Accessible * Useful * Enjoyable Poetry
Brian Christopher Hamilton
The tree falling does make a sound
It shatters the forest silence
And echoes off the walls of light.
We are, as well, not needed
To define the scent of fire.
It will burn without our blessing
The way a flower which never feels
The pressure of a human eye,
Swells to bud, blooms,
Wilts and dies in beauty
Beneath the weight of its own breath,
Or the way fingers caressing piano keys,
Too long untuned,
Still trace the proper notes
And know the music as certainly as stone.
Poet Reads Poem
Everything passes in cycle,
Yet we look for signs from gods
To seize our senses,
Veins of lightening swelling varicose
In the melancholy skin of the sky,
Sudden eclipses of the moon
And floods to force us into change,
Only taking the truth, finally,
Held down, with our mouths pried open,
Or threatened with something more severe,
Like luxuries withheld,
Never knowing what is best
Till we are beaten into bravery.
And still we are seduced
By the reflex to deceive,
As if keeping these deep or shallow secrets,
Gave us an edge on something
As if there were some part of us
No one else could own.