Connected by Luke Dick

http://lukedick.bandcamp.com/track/connected
"Connected"
Luke Dick
9/16/12

While I turn the pages of my book
Across the world the author cooks
She pours the wine, I'll break the bread,
Cuz we're connected

Roots beneath my family tree,
Deeper than the eyes can see,
All tangled up like spiderwebs,
Connected, Connected

Drums in the darkness
You can feel the pulse
First there was star dust
And now there's us
All I ever was,
All I'll ever be,
Connected

Can you still hear that cosmic spark,
Cannons blasting in the dark,
When we blew out like grains of sand,
Connected, Connected

Drums in the darkness
You can feel the pulse
First there was star dust
And now there's us
All I ever was,
All that I'll be,
Connected, Connected, Connected, Connected

So, pour the wine,
I'll break the bread,
We're all tangled up
like spiderwebs,
And here we are,
still grains of sand,
Connected, Connected, Connected.

Anew (by me)

Anew

When one more goes,
you may find yourself
to be the last one.
There are none that knew you then,
not even yourself,
sometime.

The Coleman lantern,
mantle burning brighter than any city moon,
its hissing filling out the dark spaces;
potatoes boiling on the wood stove,
roils of water and cinders crackling,
filling in the worried places;
cribbage or Scrabble in the dim,
chatter of simply the game,
and farther memories;

All, regardless of the era,
keeping alive what was truly needed -
what was truly good;
Food, family, warmth, shared times.

Paisley bush jacket?
No! Of course not. It was plaid (or
had it been just plain green or brown?);
laid away, with others, in the city basement
in the closet under the stairs
for many many years.

Strong, infused with grace, enduring,
and confidentially wise to its pricelessness;
until its fibers, weighted with waiting,
dissolved into the universe,
somehow;

She was a keepsafe
of memories, wanted and unwanted,
of ourselves and our others, and yet more;
Some one that may have known me then.

May I recall this strength and grace
to do the same, in hers and others' names,
someday.

Grassland of Birds (by me)

BODY:
song without music;
poem without words;
art without boundaries -
this grassland of birds

heart of the bitter root
under the grass;
loyal to nowhere
except prairies vast

tuber of crocus as
winter grows old,
shares not its wisdom,
except of the cold.

tail of the badger,
hail of nuthatch,
whistle of wapiti,
pine in a patch.

now is the present -
a gift of the past;
now is the future;
how can it last ? ...

... walk without metaphors !
hear without words !
see without sunlight ! -
this grassland of birds.

copyright February 2003