Ellen Porter
11/15/07
Aesthetics

Question:
I have no right to say
I am seeking God.
I do not let go of
the dross of this world.
I cling to
the blackbird, chrysanthemums,
the running stream, and my blue quilt.
How can I say
I yearn for the Beloved
while I harbor
this haven of delights?

Answer:
Your haven of delights,
the colors of autumn leaves,
the twirling of rabbit whiskers,
the neighborhood street cat;
these all are children
of your Beloved.
Do not stray too far,
searching.
You will miss your Friend
lurking in the backyard


Ellen Porter
12/02/07
Death By Cancer (for MB)

Death is slow in coming;
my body disintegrating piece by piece.

I do not mind the topic of death
except in leaving you.
My pride—
not affected by this dying—
lets me think I am indispensable.

Death is slow in coming;
I do not know how to untangle our souls.
I find myself inhabiting solitude—
all but you, cast off for silence sake.


Ellen Porter
12/12/07
Homeless and Keen

Homeless and keen,
Rose,
addicted to her thirty street-wise cats and
addicted to begging.

We see her pushing along
her shopping cart filled
with fast food
cat food
and all her earthly rags.
Back bent and knees bowed from malnutrition
she walks along the tracks
wrapped in winter pain

to our back door.
She leaves her finger on the bell
until, half deafened, we call to her.
She needs toilet paper for the cats’ box
and $200 for rent.
We give her the toilet paper and
send her away.

Every day she comes
and each day we fall short.
Our choice:
logic and psychology or
the blistering Beatitudes of Christ.


Ellen Porter
11/08/07
longing for the beloved

to my beloved
i sing a melody of longing
my body grows large
waxing in sloth
i am ill with malaise

come to me and cleanse me
fill my heart with the balm of your heart
enliven me even as i die
my body hides itself in shame
i have lost all beauty
o beloved, regard me
and stay close by


Ellen Porter
9/18/07
Redwood and Pine

She is visiting from California
where redwood trees enfold
shadowed air within their sacred groves.

I take her to my holy place
a garden, secluded like Eden
with promises of heaven.

I lie in my hammock
as she wanders.
She grows taller, shaggier,
green needles resting on her shoulders,
prickling her hair.
She walks from tree to tree,
pulling up the roots her feet have set down,
to plod, inviting each new tree
to meet her redwood essence.

I watch her stop before the
sentinel pine,
touch its lightning-struck trunk
and whisper to it tree-to-tree.
“We have survived consuming fire.
Don’t give up your generations;
We will survive again.”
She leaves the tang of
redwood in her wake.


Ellen Porter
11/18/07
The Dance

Throw out your pen and
precious paper
and come dance with me.

Hafiz knows the difference
between grief and muddled fear.

So give me your hand
and we will spin some
joy into your sorry body.

You may fool yourself into loneliness
but I can see you clearly
behind the eyes of the Beloved.

Don’t fret over when you’re going or where.

Start your feet shuffling
and give Hafiz a piece of your waning fire.


Ellen Porter
12/14/07
To Be Told

I was told I have six months to live,
though for the oncologist and nurse and medium
it is just a guess like
how many days of autumn
the leaves will fall before
the sycamore is bare and the
brilliant colors line its
shadows like a shroud.

I wonder what there is to fear
now that death takes me
in its grip and rattles me senseless.

What is there to protect
from a sleepy bear cub and its mother?
from the slippery edge of a glacial crevasse?
from a gun on the inner city wall?

Death is so close, so inevitable;
does my adrenaline still flow?
Will I try to save my life up till
the moment of my final breath?
Or will I finally relax:
no fear, no anticipation,
no urgency to earn and enter heaven?