In the key

Of free

Beyond Reason

Beyond reason

Beyond the mind 

the heart is the doorway

To the bottomless ocean

Called The Soul.

What has fallen in is a stone.

Upon it, carved deeply, is your name.

It is falling deeper and deeper.

It will never wear away.

Perhaps one day, my magic turtle will 

Carry it back from the depths and 

Return it to my hand.  There it will

Melt into your beating heart.  

You will come to claim it 

And we will share the joy of 

Finding you 

Whole once more.

We will live by the shore

And swim in the

Bottomless 

Ocean.

©1996 & 2009 Su Polo