David Robertson's poetry

Poetry by David W. Robertson

Blake Indirect
A grain of sand is never separate
A flower's heaven in its seed
Your hand in vastness does not linger
An hour edges cannot need.

from Auguries of Innocence, by William Blake
To see a world in a grain of sand
And heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

Las Vegas Magnificat
Gamblers at the slot machines
At three o'clock in the morning,
Looking for what's left
Of a power greater than themselves.

Hoping for an experience of grace,
New form showing predestination,
With randomness the last god
And complexity finally beyond us.

I wrote this while stuck at the Las Vegas airport at 3:00 a.m.
For those who have not flown through there:
the standard section of gates at the end of a terminal has an area
of slots in the center with the accompanying bells and exclamations
(e.g. Wheel! of! Fortune!).

Living Topography
Patience learned from misfortune
Not encountered as a test
from higher powers
but as part of the world
like anything else.

If the path veers to the right
instead of the left, is it
Divine Revelation?
If the path is made as well
as followed, is it only profane?

The world is not handed down
nor is it to be ignored.
A pearl grows from a grain of sand
without a need to marvel at it.

Liquid Territory
The body of action has its own geography,
Its landmarks its instructions.
Following them, or formed by them,
Motion is led by beauty.

Whether movement in the mind
Or movement in the body, currents run in the water.
Transparent yet continuous
With intricate structure: they slip through your hand
But you exist nevertheless.

The gesture has no boundaries
And so appears to be nothing.
Unending, what is there to cut itself?
Joining it, whose body?

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Blake Indirect A grain of sand is never separate A flower's heaven in its seed Your hand in vastness does not linger An hour edges cannot need.	from Auguries of Innocence, by William Blake To see a world in a grain of sand And heaven in a wild flower Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour.
Las Vegas Magnificat Gamblers at the slot machines At three o'clock in the morning, Looking for what's left Of a power greater than themselves. Hoping for an experience of grace, New form showing predestination, With randomness the last god And complexity finally beyond us.	I wrote this while stuck at the Las Vegas airport at 3:00 a.m. For those who have not flown through there: the standard section of gates at the end of a terminal has an area of slots in the center with the accompanying bells and exclamations (e.g. Wheel! of! Fortune!).
Living Topography Patience learned from misfortune Not encountered as a test from higher powers but as part of the world like anything else. If the path veers to the right instead of the left, is it Divine Revelation? If the path is made as well as followed, is it only profane? The world is not handed down nor is it to be ignored. A pearl grows from a grain of sand without a need to marvel at it.	Liquid Territory The body of action has its own geography, Its landmarks its instructions. Following them, or formed by them, Motion is led by beauty. Whether movement in the mind Or movement in the body, currents run in the water. Transparent yet continuous With intricate structure: they slip through your hand But you exist nevertheless. The gesture has no boundaries And so appears to be nothing. Unending, what is there to cut itself? Joining it, whose body?