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Alan Botsford – Ⅰ

a mamaist tale 



There was a time there was a time

Meaning to be understood was bowed to

And flowers opened their petals in gladness

And trees thrusting their roots down

Held the sky in their branches

Wonderment was blue and green and white and yellow

And red and purple were the surprise

There was a time there was a time

Grass curled up the back and spine

And the wind in waves coupled every

Joint and joined every

Couple in the dance of night.

Day dreamt of in the darkness

Came forward truer than Spring

And cities of houses poured

Out of the merge of dawn.

Light were the steps of the

Ants in the gardens

The earthworms slithered happily

In waiting for rain

There was no pity no pain

No peace and no portion of

Death dividing the stream

Into this shore and that shore

What flowed endlessly made

A story of its own

And the ending at the end

Was never known.




Who but you, world, ruled and reined

Us in

To find the ridden beast trotting

In the pastured field,

The road distantly viewed as

Mothers bend

To scoop up offspring rounded

In arms long and embracing,

Tender as the touch is sure?




Self there is no you to be true to

Unless shifting underneath erupts

Separate and adorned

In the air above where

We meet behind, beside, ahead

Of ourselves loved and loving while

Letting words gather like flowers in our arms.

For the procession we’re part of now

Leads the road, wending and winding,

To our doorstep to announce the journey

Into exile, the house departed from

Vanishing into or wandering through sentences

That will last the day long until

Night procreates with death

The story embodying us.




Look look look upon the way it is

To see is to be

The feeling you feel at the way

Your looking tells what is:

You hear by the lovebird’s cries

No resemblance no standard no disguise

You touch the skin behind the eye

And rub the dust and illusions free

The rooftops that slope into the trees

Radiate with May, pulse with April

The ringing the singing the bringing

Skyward and earthward tasting

In your mouth like a poem

Is language tying you to its bed of roses

While sleep, a thorny mistress, shapes

Your throat into song

And the sheets aroma-ed

Of fresh ink are newly printed

As the heart’s web of this age gets published link by link

So look look look upon the way it is

How to see is to be

The feeling you feel

At the way your looking

Will tell, for you, what is.