IT’S MADNESS

“…it’s madness to live without joy.”
—Czeslaw Milosz
.

It’s madness to live without joy, to will
to wake and look forward to nil,
to drag a dull clod through the day
with little to give or to say,
to keep going nowhere, uphill–

to look out and dream by the sill
of elsewhere and elsewise until
the traveling river has trickled away–
it’s madness to live without joy.

Beyond the forest of chill
is a clearing–quiet, sun-filled.
It awaits. Go. Not to pray
but to listen for what to obey.
There’ll be things to destroy. Still,
it’s madness to live without joy.
.
.
IT’S MADNESS

DELUSION OF CAMELS

They say another storm will come tonight
another layer of white
another weight of wet
clamped tight and cold over all hope
of softening bulbs or green tongues testing
toward springlight.

Out there, pale marmoreal camels rest
lie low in wait
legs lost to sight
hump after hump of patience ruminates
in silent readiness for its next burdening
this arctic night.

How much is needed to drive mad
the weary watcher of another and another
dreary iteration of
unwilling hibernation
dragging the caravan across this blank
expanse of desolation?

They say a single straw is all it takes
a final straw added to overbearing weight
in deserts of hot sand.
Tonight on frozen land
I watch the camels, hoping something breaks.
I want the final flake.
.
.
DELUSION OF CAMELS

IT’S MADNESS

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“…it’s madness to live without joy.”
—Czeslaw Milosz

It’s madness to live without joy, to will
to wake and look forward to nil,
to drag a dull clod through the day
with little to give or to say,
to keep going nowhere, uphill–

to look out and dream by the sill
of elsewhere and elsewise until
the traveling river has trickled away–
it’s madness to live without joy.

Beyond the forest of chill
is a clearing–quiet, sun-filled.
It awaits. Go. Not to pray
but to listen for what to obey.
There’ll be things to destroy. Still,
it’s madness to live without joy.