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Tirado, Jose
Metaphysics at tea - A Poem
Four Poems
José M. Tirado Interviewed by Reijo Oksanen
Four New Poems On An Old Age
Gurdjieff's Possible Buddhist Influences
The Query´s Proper Direction and Other Poems
On Divine Attention

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Tirado, Jose
José M. Tirado

Rev. José M. Tirado is a poet, writer and Green activist. He is also a Shin Buddhist priest teaching in Iceland. His articles have appeared in CounterPunch, Swans Commentary, Dissident Voice, the Magazine of Green Social Thought: Synthesis/Regeneration and Gurdjieff Internet Guide.

He can be reached through his web site.

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The Query´s Proper Direction and Other Poems

The Query's Proper Direction

It is to the poem you must refer to, not me.

I am too small,

built of millions of little things connected by gravity, elements and simple chemicals.

The poem however, is made of possibilities,

Rich with freshly baked ideas and novel advances in dreaming,

rumors of wantonness and warmly defined cascades of rolling tears...

The poem is not the thing that moves out of my hand

onto the paper,

but the very thing in me that moves is the poem itself, stretching forth beyond time

and space

to break out

into the Bright daylight

of Being,

free and Visible as a form of itself,

as I am said to be a form, myself.

It is to the poem you must direct your questions to-

For I can only give "answers" and despite protestations, you will certainly settle for such - but you shouldn't.

For the poem will give much more than you ask

and you will leave

craving even more, junking your way to new questions, never tidying up your aches, your yearnings,

Or putting down your periods after she whispers her replies.


If I shared one half the joy I should feel

for being taken from life and all its pain,

to settle in the Land of Bliss,

and bask in the Inconceivable Light shining from all directions,

Then I would have twice the faith I do now,

sitting in this early morning sun,

long before the day starts

and my foolish self begins

once more...

The Daily Verse

There is not one day in my life

Where wind did not create a poem,

or a blue sky compose some song of sadness

(an ode to a life spent in solitary wonder),

While I merely watched the brilliant sparkle

of thousands of turning leaves

and felt the pain of millions of lives never resolved

to taking just one moment in the day to

open their hearts to see the Infinite Light

and Infinite Life

contained in every single experience.

The Sharp Eyes of the Last Philosophers Standing

It does not do to suggest

the air contains a vibrancy discernible to

sharp eyes.

The air instead, is vibrancy itself-

as are the eyes that capture every fluttering wing

attached to every nervous inhabitant of that windy realm.

Were there more than this,

the ease of discovery

would have nullified a million journeys towards meaning,

and cancelled out half the lives spent

in "understanding",

making the

philosophers still standing,

even poorer than their airy lives were before.

Verses on the Elephant Cup

In the water of the red elephant cup,

danced a thin reflection,

shaky with the pulse of my hand which held it,

of the elephant itself.

But the elephant itself,

itself is a mere drawing on clay

blown hot through the furnace it was placed in

and then retreived for a sale

to benefit some gentle, good charity.

The image on water, however,

is not this...

If I could say more,

they might make me God.

All poems © José M. Tirado 2004

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