I was ankle-deep in organic composted dairy manure, shovel in hand, when the mailman stopped at the foot of the garden space and said with a smile, “I just realized you look exactly like Gandalf.” I pointed to the manure pile in the driveway and replied, “And this is the source of my magic.”
Under the vine, then, under the apricot, under the blueberry.
Under the sun, the moon, and the stars.
Under the deep bed of leaves in the graveyard.
Under a mountain of words.
October 10, 2021
If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.
Near the temple is a garden;
Near the garden is a window;
Near the window is a pond;
Near the pond is a stone;
Near the stone is a road;
On the road is their approach;
They rest upon the stone;
The fool a pebble casts;
The pond is thus disturbed;
The wise man laughs;
His laughter is a window;
Near the window is a garden;
Near the garden is a temple;
Through the temple is a wind that blows.
From “The Annotated Proverbs of Hell”
Songs and Letters, Vol. 16, November-December, 2007
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces, Songs and Letters
Tags: Annotations, Apricots, Blueberries, Chance Meetings, Diaries, Fools, Gandalf, Gardening, Gardens, Grapes, Graveyards, Journals, Magic, Manure, Proverbs of Hell, Stars, Sun, The Moon, William Blake, Wisdom, Words