God as Intelligent Designer

and thus this modest goddess, clothed in grace,performs her holy task; unheard, unseen,except in trivial printed marks (- like this -)punctilious editors put in – or erase;yet, she’s the Sherpa to the mind’s high blisswho leads our thoughts to peaks of silent praise;immortal consort of the god of speech,handmaid of mind, bestowing measured pausebetween each…

to join it in wordless praise?

The first rose shyly blooms; .the nightingale pours out its song.These are the two most generous lovers in the world;do they not deserve each other?In the daytime, while the nightingale takes its rest,renews its generous throat,the rose opens to embrace the world with beauty;In the nighttime, while the rose folds and rests in sleep,waiting to…

as you sat yourself down on the benchin the waiting-room on Kensington High Street Stationalmost deserted on a dull afternoonnot long before Christmasand spun your almost convincing taleof the African Union scholarship, was it,of which the monthly payout was late this month…and I watched myself,hypnotized by that voice which should be singingPorgy and Bess up…

see, it’s wagging its tail,it will follow you anywhere,run off and come back,a perfect companion;this poemloves fun:you want to play dressing up,it’ll laugh and rush off to the attic,the basement, the dressing-up basket;this poemis serious:you want to be silent awhile,rest your head on its shoulder,it will wait for you insympathetic stillness;this poemis humble:turn it over,…

that’s, written records – the sounds are something else –the records saythat for most of your waking lifeyou were out of this world on drugsor when you weren’t, you behavedappallingly; excepting when you sang and played,when, all agreed, you were ‘out of this world’..and yet, you wrote an autobiographyor should we say memoir, that is,what…