Another fellow gourdhead weighs in on Yerba Mate at epicurean.com. It’s picking up steam, I tell you.
I have updated my collection of online poetry with new poems and old poems newly found. An old professor contacted me about some futuristic poems of mine and I went out there for the first time in months. I realized that the collection was not complete and I might as well have a complete collection somewhere.
Whether or not the poetry is good is beside the point. I would only be proud enough to read a few in front of a group, but most of it is sentimental, goofy love offerings. But I do need a record. Something to hand on to my daughters so they can remember what a sentimental goof their father was. It is the witness to our lives through love that makes us real.
One of these days I’ll spend a few bucks to get these printed and bound, but until then you can read them here.
My friend from asia has powers and magic,
he plucks a blue leaf from the young blue-gum
And gazing upon it, gathering quieting
The God in his mind, creates an ocean more real than the ocean,
the salt, the actual
Appalling presence, the power of the waters.
He believes that nothing is real except as we make it.
I humbler have found in my blood
Bred west of Caucasus a harder mysticism.
Multitude stands in my mind but
I think that the ocean in the bone vault is only
The bone vault’s ocean: out there is the ocean’s;
The water is the water, the cliff is the rock,
come shocks and flashes of reality. The mind
Passes, the eye closes, the spirit is a passage:
The beauty of things was born before eyes and sufficient to itself:
the heartbreaking beauty
Will remain when there is no heart to break for it.