10 of Infinity--1

Who are You,
Who ask my inhibition
From any competition
With You?

Are you He of infinite arrogance,
Or love that shows no variance?

I believe the latter,
For You have settled the matter
On a hill far away,
On an old rugged cross,
And I am Yours.

©2010 Bob Mason

4/26/2010

The Self-Same Sky

The self-same sky

That acted all open and sunny

Is now covered and inscrutable,

True colors masked in gray,

Depth unprobe-able,

Height now finite,

But not really.

You will be unmasked!

You cannot hide forever!

I will see your blue;

I will see your sun,

And wonder

At the incomprehensibility

Of your full disclosure.

©2010 Bob Mason

4/26/2010

Spinning

Why do I so enjoy spinning,
On a chair designed for sitting,
Or a playground toy unfitting?
With the trees all whirling round,
The Doppler shifting sound,
And the sense I've left the ground.

Maybe I feel like I'm winning,
When I see the whole world spinning
Around me.

©2002 Bob Mason

Murphy Park, Modesto
3/3/02

I was reminded of this poem today as I watched my little girl playing on the very playground toy I used to spin on when I was just a little older than she. It has slight safety modifications, but it still works great!

Robert Frost

I strive for mastery of word and line
With thoughts that rhyme and keep the time;
But not in clips that shout and moan,
"I rhyme, I beat, I am a poem."

©1993 Bob Mason

I so love the poetry of Robert Frost. He uses rhythm and rhyme that flow like the best of prose. This is my homage to his unsurpassed artistry.

Requiem for Yet Another Pile of Feathers

What tethers your trajectory so to the earth,
         whispering raptor of the night?
Is it the sonic tininess of squeaking mice,
         the reverberant reticence of rustling reptiles
                   that sets your altitude?

Do hunger and height conspire
         to suppress your legendary hearing
                   as the roaring diesel
                            permanently interrupts your flight path?

©2010 Bob Mason

I have seen so many piles of barn owl feathers by the side of the roads of California. They always seem to fly low and silent over the countryside, squawking from time to time. When that path takes them across a highway, they don't always make it. I think it's the big semi-trailers that get them.
 
Each time I see one of those piles of soft and beautiful feathers, many times with the cinnamon-edged creamy wings intact, I feel a little sad.

Absence

Absence, and fonder hearts,
Blending, in stops and starts.
Distance, between two points,
Moving, once frozen joints,
Learning to move and be moved by love.

©2010 Bob Mason

Airborn

If only you could see the top of your cloud,
I'm sure your opinion would alter.
I think you would find it's more than a shroud;
You'd trade in your dirge for a psalter.

It's fluffy and bright,
            Mixed shadows and light,
                          High mountains and canyons so deep.

It's puffy and soft,
            Cathedrals aloft,
                         White pastures for featherweight sheep.

©1993 Bob Mason

It (The Nearest Star)

I do not know how far
It is
To the nearest star--
Only what they tell me.

I do not know which one
It is
Of all those suns,
Except as they tell me.

But that doesn't matter out here,
With the wind in my ear,
And Divinity near.

Looking up at the quilted sky,
I see through the batting a hole,
Its emptiness full
Of one shining star.
And my heart says
It
Is the nearest,
For it
Touched me.

©1997 Bob Mason

Conversation With a Shadow

Refusion

What is my golden calf, oh Rescuer,
Or do I have many?
Pieces, perhaps, of things I once knew,
Still in their places ready to fuse and use,
When I, the refuser, have tired of waiting
For You.

© 2002 Bob Mason

Blow

Blooow! Blooow! Bloooow!
In well-tempered spasms
        across my outstretched face.

Lift me up you gusts of glory,
       Soothing and inciting
                    with each blast,

       Filling and emptying
                feelings passed
                   feelings passed
                        feelings past . . .

          expression

Past impression
               into peace.

What are you,
      lifting
          surrounding
                subduing me?

Are you the breath . . . of God?

©1997, 2010 Bob Mason