the wish fulfilling jewel

    a Found poem, for his Holiness the fourteenth Dalai Lama
 
 
the same crow in the morning awakens us.
the same bowl of rice.    tell me a story.

you never cried.

on the roof a pair of crows nested when
you were born.    like before.

a door speaks before it opens.    listening.
he says he wants to go where heaven begins.

you are here to love all living things.

mother mother why do you leave me here?
these shoes are mine.    too big, but mine.

to look is to have confidence in one’s
own ability to end suffering.    all beings
desire happiness.

separation has an abundant face.
I don’t want you to go.

what can I do?    I am only a boy.

I will take those sheep.    all of them.
inside my care.

I write without writing.    I write words inside thoughts.
I write air.    I give my breath to you.

make no barrier where a face is meant to shine.

to  l o v e        it takes a long time.
how long holiness?    I don’t yet know.

all things will become nothing.    I will become nothing.
yet here I am, inside you.    we say our names, continuous.

the moon is full.
these stones we pile for you, saying where we have been,
saying our way home again.    change is this much high.

we give this sand back to you.
this home.    these fingertips.
we pour ourselves into the seas.

I am a reflection of the moon on water.

why?        to be a good man.
 
 
neil reid © 2015 november

read footnotes about this poem

t o u c h  s   t   o   n   e

poem in progress, not done yet

t o u c h  it comes in twos, doesn’t it?

dark, no, late into the body of the night.  truth resides
anywhere it wants to do, no difference a frown.

it takes the place of gold.  landscape face.
it is joys first step.  landscape feet.
no matter the dress, always welcome at the door.

so that says the who we mean when we say who.

it is everything we care to want.  it is heavens coin.
(it is in every single pocket.) (it wants to be found.)

its favorite color right now is red.  no big deal, you know,
changing desires is as fast as lightning is.  as fast as
I turn the page.

say your name into the air.
feel the reflections coming back (no surprise)
now listen as well, echoes.  inside what feels,

how they mean differently.

charming.     charming the way heaven works.

even tells tales.
there are shelves abundantly.  fall leaves do fall,
do make this floor celebrate.

amber and rust, we say, pretend not by saying yes.
but true, we thirst then joy then thirst, then yes,
your eyes were always first.  not my fault.

it is only to joy they fall.  there is no other soil.

middle of the night, you know, and I could believe
just about any small boys tail, the way they wave

the way they dance.
 
 
 
neil reid © 2015 october

a real live boy

I just wanted to be a real live boy.

I just wanted to dance, but refused.

I wanted to be bigger than me.
I wanted to let go of that bench.
I wanted a father who was not.    a sky around my arms.

I wanted threads to connect not bind.
I wanted to be not alone, but was, by my word.
I wanted a grilled cheese sandwich.
 
 
I want our distance to melt like sugar does.
I want poems to make a difference.    like meals do.
I want my child to grow.    tall corn reaching the feast.

I want this poem in a pie.

I want seeds to be my feet.    you will find me in weeds.    everywhere.

I want dawn to be fresh turned dirt.    new meanings eager to be.    and are.

I want close to be ripe apples on your limbs.
I want discovery to matter more than measured history.
I want dreams to keep their sleep.    let eyes answer more than doubts.

I want the world to change because I asked.    by world I mean you.
by change I mean raise your hand.

I want your world to look exactly like you.    I want leaves that rise and fall.
I want to share this poem with someone reading me.

I want words better spent upon your lips.

I want what is to be.    I will call it home.

I want wanting to be as water is.

I want a world bigger than my imagination.    your face in each dawn cloud.
 
 
imagine feet kissing earth.

imagine children being found, not lost.

imagine no discomfort without mending embrace.

imagine when you speak heart the world listens you.

imagine blooms like waves.    and the sea.

imagine enough.    that is who you are.

imagine your voice contains what you want life to be.    make it so.
 
 
my legs are trees that walk.
my arms are feathers rooted in sky.

my thoughts do what windows do.
my feelings are water.    and clouds.

my fingers are painting curious.

lips thirst for another thirst.
feet define my home, my shoes.
 
I am here to dance with you.
 
 
neil reid © 2015 october

things I’ll do when I master space & time

make pizza suddenly appear on my plate.

make all dogs friendly, including bears.

kites would fly, with or without any wind.  (and I’d learn swiftly to run into the wind instead of running downwind breaking my kite into little bits)

make hair grow where I want and not where I don’t.

learn to pronounce cacophony.

not confuse yoga and yogurt, ever again.

let trees decide which way the wind will blow.

make hunger be satisfied.  neither shall they thirst unquenched.

think only of good things to do.

pretty people will all smile at me.  OK.  everyone.  see?

try out sunsets in green.  wouldn’t that be nice?

have afternoon tea with the dalai lama.  lama lama lama.  and we’d laugh & laugh.

learn to write upside down.

people will see heaven, right in front of them.

I won’t be “careful” about what I say.  not careless I mean, but honest, simply that.

and rain, whatever it wants to do, that will be exactly fine by me.
 
 
neil reid © 2015

composure

the sky is inside a shell,  
earth too and mountains, the least of them.
rivers aswell and oceans and fish and balls
of rice.  all shells.  this chair, this book
I read, the very light in the air.  that hat,
cousin to your brow, also a shell.
pleasing the way our fingertips feel that
texture just below our beaks.  it’s only
that sometimes we forget how fragile the
face, how easily misplaced but then
rain forgives a lot.  and when we awake,
new feather wings, and when we sleep,
sky is all curves.

curving beneath new-made wings.

poem to someone I don’t know, number two

I could wonder what it would be to share a kitchen with you.  spoons and pots and plates, and pleats.  brushing against you casually without a second thought (well alright, a few).  to lounge on the sofa, book in hand, you reading yours or adrift in meditative intent across the room.  or to awake, in bed, your face horizon’s light.
  
here’s why the moon adores the dawn, surrendering.  maybe all is only one cup’s measure of truth.  not this day the intimacy of soft familiar shoes, but yes, wanting
to be.  yours, sincerely.

read footnotes about this poem

don’t be Chinese

don’t be Chinese if you’re not, you’d only do it wrong.  don’t be too tall, lest you’re bound to leap.  don’t be slow if you cross in the middle of the block, cane in hand. (then) (take a breath)  that’s my son!, said following the twisting running hollering boy.  about right for relationship, one full breath after another one.  father hurries along.  some things are right, some things are hidden.  it’s a matter of being ripe.  
desire don’t always count the way we think it does.