Songs-No Better and No Worse

 
                 Songs/
No Better and No Worse
 
I’ve heard the songs of humans, those of birds,
The calls of frogs, the insect choruses—
And I have read that whales have songs, ornate,
With melodies that cross the ocean leagues.
 
******
 
Reflecting on what’s shared in all these things,
Some questions come to mind that might be strange
To others—or may not—that could arise
From what we humans feel on hearing these—
 
But could perhaps be pointers towards the things
That humans long have preferred to ignore,
For reasons justified much less by sense
Than faith—of ancient or of modern kind.
 
Do crickets have a sense of comedy?
Do langurs long for those that they have lost?
I do not know the answer to the first,
But think the second’s answer should be clear.
 
The fish that’s hooked must surely feel the pain
That a human would in such a circumstance—
And just as children can enjoy their play,
So also pups and calves and kittens may.
 
******
 
Pain and pleasure, happiness and grief—
And fear and anger, jealousy and love—
These come and go in us as all things do—
And surely not in you and me alone
 
Or other humans. We are part of life—
No better and no worse than ants or whales—
But special in our ways as all things are,
Including, in our case, the scope of war!
 
A song has length that could be short or long,
And this depends on things intangible.
So also, trees and humans have their lengths
In time, as do the whales and birds and mites.
 
Some things are for a moment, others last
A month, a year—or even till our ends—
And we ourselves are weaves within this flow—
That thread their tunes until it’s time to go.
 
******
 
The songs remind us then of what we are,
Forgotten in our dazed amnesia,

As silence still can do, if it’s embraced,
While letting go of all our prose and verse.
 
2022, July 7^th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Threads

     
Threads
  
The little books with pictures, that we used to page like cards
to see the figures moving – I can still remember those.
 
And though I know the action that we see upon our screens
has basis in the self-same thing, a flip-book clearly shows,
to me at least, how moments past, arisen, sensed and gone,
can merge to make that memory, that thread on which I slide,
a little bead of consciousness, confined to present time,
and yet, by virtue of that thread, that’s long but never wide,
able to recall the past, to wander back to then,
and even, in my fantasy, imagine future things
as humans do – and dogs and cats – and those that are their prey,
avoiding hurt and seeking gain – or simply feeling wings...
 
And each of us is on a thread – or is, perhaps, the fiber –
and all of these are woven fine, a fabric stretched through time,
with all the planet’s history, since life or since before,
with episode on episode, like waves – or lines that rhyme –
as patterns in that texture that is threaded by the flow...
 
2014 August 17th, Sun
(second stanza added August 18th)
Brooklyn, New York
  

Reflections on a Tree

   
Reflections on a Tree
  
While slowly walking home this evening, I
Observed a tree that reached towards the sky.
It stood, with all its myriad fingers splayed,
And to a winter moon, in silence prayed.

I wondered if that still and silent tree
Was linked, by consciousness, to you and me.
It stood, beneath the sun and moon and stars,
A witness to our lives and loves and wars.

And surely it cared little for our kind,
That prides itself on nimbleness of mind,
While knowing more, of light and earth and air,
Than you or I could ever know or care.

But if in truth, of mind there is but one,
It shared with us, who hither, thither run,
That same awareness, but of aspect slowed,
While standing still, beside a city road.

2014 February 14th, Fri. 7:54 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York