“The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.” – Rabindranath Tagore (Gitanjali, #12)
I looked through squinted eyes,
and begged to see The Mystery unveiled;
instead, without a word, you lifted me
with loving arms to set me in your lap
behind the wheel.
A primal burst of light
accompanied our launch through time and space,
and in my rattled, addled sense of self
I dreamed that I was traveling alone
without a map.
This lifetime lost among
inhabitants of unfamiliar worlds
obscured the memory of whence I sprang
but couldn’t kill my longing to return
before I die…
’til guided by a star
protruding from the edge of clarity,
I caught an echo of the lullabye
you sing throughout eternity to call
your children home.
2022 Mary Boren
“Somewhere in the cosmos, perhaps, intelligent life may be watching these lights of ours aware of what they mean… or do our lights wander a lifeless cosmos, unseen beacons announcing that here on our rock, the universe discovered its existence?” – Stephen Hawking
The mental giant in a metal chair
resided in a multi-layered sphere
beyond our grasp, as we who simply stare
into the heavens, wondering if here
is all there is. He brought the world a gift
enfolded in a cryptic paradigm,
unwrapped in subtle stages for a shift
in scientific thought on space and time.
The message of the multiverse is veiled
in gossamer and lace, with calico
and pleated velvet drapes that have assailed
our curiosity, but this I know:
Illusion born of suffering absconds
when consciousness is freed from mortal bonds.
2018 Mary Boren
Image by Mitchell Toy
“In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown,
and in between, there are doors.” -William Blake
Frosted patterns on the glass
camouflage a portal frozen
on its hinges. Clustered mass
needn’t hide the path we’ve chosen.
Opening the inner eye,
focus on eternal matter
binding everything. Defy
powers of illusion — shatter
Mary Boren, 2017
Easy does it when you try
separating fact from fiction.
Remnants of a blatant lie
justify an interdiction.
Things are seldom what they seem;
faith felt genuine, but was it?
While arousing from a dream,
easy does it.
In my childhood I believed
truth’s as black and white as painted,
unaware that few perceived
shades of grey in sweetly sainted
sentries of unripened minds.
Playing nice, I learned a smile could
cover certainty that blinds,
in my childhood.
Far above us, pundits pounce;
preachers prime the Sunday sermon.
Both are eager to denounce
scrutiny from lowly vermin.
Truth lies halfway through the mist
where denuded dogma hovers.
Yours and mine can coexist
far above us.
2014 Mary Boren
As truth revolves, its facets are revealed
in changing light. My muse awaits, concealed
in shadows, steering clear of Father Zeus
(who set a slew of noisy daughters loose
in poets’ heads).
For only in the stillness, where the threads
of myth and fable intersect, can reds
and yellows, mystic blues, and shades of grey
be woven into words that light the way
as truth revolves.
In poets’ heads, illusion’s snare absolves
the writer of the story — fact dissolves
in smoke and mirror’s slanted tell, not show.
But when Lamplighter comes to me, I know
she speaks no lies.
If then, and only then, do I arise
to paraphrase, with freshly opened eyes,
the broader bearings of the lessons wrought
from living into truth, each tender thought
2011 Mary Boren
Image by ceoln (CCL)
When passing travelers are led to ask,
the explanation can become a a task
daunting to the neophyte
who strives to get the message right.
Though modern mind rebels
ancient wisdom’s light compels
simpler, gentler ways
to navigate the maze.
not the dream we see,
splits the dark
with freedom’s spark.
2013 Mary Boren
When you’ve plowed up a furrow of doubt, dropped the seeds
of distress and despair in my spirit,
I’ll wager you’re proud of the fine crop of weeds
you have sown, daring peace to come near it.
Then you slink in the shadows, applauding your plot
as the proof of your own co-existence:
Illusion made manifest, wholeness forgot
while I struggle with human subsistence.
If my only device was a temporal mind,
then each falsehood might grow unrefuted,
but steeped in eternity, reaching behind
your disguise, it’s a snap to uproot it.
2003 Mary Boren