the goatherds crooked staff

Tuesday Lobsang Rampa made
tea so his Third Eye could open
to see dreams fortifying in aspiring hearts
as they reach for the next beat in their comings and goings

Socrates played the lyre by
banging on the strings while
humming and hawing about the trouble of
always stressing and straining against the chains
though he loved Phaedrus in the Symposium
it was Xanthippe that made him a muse

Hermann Hesse spoke in tongues
while translating the synapses of a goatherd
who arranged new ideas like glass beads
which almost always came undone
except when Siddartha played the lute
in exchange for his crooked staff

Nietzsche saw the cunning linguist
would never solve the puzzle of the dead body
which Zarathustra carried to his bed like a wolf
where he lay dying of syphilis wrapped
in the wool of many sleeping sheep

Sibelius finally gave in to the seduction of despair
when for many restless nights he looked up at the
stars in the same Elysian fields where
the goatherd lay asleep

~ Jerry Whalley

I write upon realities slippery surface with this my pensive pen,
flowing into the resistance of existence – I ink therefore I am


I’m an aspiring Poet living in North Vancouver
Canada where I work ‘n bike ‘n kayak —
I ride my bike up the Mountain to the sky
and fly back down while wondering why
the Mountain dreams in streams rushing to the Sea
where the waves all gather but disagree
about the many glimmering Suns bobbing around
and whether they are jewels the Mountain found

3 Responses to “the goatherds crooked staff”

  1. dreams are a compromise between wakefulness and the deep of sleep — beauty is a compromise between love and what makes sense in this tiny portion of the cosmos

  2. galaxies ‘n quarks inside of our divine remarks, resolved by sense, leave us no greater than a flower or a tree, unfettered, yet burdened by eternity

  3. In infinite darkness an ancient ache cried out in a million quivering lights as if the night wept in stars —

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