The Only Consequence of Truth

I’M NAKED ON THE JAMES,

BODY AND SOUL, BUT

CAN I BE AS HONEST AS TRUTH?

CAN I REACH INTO FEELING TIME,

WRITE DOWN AND COMMIT TO INK

WHAT I THINK, WHAT’S REALLY

ON MY MIND AND IN MY HEART?

JUST WHERE DO I START?

A SEPARATION IS SURE

BETWEEN TRUTH AND FANTASY--

BUT WHERE’S THE LINE I MUST DIVINE

TO INVEST ONE WITH REALITY?

THESE SANDED BANKS OF THE RIVERSIDE

MAKE RECORD OF A FLOOD THAT ROSE IN TIME--

BUT EVEN THAT RECORD WILL SUBSIDE

AS TIME AND FLOOD AMORE SLIP BY.

SO WHY IS THE MARK

OF MY FLOODED HEART WITH LOVING

SUCH A MONUMENT?

CANYONS ETCHED BY TIME IN STONE

RESIST THE PASSAGE OF MEMORY,

WITNESS AND MAINTAIN THE TRUTH.

THIS IS NOT TO BE DENIED, YET

MEMORIES CAN’T BE DEIFIED.

THE ONLY CONSEQUENCE OF TRUTH

IS THAT WE ARE, AS WE ARE.

WHAT WE MAY YET BE

REMAINS IN TIME FOR US TO SEE.

WE HUMANS ARE UNIQUE, I GUESS.

FOR WE, OF ALL, ARE ALLOWED TO CHOOSE

A PERSONAL MIX OF REALITY AND MUSE.

LODGED BESIDE THE WATER’S EDGE,

WINDED TEXTURES FILL MY EYES,

COLORS LEAP IN BRIGHTENED HUES,

THE SPIRIT OF CHANGE, ALONE, ABIDES.

EVEN THE TREES

WHICH BY PRIMAL GRIP AND TENACITY

HOLD THE EDGE TODAY,

TOMORROW MIGHT BE SWEPT AWAY--

ONLY IN THE MOMENT CAN WE STAY!

IS THIS WISDOM?

IS THIS LIGHT?

IS THIS SALVATION?

OR IS THIS OUR PLIGHT?

ALL I KNOW, AS I WALK AND STOP

ALONG THE RIVER HERE

IS THAT EVERYTHING IS MORE THAN IT APPEARS.

THE LONG RAYS SHOW

AS THEY RANGE ACROSS THE BOTTOMLAND, 

LEAVES OF GRASS ARE TALLER THAN THEY STAND,

AND SEED PODS LITTERING THE SANDED WAY

ARE ENLIGHTENED IN THEIR DISARRAY.

AS EVENING FLOWS UP TO THE STARS

AND STILLNESS GATHERS IN THE MAW, 

EVEN THE CLACKING OF THE CROWS

SOFTENS INTO AWE.

CRICKETS NOW TAKE UP THE SONG.

HOW THE MOMENT LINGERS ON!

© Gerry Sackett, 2018

James River from Robius Landing Park
by OlWhitey
from Wikimedia Commons

The River Doesn’t Stop on a Humid Afternoon

THE RIVER DOESN’T STOP

ON A HUMID AFTERNOON--BUT I DO

WATER AND AIR ARE MINGLED, AND

ALL THE SOUNDS I HEAR--

HUMAN, ANIMAL, ELEMENTAL--

ARE THICK WITH THE SUBSTANCE OF LIFE

ON THIS WATER PLANET

IT MAKES ME GLAD--

THIS IS MUCH MORE THAN I HAD A MOMENT AGO,

DRIVING DOWN THE ROAD.

I HOPE THAT I SHALL ALWAYS HAVE

A RIVER TO STOP BESIDE,

TO REMIND, MORE THAN THE SEA, THAT

I AM ON A JOURNEY INTO ME

THAT I DO NOT AND CANNOT BELONG TO ANY CREED,

THAT I’M A WITNESS AND A CONSORT OF TRUTH,

SO HOW CAN I BELIEVE ?

SUNDOWN LOW SPILLS GOLD INTO THE STREAM,

I JUST RELAX AND GET QUIET,

KNOWING WHAT IT MEANS--

WATER IS SPEAKING IN THE LANGUAGE OF LIGHT,

AND IF I LISTEN JUST RIGHT

I GET THE PROOF--

I CANNOT HEAR

ANYTHING BUT TRUTH

I CANNOT HEAR ANYTHING

BUT TRUTH

I CANNOT HEAR ANYTHING BUT TRUTH

© Gerry Sackett, 2016

Stopping by the River
Photo by Tony Russell

Language of Light

The river doesn’t stop

on a humid afternoon — but I do.

Water and air are mingled, and

all the sounds I hear —

human, animal, elemental —

are thick with the substance of life

on this water planet.

It makes me glad —

this is much more than I had a moment ago,

driving down the road.

I hope that I shall always have

a river to stop beside,

to remind, more than the sea, that

I am on a journey into me,

that I do not and cannot belong to any creed,

that I’m a witness and a consort of truth —

so how can I believe?

Sundown low spills gold into the stream.

I just relax and get quiet, 

knowing what it means —

water is speaking in the language of light,

and if I listen just right

I get the proof —

I cannot hear

anything but truth.

I cannot hear anything

but truth.

I cannot hear anything but truth!

© Gerry Sackett, 2012

A river to stop beside; photo by Tony Russell