Bruce Frostick
Your Source for Momentary Music (tm)
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Some poems by Bruce Frostick, from 2001, 2001, 1998, 1998, and 1997 respectively.
Possible translation errors in the second poem: A "mammoth" is a prehistoric elephant, not something gigantic. "Shooting stars" are meteorites and no guns are involved. And "lie" is to reside rather than to tell a falsehood.
~ ~ ~ ~
Human Nature
(Thanksgiving Day 2001)
What ancient probabilities lurk within?
Did a mammoth kill her?
Or was it that other species of homo?
Can't be too sure; or maybe we can be all too sure.
Let's kill them!
And yet, what ancient joys lie sleeping within!
The freedom of the shooting stars.
The music of the wind in the trees.
The stillness of the moon on a lake.
The miracle of snow, that first winter in the north.
Did we come to our senses in these moments?
~ ~ ~ ~
The Justso Master Tells All
So, the theory seems to be that
Something
Someone
a Substance
or Field
is
Real
Good
Eternal
or True
and it's located
Under
Over
Inside
or Beyond
the visible; or maybe it's all just
Pervasive
Identical
Pristine
or Nil.
Well, if that's what they say, then
Mu.
Hello!
[Hum or dance]
[Be still and wait]
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Dream Woman, interrupting an elaborate dream:
No. I am not the mother of the three I never gave you.
I am yesterday's future that never was.
O how I wish you had turned in my direction when I looked at you going by.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At Grand Canyon
Vast space and rock
Vast mind and life
Light and shadow everywhere
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
My Friend and His Mothers and I
I had a friend who dashed himself to bits upon his mother's face.
What can I say, but it happened that way.
First he hoped for all good things and wished everyone well wholeheartedly,
And wishes were all he had.
Then his birth mother died, who had tried so hard to finish his weaning.
But he was stubborn, oh so strong, and she served him his meals to the end.
Soon he met a young woman who was definitely not his mother.
He demanded that she was,
And poisoned his mind with a million mantras made from her gentle name.
Hoping to make the untrue true, he disappeared into hopeless schemes.
Finally, he tricked us all, said goodbye, climbed to the roof of his cave,
And flung himself into space.
His idea was to force God to see, and maybe the rest of us too,
That if we would just raise a finger, he would show us his worthiness.
He had said the stars would fall from heaven before he gave up his wish.
But only he fell.
And only his earth mother received him,
Pulling him so hard to her face that finally he was still.
Earlier, I asked Buddha what was the seed of this astounding misplaced fervor.
Instantly, he showed me, opening a door to the past long past:
A wedding.
The groom strong, brave, respected and rich.
The bride so unworthy and thankful, proud and determined to serve him well,
And oh so joyous.
But at the wedding feast she made some slight mistake, and angered him.
Demonstrating his power, asserting his dignity, blind in his pride,
He vowed never to touch her, and somehow made it stick.
When they met again anew, she had the power, and he the blighted devotion.
And I? Who was I in that scene? A priest, observer, servant or friend?
Did I say, "I promise to right this wrong somehow," then forget to do it?
Did I say, "I must see how this thing ends," thus tying the mind to inaction?
In summary, I will add two more to the Woes spoken by Jesus:
Woe to you who are strong in a harmful vow.
It would be better to have been born a coward and a weakling.
Woe to you who are slack in a wholesome vow.
It would be better to have been born ignorant and uncaring.
O kindest of mothers, unwavering and inherent true light, author of all paths,
Please quickly wake, in us all, self-knowing heart and authentic act, inseparable.