Sunday, June 7, 2009

On Finding The Gong, What You Give To Me

I guess by now, if you have read much of my stuff you know a few motifs that I work with. This is one of those. I hope I keep the variety going so they don't read too much the same. Some people I know, not only on line, tend to equate holy moments with the sound of a gong.

On Finding The Gong

Can I pass without
Banging you with this mallet?
Not on your bronze life.
I see the bright sheen
You display on your fine face.
I feel invited.
I expect deep sounds
From you, moving me southwest
Toward the setting sun.

My scout led me here,
Clothed me, filled my leather pack,
Advised my approach,
Then when we got near
He mopped his brow, checked his watch,
Said he had to go.

That's why I'm alone.

January 12, 2009 9:46 AM


Yet another love poem. I am such a sap. Or maybe not.

What You Give To Me

You sit in windows
When you choose, on your own terms.
It's a gift to me,
Like the onyx vase
Was last year.
Because you sit
In my view like that,
With near perfect poise
For sad eyes like mine to see,
I offer you this.

January 12, 2009 11:17 AM


  1. Your poetry is beauty
    deep like a river
    wide like the sky
    and ever glorious
    like the suns first rays.

    XOXO taime...

  2. Nothing wrong and everything right with loving beautifully Christopher, as you well know :)

    Nor with standing alone in the blue spaces...


  3. Your poetry is a gift - a pure outpouring from your heart. Nothing could be better.

  4. Thank you all.


  5. The gong. I can hear it and it shakes me deep in the solar plexus where She lives. In your face, the vibrations move me there, in the silence, I hear the music.

  6. Sometimes poetry makes my soul enlarge in a visceral way, and then my skin feels tight and I have to expel the air in my lungs to make room.

    Thats what happened when I read your words, Catvibe

  7. Hi Christopher:)
    I am back in blogger land with a new powercord for my laptop. I have some catching up to do!!

    I am listening to your deep sounds:)
    Beautiful poems as always.:)

  8. I have waited patiently, have stomped my feet only once or twice, hardly even muttered.

    Hope all other pieces of your life are doing well too.


  9. Thanks for adding the effect. But Ghost, it is far too treble. The gong that hangs on this journey is about 12' in diameter and hits a bass note that you not only hear but feel deep inside.

  10. The gong is reminding me of the Tibetan singing bowls. Every feel the energy those things give off? Incredible. I'd live in one if I could find one big enough.

    Saps are the new badasses, or so I tell myself. There is nothing wrong of love.

  11. Well, it's a guarantee of the most excruciating pain of loss...

    How many of us are actually brave enough to stay as open as is required for the real deal? No poses, no hesitations, always forgiving, willing to take the changes no matter what, no actual expectations in the way, and all this no matter what she/he does?

    And with children, the guarantee that they will basically leave you? Must leave you. And you fail if you do not totally celebrate. Of course I learned years ago that the agony of loss and the joy of amazing success can coexist in an open heart.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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