poetry

 Barbara Spring

 Winter 2001



Shopping for a Drum

Some heavy drums had bark
and some had fur from unknown animals
and one lovely Michigan drum, I was told
could balance my chakras.

Its sound resonated through me.
Hmmmm.  My chakras
seem to be o.k.

I shook rattles and shuffled around the shop
while the missionary pretended
not to see.

Then I found a noise
so exquisitely piercing and clear
it could cause Ezekiel to rise
to rise and dance.  Dance Ezekiel dance.
And may I have the next dance?

And while dancing
I'll play my hand made drum
from Cameroon.  Not your hum drum drum
but forged in a furnace and shaped
into an iron throat fastened
to a wooden handle that fits my hand well.

There is a stick to bang on it
fastened with a hemp rope.
I believe my Cameroon bell will be heard on Earth
 and
other dimensions as well. 


Callings 

In her sleep
the squeaking of bed springs
heard through the window next door
became the voices of dolphins
and as she slid into sleep
she swam with dolphins
in a warm salt sea.

Their warm blooded sides buoyed her
though the cloudless night.
She drifted through luminous waters
alive with sea turtles, jew fish,
whale harmonies, buoys clanging--
the lighthouse now far away, she heard
the music of the deep,
sonorous hums and staccato clicks
and blue fish wailing the blues.
Star fish and urchins migrating through--
kaleidoscope plankton spinning, rising, descending.

Now dreaming through fields of eel grass
she returns to the shore
and blows on a conch shell loud and pink:
eeeeeeaaaaauuuuuoooooooo
She awakes to find
it's only water dripping in the sink.


Hieros Gamos

On the way to Egypt
two lions bound in the dark
across level Earth.

The maned lion chases the lioness
and she stays ahead.

They carry desert
Nile and fertile delta.
They carry the royal sphinx.

Inside of them are the sun
and the darkness
of Africa.

Inside of the are the
four directions
and the center                               


Holy Bones

 

Under this dome of white bone
nothing.

Down my xylophone spine
no telegraph.

My pelvis an empty saddle.
My articulated arms legs hands feet
silent as stone.

My bones.
the wind plays through
this temple of bones.

 

 

In Darkness

 

Under ice under snow
and under the cold
frozen leaf mold
below frost's
unknown
zone

 a moonflower seed sleeps
at winter solstice
it waits alone
under earth.
It knows.
Seed.

 DNA's secret code
winding inside it
life's mystery
underneath
ice and
snow.

 In the deep reach of space
spins a dark twin seed.
above below
winter snow
both seeds
wait. 

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