Frank Morgan

Here are some poems of mine, the first written in college, though it sounds as if I could have written it recently.

That Feeling

 

That feeling burrowed through the years;

It sighted soul—and deja vu!

A feeling much too sharp for tears,

To cut the mind, pierce the heart through.

 

I lay awake, and feared to dose

Lest consciousness should never wake.

That soul must never die, it knows,

But fears slice deep, lest faith be fake.

 

Then beating heart claimed apelike blood,

And purity stood all aghast

As self and sin made flesh a flood:

Had man and beast found death at least?

 

The power of the twilight years,

Tradition’s glory, thinker’s best

Sings wildly ’til the dull mind clears

And thrills to be in vision blest!

 

Yet still! Excitement yields to peace,

To only love one highest goal;

To let all limitations cease;

To find mind’s home and heaven—Soul.

 

Written on the train from Innsbruck to Zurich, 23 May 1995.

Moon’s Morning Mountain

In early morning the lingering moon still shines at the hidden sun.

Come taste the joy of this opening path;

Inhale an easy unshaken content;

Come feel the kindness of every green hill;

Forgive and live forever.

 

List’ close love’s laugh of unselfish delight;

Behold moon’s morning mountain.

 

Notes:

Monte Calisio

Udine companions

Italo and Nicola (Mary and Demiana)

From my window in Villa Madruzzo

 

 

Chicago take-off
September 22, 1996
September 25, 1996

How It All Fits

It’s a miracle the way the world fits together, lot against lot, road meeting road, one jagged property line meshing perfectly with the neighbor’s. The whole land with its homes and factories and streets continues thousands of miles right up to the edge of the ocean, and stops right there. A hole in the ocean off the coast is filled perfectly by a small island. Under our feet the earth descends thousands of miles and stops precisely at the other side. The seas rise to where the atmosphere begins, itself then rising seamlessly, except for a few gaps perfectly filled by clouds and airplanes, to the very edge of outer space.

In like manner the moments of our lives continue seamlessly from birth to death. We sleep until the moment we wake. Our morning preparations, measured and totaled, add up precisely to our moment of departure. Our commute lasts precisely to the moment we arrive at work. Each project, conversation, break, or moment’s rest, summed and totaled, tallies precisely with the extent of our working day. Every second of our free time is used for some task, recreation, or rest, and not a second more. The events of a lifetime, down to the smallest thought or chuckle, added up moment by moment, tally perfectly with its whole span. It’s a miracle how it all fits.