Ahmadinejad Ate Their Votes!

Alteration of Photo I took as the plane approached Houston, on my flight to the east coast

Original: http://www.fotolog.com/richnature/39449575

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In honor of an important local writer and teacher, Morton Marcus, who recently passed away, I am continuing to share some of his writings:

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TREE

You may believe
that inside a tree
there are many voices
discussing directions,
but I say
there is silence
inside a tree,
and no matter
how loud you call
no one will answer.

And you may think
the leaves gossip,
but I tell you
they are solitary hands
unable to applaud the wind.

No, there are no sounds
inside a tree,
a tree does its work in silence;
it is a tall solitude
we all must come to.

Only the processions
swimming toward it are noisy--
slamming gongs,
hooting,
shimmering into small pools near stones.
The earth is full of such noises,
of those on their journey
to the tree.

Poems from
The Santa Cruz Mountain Poems:

LEAVES

Leaves crackle under my steps.
Like hands lifting my boots,
they pass me from one leaf to another.


I WENT INTO A STONE

I went into a stone.
Inside its silence
there was the static
knitting it together.

A silver lake lay clenched
beyond the trees, but every bush
was a closed gate, and iron branches
barred my way. Finally,

I crawled into a thicket of noise,
became part of a vast forest
where everything buzzes and hums
beneath a tight sky.

My shape was the silence
I could not reach:
the noise defined me
and I knew my place.

When I emerged into the light,
all the hairs on my body
were fibers of sound
scraping sparks against the air.

This is how I was loosed into my flesh:
white birds flew from my mouth,
insects crawled from my nails,
and I rose in the footprints of the great beasts.

http://www.mortonmarcus.com/

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