RICHARD DOIRON

The Children Of The Light

Behold this day the Children of the Light!

The eyes that see the haloes well discern:

Upon the Mount, in colours lily-white,

Such meeting held that Time dared not adjourn!

From ages past, the echoes of the Seers -

The "Keepers" come, to turn the thing around:

The neophytes are now the pioneers,

Their faithful feet upon this hallowed ground!

Take in the pies that they would make of mud,

And hear the words their "babbling" would bestow:

There's wisdom now that comes at us a flood,

And it's from babes, as pure as driven snow!

Behold this day the Children of the Star,

The Hands of Fate inside the cookie jar!

PAS DE DEUX

While upon the water glancing

(with such intent the glance to meet)

a cloud I spied, sure was dancing,

with such allure it moved my feet.

So there I stood a rushing fool

and moved with it in smashing dance

(the likes would make an artiste drool)

in moments rare the Master grants.

But oh so brief the magic spell

(the mirror gives, the mirror takes):

the cloud took leave I'm forced to tell

with the rippling the water makes.

Yet in that rare though blinding flash

I danced so well you'd think it odd

(who've seen me move in fitful dash)

unless you knew I'd danced with God.

THE DANCE OF LIFE

As the pupil is fulfilled

only with the emergence

of the teacher,

so, too, is the teacher

fulfilled but with the reality

of the pupil,

the two incomplete

in separation,

the two rendered whole

in merging.

Inasmuch as one must lead,

the other follow,

theirs is not

the folly of follies:

moved by the music

of life,

theirs is the dance

of life, one step forward,

one step back,

a pirouette,

a pause,

a bow.

Tripping Over Epiphanies

Let us long to be in fields that are rife

with flowers, whereas each petal

is as a bead on a rosary, and each

sector is as a litany of prayers.

Let us long to walk whereas nature

itself is surely awe-struck, a breeze

gently blowing, the senses stirred

into the deeper awakening.

Let us long to touch upon the Essence

in the way that birds and bees do,

with butterflies ablaze leading us all

into silent supplication.

Let us long to be humbled once more

whereas every single footstep

proposes a cautionary measure

lest we should trip over epiphanies.

POETIC NON SEQUITUR

When all that’s hidden is revealed

And secrets all expire,

The wine that’s been unsealed

Will level every field

Of passion and desire.

Upon that day a fickle flood

Will course through every vein,

The dashing dream a dud

Belying bardic blood,

No poet shall remain.

Richard Doiron