Poems: fragments, myths, and friendship

Here are some poems. I hope you enjoy them. They are from the poem a day challenge. There are quite a few, and more on backlog due to the recent spout of fiction stories that have plagued my blog. I am putting up just these so I can stay ahead and post most more regularly. 
 
I hope you love the last poem, Friday  Morning. It is a little choppy, I think, and needs to be revised, but some things in it are just so spot on that I cry. It’s that sentimental part again. The part I waltz with; my unborn daughter. On this particular Friday morning she is teaching me how to eat Cheerios. Gosh, she is so damn beautiful.
 
 
 
Simon of Cyrene 
 
I was told to be like Jesus. 
I was told to pick up my cross. 
I was told to storm Golgotha. 
Yet I forget you walked with Simon.
How your shoulders then were lightened.
So our burdens beg companions.
May we “be like” not “become.”
May we let our best friends find us.
And alone, let their love lighten us.
 
 
Doing Math
 
I am not the sum
Of all my fears
Whose wings collide
With forsaken love;
 
I am the sum
Of infinite tears
 Which now survive
Sacred sorrows flight.
 
 
Hyacinthus
 
Every man must become his own Apollo,
Jealous love is a wind that claims our friends. 
Plant a garden with your sorrow,
But with forgiveness help it grow.
 
Cupid and Psyche
 
Every man must force loves arrow
Until his psyche descends into her hell.
And there the harrowed soul transforms immortal,
If a Cupid changed and winged can fly her out.
 
The Three Fates 
 
Man must learn that love couples hate,
And when they dance
They step  in stride. 
It is the music of the  fates,
That when love hurts 
It does so to survive.
So love and hate they sing as one
And make discord of their song,
Yet add at last a measure of hope,
And so they blend harmoniously
And in this last eternal long.
 
 
A Fragment
 
If you’re smiling go on smiling.
If you’re singing add the dance.
If you’re willing try rejoicing.
If you’re crying baptize yourself.
 
 
Disruptions 
 
As time passes In columns 
beneath the shade of an elm tree
In disruptions of sunlight
Along the belly of unmowed grass,
Green and then brighter green,
Like a glass necklace 
Threading around its nape,
the strand of a sun beam 
twirling  into a garment,
Full and body shaped; it
Drapes your eyelid: spectacular.
Only a moments blindness, 
Then the world reemerges 
Less of color having seen
The rainbow in a single color
Go from green to brighter green
To something truly green.
 
 
Friday morning
 

To balance what is

Against what might be
And fuse the hungriest
Half with the eight other
Halves of the self
That this mind gives way
Into worrying about,
All while juggling half a prayer,
A bowl of cereal, a newspaper,
And a baby girl
In your half steepled
Praying hand, hoping in a god,
 Like Vishnu, with four arms,
To help you finish breakfast,
And also, your prayer too;
Or, simply, to see her, as visitors do,
Straining their necks toward the ceiling 
Of Michelangelo’s Creation.
Her finger, reaching like Adam, 
Toward her half spread lips, 
Tipped with a whole wheat Cheerio,
Making some communication 
With the tongue, which you can only guess
Is hungry, by the cycle of cereal raising.
Each and every breaking away
From her little thumb and pointer
Is so much more than you can see
Without her eyes. The cereal falling
Down to the carpet of the living 
Room where you are now standing
Reminding your son, “No T.V.
Before school.” To know a god
With sixteen arms and a remote control;
That power to shut off the mind
And turn on the spirit 
Which two armed reason can’t contain;
When all you want this Friday
Morning is a bowl of cereal,
An alter, laden with milk
And Cheerios; a quiet space
To form half a prayer,
And, maybe, to see what she sees;
That in feeding her a ring of bread,
I also find that she is feeding me.
 
 
I welcome your fears.

 

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