tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137004192024-03-13T13:16:49.443-05:00Mr. GobleySeeking the Divine in the mundane -- and celebrating it.Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.comBlogger289125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-69836867181643396112016-02-06T08:47:00.000-06:002016-02-07T07:55:02.472-06:00To My Father, Who Has Stepped Out<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, you can rest.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Having sloughed off the rack of aching bones,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You can simply be,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In that way that flash bulbs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hover and dance on the cornea,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Though long since </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Brittle and burnt.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Your presence, always stolid,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Has become an insistent absence,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And we, your children, have become</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sieves,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Weaving through the liquid world,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Catching atoms of you</span><br />
Borne on the current of loss.<br />
<br />
Memory being what it is,<br />
You begin now to appear in fine form,<br />
Jaunty<br />
Optimistic<br />
But always a shade removed<br />
From the moment,<br />
A part of you hanging back<br />
With those<br />
Who,<br />
Like you now,<br />
<br />
Had moved beyond the scrim<br />
Of certain presence,<br />
And dissolved,<br />
At last,<br />
Into the<br />
Stream of<br />
All<br />
Being.<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-37819370356586519972015-02-22T11:31:00.004-06:002015-02-22T11:33:52.229-06:00In Praise of the Old ManEven when you were my age<br />
You were old:<br />
Suffering and loss<br />
Solitude in the midst of tumult<br />
A wife overcoming polio<br />
The cares of career<br />
(And six kids) --<br />
And a back<br />
Aching from all that you had carried.<br />
<br />
Now you have seen almost a century<br />
And gotten younger all the time.<br />
Not in body, to be sure,<br />
But in brightness of mind<br />
And clarity of vision.<br />
<br />
Almost a prophet,<br />
You see over the rim<br />
Of life's horizon<br />
And call back the sun --<br />
The world is your<br />
Wall of Jericho --<br />
<br />
To measure out the wisdom<br />
Of pure wonder.<br />
<br />
Do stay --<br />
Stay on, Old Man,<br />
That we<br />
Who sprang from your loins<br />
May know more fully<br />
How, toward the end,<br />
Time for the truly virtuous<br />
Stands still<br />
Breathes,<br />
And moves backward a little<br />
The sun hesitating<br />
For that eternal moment<br />
Above the emerald sea.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-58423267209356493582015-02-06T10:14:00.002-06:002015-02-07T16:37:09.410-06:00Presence and AbsenceNothing is here<br />
That has not spread its wings<br />
<br />
Nothing is gone --<br />
Its imprint is pressed<br />
In the record of all things.<br />
<br />
All is not lost --<br />
All is here, untouched,<br />
Unmediated, swift.<br />
<br />
Why hold on tight,<br />
When everything that lives<br />
Must learn to drift?<br />
<br />
This is your course --<br />
Relayed to you<br />
In hearbeat semaphore:<br />
<br />
Toward Presence, mere Presence,<br />
That near, that distant shore.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-70303864527090300412014-07-31T09:54:00.001-05:002015-02-06T15:45:47.546-06:00In Praise of BooksThe warped spine and the peeled cover<br />
Remind me<br />
That the book, like me,<br />
Is a mere mortal:<br />
<br />
A flame from the spark of a tree<br />
Daubed in ink<br />
Wrapped in the aura<br />
Of an idea<br />
<br />
Sent into the cosmos,<br />
Bent on a whole new<br />
Creation.<br />
<br />
Someday soon,<br />
But long after i am gone,<br />
The book will return to the earth<br />
(Or some other realm<br />
Of human endeavor)<br />
<br />
Only to nourish the soil,<br />
And grow a forest of new ideas,<br />
A new Creation<br />
That lives through dying<br />
That repeats itself<br />
But never speaks the same utterance<br />
Twice.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-51004742917620263822014-06-05T10:53:00.001-05:002014-06-05T10:53:06.337-05:00The HeronAbove the high-tension wires, which made sheet music of the sky,<br />
Angling across the upper left corner of the tinted window,<br />
The heron cut an arc with its angular wings.<br />
<br />
No sound -- perhaps a red-winged blackbird, a distant car alarm,<br />
The HVAC system whispering "Hush" --<br />
Only the sight of its sharp breast,<br />
Folded like a feathered paper airplane,<br />
<br />
Above asphalt and ragweed and manicured traffic island,<br />
Toward the reeds and willows<br />
Of the botanic garden,<br />
Perhaps a prosperous pond<br />
By a vast lakefront manse;<br />
<br />
No matter; the sight was all,<br />
The memory is still:<br />
The shape and direction<br />
Of a flight that knows itself,<br />
<br />
Borne toward its needs, its nest,<br />
Its origins:<br />
Its home.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-83686422942295128602014-04-02T10:27:00.003-05:002014-04-02T10:27:41.806-05:00At my deskAt my desk i am a copilot.<br />
<br />
My vista is grand; i see beyond the<br />
horizon.<br />
<br />
The instrument panel<br />
topped with talismans<br />
(family photos, coasters,<br />
a clock that actually ticks)<br />
<br />
Directs my sight<br />
Inward and outward,<br />
Before and beyond.<br />
<br />
i am only three stories above<br />
a parking lot<br />
Beside train tracks<br />
And an office park,<br />
<br />
But i fly<br />
Toward meaning<br />
High above myself<br />
<br />
One breath at a time.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-49115825563620202092014-02-20T15:56:00.002-06:002014-02-20T15:56:52.175-06:00In Praise of FogIn preventing clear sight, you encourage insight,<br />
O mist of memory.<br />
You are a galaxy of water in a universe of air;<br />
You introduce us to the mystery of short horizons<br />
And the ever-present possibility of<br />
Revelation.<br />
<br />
When you descend upon us--<br />
We that are on land,<br />
We that are warm,<br />
That do not struggle for our very lives--<br />
<br />
You whisper a secret,<br />
Promise a new truth:<br />
That when the curtain is lifted,<br />
And the old truth is renewed,<br />
<br />
We will newly understand<br />
That what is brief is beautiful,<br />
What is shrouded<br />
Is sure to return.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-35288880075164670382014-01-23T12:03:00.000-06:002014-01-23T17:00:34.584-06:00Where the time goesInside the smallest movement<br />
time lives not, and yet is breathing.<br />
The world, made up of worlds itself,<br />
is a life-death interweaving.<br />
<br />
World unknown to its own self,<br />
it unfurls by means of a breath,<br />
to coil again within the world<br />
of whatever self is left.<br />
<br />
Our shoulder to the wheel of time,<br />
we labor toward an ending.<br />
But we cannot change the wheel's course,<br />
unerrant and unbending.<br />
<br />
A shard that glows will soon grow dark<br />
and drown in the ink of night.<br />
And here, we're taken up by time,<br />
subsumed within its light.<br />
<br />
Sloughing off our parchment skin,<br />
our scaffolding of bone,<br />
we see at last what's lit within:<br />
our light, but not our own.<br />
<br />
Time goes to the end of all things,<br />
which is where all things begin;<br />
coiling at last upon itself, <br />
it is gone --<br />
and here again.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-54326007642064709282013-12-25T07:35:00.002-06:002013-12-25T07:36:08.681-06:00The Highest LightThe highest light is the light within.<br />
Descending, we ascend and win<br />
The heavens, though they distant be, <br />
Reposing here 'twixt you and me.<br />
<br />
Our coldest season lights the spark<br />
That vanquishes the roiling dark;<br />
Our blindness ebbs toward understanding,<br />
Furnishing the view commanding:<br />
<br />
We constitute a constellation--<br />
But bound up in our situation,<br />
We see, but do not comprehend,<br />
And strive, unto the bitter end.<br />
<br />
Exhausted by the endless push<br />
We never see the burning bush;<br />
What would be the path we took,<br />
Had we but turned aside to look?<br />
<br />
Every tree's already lit,<br />
Awake within, and ponder it.<br />
Look beyond, and look again--<br />
Perhaps you'll understand it then:<br />
<br />
<br />
Every light is the light within,<br />
And every thought its distant twin;<br />
Immortal is our evanescence, <br />
Our orbit is our very essence.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-55917127114552736462013-12-01T18:52:00.001-06:002013-12-01T18:52:28.950-06:00In Praise of a Splinter<div>
Between the ridges of a fingerprint, </div>
<br />
<div>
A microscopic javelin:</div>
<br />
<div>
You have to hold up the finger</div>
<br />
<div>
Against a dark background</div>
<br />
<div>
Even to see it.</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
And yet, each time you brush it,</div>
<br />
<div>
The whole body thrums with a </div>
<br />
<div>
Warning, a plea: </div>
<br />
<div>
A need.</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
You ask yourself:</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
How can something so small</div>
<br />
<div>
So alter my outlook?</div>
<br />
<div>
How can the barely visible</div>
<br />
<div>
Be so unbearably insistent?</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
Your day is filled with such splinters.</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
Do you not see how finely woven you are --</div>
<br />
<div>
How the plucking of one nerve</div>
<br />
<div>
Awakens you to the vulnerability,</div>
<br />
<div>
The sensitivity,</div>
<br />
<div>
The dangerous thrill</div>
<br />
<div>
Of simply </div>
<br />
<div>
Being?</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
My splinter was the shaft</div>
<br />
<div>
That split open my slumber.</div>
<br />
<div>
The tiny opening it made</div>
<br />
<div>
Let a world pour in.</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
i thank it.</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
<em>--Mr. Gobley</em></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-53809227378095473062013-12-01T17:42:00.001-06:002013-12-01T18:50:57.776-06:00Prayer After Giving ThanksOne moment of respite<br />
Within the womb of plenty<br />
Is worth a lifetime of gratitude.<br />
<br />
Please teach me to give thanks<br />
When I am bereft,<br />
To sing hymns of praise<br />
When I am abandoned,<br />
<br />
And to remember the bounty<br />
Of breath<br />
In that instant<br />
When it<br />
Ceases.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-86402764437138211882013-09-09T18:39:00.000-05:002013-09-09T18:39:13.553-05:00Before the screenBefore the screen there was the page, the scroll, the tablet, the stone.<br />
<br />
There was a way of seeing--understanding, envisioning, comprehending-- through reading, first for a select few, then a few more; then everyone who could read had the chance to "revise," remake, the world.<br />
<br />
Then the mind's eye became a screen, and the screen was outside the mind, and the screen became the mind's eye.<br />
<br />
Then the mind ceased to be a mind.<br />
<br />
Then everyone had a screen.<br />
<br />
And no one had a mind.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-68136880843862782282013-07-19T06:13:00.002-05:002013-07-19T06:13:32.726-05:00The First Cup of MemoryThe first cup of memory<br />
Fills the throat<br />
With sorrow and expectation<br />
<br />
The veins with the fuel of longing<br />
Regret<br />
<br />
Anticipation is Time's trollop<br />
But memory is her angel<br />
With the ever-turning sword.<br />
<br />
Each present moment<br />
Holds more past-ness;<br />
The past grows more present.<br />
<br />
As i look out the window<br />
On the rising heat of the day,<br />
I drink the first cup of memory<br />
<br />
And turn toward my desk.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-42049177989970382522013-06-21T10:53:00.004-05:002013-06-21T14:08:30.802-05:00DepartureYour going away<br />
Was ordained<br />
The moment you were born.<br />
<br />
Your return is written<br />
But only in draft form--<br />
Who can say<br />
What we will feel<br />
After all that<br />
Time<br />
Growth<br />
Sorrow?<br />
<br />
i find you always<br />
Unexpectedly<br />
In the flotsam of<br />
Domestic duty<br />
<br />
You appear<br />
In the guise of<br />
A tube of cream<br />
A shoe tossed<br />
With the flick of a foot<br />
A blouse still exhaling<br />
Your scent --<br />
<br />
A list<br />
In your hurried<br />
But competent hand.<br />
<br />
When you return<br />
My embrace will suffuse you<br />
With those lost moments<br />
<br />
And me with<br />
Your next<br />
Departure.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-47921643593391733182013-04-07T21:42:00.003-05:002013-04-07T21:47:47.984-05:00In Praise of the International Space StationO wandering brilliance--<br />
Avatar of our pilgrimage<br />
Toward ourselves,<br />
<br />
How the point of light in me<br />
Rose to meet you<br />
As you soared<br />
<br />
A motive star<br />
<br />
Across the scrim<br />
Of the suburban night sky;<br />
<br />
What you showed me<br />
<br />
Was myself:<br />
A frail enclosure<br />
Moving across vastness<br />
<br />
Containing life<br />
Crossing paths<br />
With other<br />
Translucent vessels<br />
<br />
On a journey that<br />
Appears linear, finite,<br />
<br />
But is in fact<br />
Cyclical,<br />
Eternal . . .<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-62292821181780076952013-03-15T10:48:00.003-05:002013-03-15T10:48:35.434-05:00Please Confirm You Are Not a Roboti laughed out loud<br />
when the computer<br />
asked me to prove<br />
i was not a robot.<br />
<br />
i asked it to prove to me<br />
it was not a person,<br />
<br />
and that i, in fact,<br />
am.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-18693660791465229472013-02-19T13:06:00.003-06:002013-02-19T13:06:57.084-06:00Prayer for an Injured ChildO Great Healer,<div>
Raise your mighty hand</div>
<div>
And stop the flood of tears,</div>
<div>
Blood,</div>
<div>
Fury</div>
<div>
And Fear.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Exalted Engineer of Life,</div>
<div>
Restore the soul to its strength.</div>
<div>
Knit the bones</div>
<div>
Back together,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mend the gentle mind</div>
<div>
That still cowers</div>
<div>
At the lurching memory</div>
<div>
Of looking into</div>
<div>
The jaws of</div>
<div>
Destruction.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Suture the wounded spirit,</div>
<div>
Spread the salve</div>
<div>
Of your love</div>
<div>
Over the burning stitches.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As the turning of day into night</div>
<div>
Gives rest to your Creation,</div>
<div>
Let it restore</div>
<div>
Wholeness</div>
<div>
Of mind,</div>
<div>
Body, and Spirit</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To the one whose pain</div>
<div>
Is more than my frail heart</div>
<div>
Can carry.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Heal her,</div>
<div>
Care for her,</div>
<div>
Revive her,</div>
<div>
Hold her</div>
<div>
In the</div>
<div>
Great Embrace </div>
<div>
Of your Presence.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
i stand by,</div>
<div>
A whispered prayer,</div>
<div>
A jagged breath,</div>
<div>
A gasp of love,</div>
<div>
Holding vigil</div>
<div>
In the darkness of </div>
<div>
The fluorescent desert.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-29040368779658241722013-01-17T10:17:00.004-06:002013-01-17T10:23:19.032-06:00The Rebirth of the MuseWhen the singing of the great angels ceases,<br />
Have they gone,<br />
Or are they merely crowded out?<br />
When the mind fills with lists,<br />
Scraps of metal,<br />
Shards of memory,<br />
<br />
The angels cannot be heard.<br />
<br />
One angel in particular<br />
Shadows you,<br />
Embraces you with light,<br />
Cradles you in sleep,<br />
Pulls your spirit<br />
From the earth<br />
<br />
Like a blade<br />
Of new grass;<br />
Touches a coal<br />
To your lips<br />
<br />
And brings forth<br />
Song.<br />
<br />
Storms above the soul<br />
Cause you to wonder:<br />
Is she gone?<br />
<br />
She is not gone.<br />
<br />
She is behind the maelstrom<br />
Of detritus,<br />
Waiting for a gap<br />
<br />
Into which she can step.<br />
<br />
When she steps in,<br />
The maelstrom stops,<br />
The scree in your skull<br />
<br />
Falls into a sacred hole<br />
And you are reunited with her.<br />
<br />
Find silence every day:<br />
Carve a space for it,<br />
Make a time for it,<br />
Open your arms<br />
<br />
And she will step forward.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-5074347572455949532012-12-17T08:17:00.002-06:002012-12-17T08:17:23.344-06:00The TreeThe tree stands in silent witness.<br />
We do our worst.<br />
It remains a tree.<br />
<br />
Even if we cut it down,<br />
Send it to the mill,<br />
Grind the stump,<br />
Sell the planks,<br />
<br />
The ground bears<br />
Not only the scar<br />
Of our angry ambition<br />
But the silent witness<br />
Borne by the boughs<br />
<br />
Through the currents<br />
Of time,<br />
The sea of breezes<br />
On which it rested<br />
And grew.<br />
<br />
Today,<br />
There is another scar.<br />
Where before,<br />
Shade and shelter,<br />
Now, bits of bark<br />
And broken leaves:<br />
Barbs of time.<br />
<br />
And somewhere else--<br />
Please, let it be near--<br />
A root has taken hold,<br />
A seed,<br />
An idea,<br />
A prayer,<br />
<br />
Curling down<br />
Timorous,<br />
Tremendous,<br />
Toward the center.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-64658912453895054782012-11-01T20:30:00.001-05:002012-11-03T17:12:46.200-05:00The ContingentAll the cords connecting us<br />
Are thin and frail.<br />
All the fibers and filaments<br />
That weave us together,<br />
Illuminate us,<br />
<br />
Depend on<br />
Rest:<br />
That diadem<br />
In the crown<br />
Of brave<br />
Being,<br />
That wraith<br />
That beckons<br />
From the shore of<br />
The ever-shifting<br />
Now.<br />
<br />
Let those whose cords have broken<br />
Go on to the<br />
Now<br />
That is only<br />
Always.<br />
<br />
Let us mend the brittle braids<br />
Of those who ache to hold on,<br />
And bind up the wounds<br />
Of the weary.<br />
<br />
There is no healing<br />
Where there is no rest.<br />
<br />
Bring silence,<br />
Bring light:<br />
Only what is sheltered<br />
Grows strong;<br />
<br />
Only she that<br />
Is held<br />
Is helped;<br />
<br />
Only he that<br />
Surrenders<br />
Can at last<br />
Overcome.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-80526134464916658192012-09-25T16:12:00.001-05:002012-09-25T16:12:17.443-05:00Pool of SoulsIn the office park<br />
There is an artificial stream<br />
That gathers into separate<br />
Symmetrical pools<br />
<br />
Emerald green<br />
(Thanks to modern chemistry),<br />
Mock-contemplative,<br />
<br />
Bereft of the<br />
Deep-disordered<br />
Harmony<br />
Of nature's<br />
Equipoise.<br />
<br />
One pool:<br />
A slowly circulating<br />
Flotilla<br />
Of autumn's castaways,<br />
Dressed in a hundred hues<br />
Of passage;<br />
<br />
A second pool:<br />
One leaf, poised<br />
On upturned ends--<br />
A miniature catamaran,<br />
<br />
Sailing alone.<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-32160724481828299232012-09-07T12:56:00.006-05:002012-09-07T12:58:02.650-05:00Past All ThatThe past is never<br />
Here yet.<br />
<br />
It is always arriving<br />
And yet not fully here --<br />
A train forever entering the station<br />
Of consciousness.<br />
<br />
The present,<br />
So rarely apprehended<br />
Until it is past,<br />
<br />
Is like a doll's house<br />
In its precious mimicry<br />
Of all the memories<br />
On which it's modeled.<br />
<br />
i stand at the<br />
Parallax point<br />
Of this moving instant<br />
<br />
And gaze back<br />
At the vanishing<br />
And yet moving union<br />
Of the twinned trails<br />
Of my journey.<br />
<br />
And so<br />
And ever so<br />
i recede<br />
Into the present<br />
<br />
<i>--Mr. Gobley</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-46937140894694415092012-06-21T13:20:00.001-05:002012-06-21T13:20:20.344-05:00Holding on to Letting GoRegarding the thing you find yourself aching<br />
To let go of -- <br />
Hold on.<br />
<br />
At least until you have found the source<br />
Of the voice that loosens your hold.<br />
<br />
And of that to which you would hold fast --<br />
Let go.<br />
What is held is merely a spectre--<br />
The fear of loss,<br />
Not the thing itself.<br />
<br />
In the grip of rededication,<br />
In the release of the newly found,<br />
Lies the black pearl<br />
Of all Presence:<br />
<br />
That graceful defiance<br />
That makes room<br />
For<br />
More life.<br />
<br />
<em>--Mr. Gobley</em><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-12038193430092513052012-05-17T10:34:00.003-05:002012-05-17T10:34:26.349-05:00In Praise of Psalm 23My own hymn of thanksgiving:<br />
<br />
Whatever may come,<br />
i shall remember, <br />
eventually,<br />
to be grateful.<br />
<br />
The smell of new-mown grass,<br />
Its blades crowned with <br />
Diadem-universes,<br />
Will gladden my heart.<br />
<br />
(There may be no Shepherd<br />
But we are surely sheep.)<br />
<br />
Even in terror of my own death,<br />
i see all encompassed before me<br />
<br />
Through eyes that glimpse eternity,<br />
Through hands that both restrain and revive.<br />
<br />
And in this way am i nourished,<br />
Despite all,<br />
Resplendent,<br />
Completed.<br />
<br />
Awake.<br />
<br />
<em>--Mr. Gobley</em><br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13700419.post-80392660153595922712012-05-03T11:29:00.004-05:002012-05-03T11:29:53.282-05:00Prayer Over CoffeeFossil fuel of my soul<br />
Black light of my veins<br />
Course through me<br />
Quicken me<br />
<br />
Sharpen my senses<br />
Dull my pain<br />
Deepen the penetrating gaze<br />
Which i fasten<br />
On the route<br />
Of my<br />
Inner<br />
Iditarod.<br />
<br />
Sing to me.<br />
Breathe your black magic<br />
Onto the coals<br />
Of my soul.<br />
<br />
From the mountain of your birth<br />
i look down<br />
On the vale of my sorrows<br />
And laugh.<br />
<br />
Water is fine,<br />
Yes,<br />
And clear;<br />
Water nourishes the body<br />
And restores the soul --<br />
<br />
But to what?<br />
<br />
When restoration is not enough,<br />
And hope must be injected,<br />
I stretch forth my neck.<br />
Drunk on the black blood<br />
Of your pulverized essence,<br />
<br />
I howl down the avenue<br />
Of my day<br />
And relish the heat<br />
And the friction<br />
Of life<br />
Under your <br />
Slightly<br />
Sweetened<br />
Spell.<br />
<br />
<em>--Mr. Gobley</em><br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright 2010 by the person who is Mr. Gobley. Mr. Gobley is also on Twitter.</div>Mr. Gobleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192550105631635606noreply@blogger.com3