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The
Poetry of Harry Furness
The
Six Pathways
An adult daughter brings her failing father
to the doctor
The news is not good
He's losing his nervous system to disease
He soon will lose his sight and hearing
Then his sense of smell and taste
And his sense of touch will falter and he'll lapse into a coma
Tears run down her cheeks as she weeps for him
The man comforts her and says:
"Dry your tears and don't weep for me
I've seen the most marvelous of sights
The golden sunsets over the ocean
Where the clouds are painted in colors that stay painted on
The inside of your eyes
I watched your mother, pure beauty in motion
As she danced with abandon and joy in her existence
I've seen mathematical equations come true
And watched man walk on the moon
But I've seen the horrors of our science unchecked
Destroying forests and melting human endeavors as well
I've heard the music of the quiet star filled night
Standing outside of a field and hearing corn grow
As the cicadas serenaded, calling to mate
I've listened to the rain as it's made the grass sing
And I've marveled at operas and heard the soaring 'I've got a
dream'
I was there when you sang in grade school and
Heard the joy of you as a child singing because you could
And we laughed together - and there is no better sound
Than the laughter of joy from a child
I've heard the cries of the oppressed and growl of hungry bellies
The wailing of a mother who's lost her child
I've smelled the deep musk of the garden and the earth in spring
When all is renewed
The scent of your mother as she readied for her day
The early morning flowers sending their aromas to the wind
Calling for the bees to come
I've been on the field of battle when the corpses are lined up
Sending one last message to the world of how we're all corruptible
That scent of decay
I've worked the garbage dumps and smelled the wastes of man
I've tasted the fine meals made with your mother's best ingredient
Love
I've had chocolate melt on my tongue and swilled fine wines in
My mouth
I've tasted victory and defeat
And dined on crow because of the evil that flowed from me
I've felt the touch of your mother
And walked hand in hand with you
Feeling your small hand hold on to me as we walked on our way
I've touched silk and wood feeling their beauty and strength
I've felt the richness of the soil
And the parchment skin of a fallen friend
I've touched death and now it's death's turn to touch me
So don't weep, dry your tears
I live on in the songs of your daughter
In the coded messages she sings about her experiences
Five of six paths may fade but I still have one
This full contact sport we call life
Can have my senses but it shall not take my memories
Or what lies beneath
It can not recall where I've been and what
I am"
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Moving
the Veil Aside to See Into Your Soul
You may no longer look into my eyes to
see my soul,
But I can still see past my reflection deep into your eyes
The veils are but gauzy guides
To shield the next level from detection
Once I could pierce into the center of your being
But now you hide and look away and deflect my gaze
I see mirrors set in place and deflections pointing in other
directions
Whose protection is this for?
I see the first veil projecting the illusion of self
As independent and happy on your own, making all of your decisions
But that scarf is quickly blown away by the most mild of breezes
The next level is the conviction that you are satisfied with
the way you have
Gone
Or at least happy enough not to look for change
But that veil falls of its own accord and under its own weight
Now I see a glimmer of a returned gaze - not much
Not that you would recognize - not that I'm sure that I recognize
But it does start to get confused as to who is looking and for
what
This is not a tear-less staring contest to see who falls first
I look past another veil and see a dancing spirit that is full
of joy
Taking pleasure in the small successes of life
Things made, plants grown, returned love, a look, someone still
noticing
The dance of the seven veils is still beyond my grasp
But not one beyond my search
He casts his net into the deep cold North
Atlantic
Today, he hopes that the tuna are running
The boat bobs and the stringers are moving side to side
And the spray coming over the bow is still gray
The morning sun is still an hour or so to the east
Even with the winch the dry net is heavy, hard, and hand ripping
The only thing that takes the sting out, is a full net
Otherwise, the net seems heavier than the boat, and seems it
would be
Easier just to cut loose and go back all of the way empty
But, there is always the chance of a full net and as much hard
work
Except that it leads to one day of success
And that's the only thing that counts - one day of success at
a time
This is no twelve-step program, just daily life
There is light in the East and soon they would use the winches
to haul back in
Hopefully, the full nets - but as ever, it will be as is
And then the time back and to the docks and then tomorrow
"Haul" and he kicks the lever to start the engines
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Short
Forms
Short forms
Quiet storms
Slowly building
Furrows tilling
Mounding sounds
Love abounds
Listing sideways
Two-lane byways
Give and take
Too hard to fake
Open forms provide me with my voice and breath
However, that doesn't mean I don't hear the patterns
Of other lilting songs swirling abundantly around
Like the songs of the majestic forest tall trees
They resonate in and excite my synapses
Just standing on the floor of this cathedral, in awe
And being the better person for having this experience
Thanks to all who have let me walk down these pathways
And hear this marvelous music
Copyright Harry Furness
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For more from Harry visit his
columns: February, January, December,
November, October;
and his poetry: February,
January, December,
November, and October. Or his online
home or blog.
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