by Alan Harris
1985

Dedication

To all seekers:
May these sparks be tiny glimpses
of a larger, purer Flame.

Contents

Seed Thoughts

Random Thoughts

Haiku Poems To a Reading by Alan Harris Western glow fading--    decrescendo of songbirds--       stars surprise the eye. Peach blossoms unfold    new petals without hurry,       knowing the sun waits. My body is still;    pilots must fly in airplanes       and birds must use wings. Feathers up for sleep,    sparrows on wires chirp farewell       to the dimming day. Near tilted tombstones    arthritic black oak branches       finger the cold sky. Seen through train windows,    trees, like commuters, rush toward       where they've always been. Up through city trees    a steeple stabs the blue sky       with its metal cross. Windswept blades of grass    lightly brush the abbey wall;       monks seek light within. Opening lotus,    pure white in morning sunlight--       suddenly, a fly. Gray old man shimmers    far ahead on the blacktop       with his red gas can. Uplifted tree roots    protect a torn nest of wrens       barren of feathers. A soggy songbook    floats among twelve frogs singing       greenly in the pond. A brief breeze pivots    over ballerina toe       then swishes away. Leaden clouds rumble,    falling down loud steps of storm;       pounds of sky come down. Speckled night whirls on,    a slow, hypnotizing wheel       around Polaris. Green groan of ocean    releasing flimsy gray clouds       to the moving moon. Weak of bone, old men    listen to the wail of trains       far in the distance. Each star's faint twinkle    is a holy statement sent       for all eyes to hear. Brutal ocean's roar    tames to glimmering dewdrops       on frail gossamers. Raging tiger eyes    shine out from jungle shadows,       rubies on velvet. Pulses of green life    gently release tulip blooms       from tight, aching buds. Above moving night    from her crescent-shaped ladle       the moon pours silver. The wren's prism throat    casts up a rainbow of sound       over summer grass. Warm southerly breeze,    scented by May-bloomed lilacs,       breathes early heaven. Roaring punch-presses    stamp out bright dangling earrings       for delicate ears. In my dream I hear    spiders strumming their cobwebs       under humming trees. Sudden silence is    pregnant with eons of sounds       waiting to be heard. The listening sun    paints a coat of life on earth       by way of reply. Love's pure silver flame    gives each innermost spirit       invisible warmth. Silent cathedral,    every stone a work of love,       embraces the Christ. This cricket-filled night    gives forth undulating sounds--       dark respiration. Heavy bumblebee,    magnetized upward by air,       masters gravity. In twilight far off    a mother calls for her child--       two eternal notes. Crescendos of light    build an eastern harmony       from solar rhythm.

Aphorisms from "Poor Al's Almanack"