The Leaf in the Always Garden [*POEM*]

The  Leaf  in the Always Garden


Here in the Always Garden
Where the angels sweetly sigh
And the bees fly honey-laden: 
Let me live, let me die.

My work is done without wages,
I live beyond storms and strife— 
I am the leaf of the ages
Upon the Tree of Life.

Green leaf I am and glisten
In the sunshine and the rain
And on my tall branch listen
To the birdsong in my brain.

Ah, let them sing forever
In some heaven of their own
Where it’s always scented summer 
And all their sins are known.

Here in the Always Garden
Where the silver streams run by
And no songs ever sadden—
Let me live, let me die. 

11 thoughts to “The Leaf in the Always Garden [*POEM*]”

  1. Dostoevsky rightfully noted (at some point, can’t remember which, when, where, maybe just my imagination) that the hardest, nay, impossible thing for a writer is to truly describe a good man, he tried with Alyosha Karamazov and I would say succeeded maybe three-quarter ways, the remainder sounds a bit hollow and strained and this from the pen of the history’s greatest, most ingenious reader of human psyche as well as the greatest researcher into morality, everybody else just followed in the path he had originally cut in that jungle.

    Likewise, I cannot imagine what heaven could be like other than tiny glimmers, come and gone, colors dreamt yet unseen in waking life, the only sure thing a reunion with my dogs but they were of the life not on the ineffable outside, nothing to imagine, just dial in the blessed memory of that tiny yet pure truth.

    I don’t envy Xanadu in her attempts, it ain’t the proverbial low hanging fruit proffered by the Serpent.

    1. Xanadu doesn’t live in the real world any more, that’s for sure. She used to live in the real world at one time, taking an interest in the things around her, but recently this has all changed. She is a great admirer of the reclusive mystic poet Christina Rossetti, on whom she more or less models herself, and whose poetry she reads constantly and whom she regards as an iconic saint.

      Here is Xanadu’s best poem in praise of Christina. It captures the essence of this great Victorian poet. Xanadu regards Christina as the greatest female poet who has ever lived and far superior to her famous brother Dante Gabriel Rossetti who was also known for his poetry. (Dante Gabriel Rossetti is better known for his great paintings, the greatest of the pre-Raphaelite artists along with Burne-Jones).

      Xanadu’s homage to Christina Rossetti:

      1. Yes, the influence of Christina Rossetti on Xanadu’s verse is obvious to anyone who is acquainted with Christina’s verse. I mentioned this a few months ago in a comment which was accidentally deleted along with 20 other comments.

        The following poem, titled “In the Secret Garden”, is an EXACT IMITATION of a poem by Christina Rossetti called “Mother Country”. The metrical scheme (rhyme and metre pattern) is identical in both cases. What we have here is a type of mysticism conveyed by imagery and mood music. Musicality and meaning are closely intertwined, with the meaning of the poem heavily dependent on the sound effects of the music. “Free verse” cannot do this because free verse is just “chopped up prose”. It has no music.

        IN THE SECRET GARDEN, by Xanadu

        N. Keble
        (Academic in English Lit.)

        1. @ N. Keble

          Yes, the influence of Christina Rossetti on Xanadu’s verse is obvious to anyone who is acquainted with Christina’s verse. I mentioned this a few months ago in a comment which was accidentally deleted along with 20 other comments.

          Probably uncle was having such a good time stuffing donuts in his big mouth he wasn’t paying attention and hit the wrong icon on his ADMIN command-and-control computer and inadvertently deleted Keeble’s comment and 20 other comments, way to go uncle! Keep up the good work uncle!

    2. Lobro
      There’s nothing I look forward to more than a reunion with my beloved dogs. Every time I think of them I well up inside.

      Powerful guardian spirits is what they are. All made possible by something humans can only aspire to – unconditional love

      1. you got it, Brownhawk—unconditional.
        And moreover, there is nothing but—no room for another emotion.
        The fact that mine were also utterly ridiculous only powers it all up exponentially.
        How can i explain this: unalloyed love plus beauty can be overpowering for me, like adding sugar to honey, but love and ludicrous feels just right, one of those special combinations that balance soul’s nutritional requirements—in my case anyway.

        thanks for bringing the musicality of the secret garden to attention—what an amazing feat!
        Yes, that rhythm almost beats the imagery.

  2. (B-hawk)
    I received one of those ”Wise Olde Red Injun” (formula requires that he be ancient because the rest of them are equally stereotyped as homeless junkies) homilies on how whereas white settler insists on his rights, upright red dude seeks to serve the planet by way of obligation.
    Well, yeah … but such reeking platitudes occasionally serve as tinder for some live thinking, so thanks anyway.

    Rights+/-obligations← Also Sprach JFK
    They kind of balance out, because in order to claim “I have rights” it must be understood that someone else has the obligation to honor those rights but since everything goes in circles (earth’s biomass is a tail-eater, global life a zero sum game), it follows that I too have an obligation toward someone else’s rights.
    This is why the world is so vandalized, everybody solely focused on having rights, let others take on the obligations, a moral bottleneck.
    Consider universal pursuit of wealth, what is it but parasitical demand that one’s “right to be served” be honored through someone else’s indignity of enforced servility?

    This is what Jew had wrought, the distilled essence of his existence, Chosen by G-d of unbalanced depravity to be worshiped for not mere deviancy but direct mockery of Justice-and-Creation God.

    In outrageous demonstration of cosmic contempt (Jew humor™), the more he obstructs creation, the louder he screams that his claimed right to be served is impaired and insists on additional indemnity for existential suffering thus incurred—thus the Polish proverb of Jew crying out in pain as he strikes you.

    As I said a number of years ago, the mere existence and activity of Jew shook me out of atheism because such malignancy must have arisen out of some preexisting body of healthy spirit, i.e., the True God.
    For this I am thankful and this is Jew’s true purpose and his ultimate tragic futility, that through essence of evil he demonstrates the underlying reality of God, otherwise what good is malice without antithetical foil?
    Those that haven’t caught on can continue to toil, heads down in godless Protestant obeisance, thus sole emphasis on Law regardless of moral responsibility.

Comments are closed.