Five Poems


margareta waterman





after the One

then there are many


each a piece of the harmony


intrinsic to the One

of which the One is made


miraculously separable

for the living ear


each jewel and flower

alone and in combination

(numbers never end:


from any point

complexity builds into the whole


uncountable and never-ending

summated into One


into many


and in between

into all possible songs


as mixes multiply and combinations

become song after song after Song


one of many and all of One


                                                  nov 2015






from chaos

the gradually defining order





particles swirling

no tabula rasa


raw reality is teeming

swirls into intrinsic geodesic shape


every swirl a new shuffle

hysteresis inevitable





pattern — the trails of history —

echoes throughout



the roots of time lie beneath

ruthless movement before anything






the arrows of the owls


song of dancing

                  in a direction

with or without a purpose


waving dancing on

                  smooth and fancy

changing high and low

         up and down


as it flies past into morning



dancing line in its own direction

         up and down

         and maybe side to side


any vector makes a path

as long as you want it to

and then not



owls know how to fly

arrows tend to be

                  a trifle rigid

         best be dancing

on a flight like this

         best be flying


best be flying

best be dancing


with or not a purpose


arrow coupling into feathers

muscle-powered wings

         inertia-fired arrow


piercing the wind






dark river red and black

river of sorrow and blood

running beneath all beauty


without blood or water

awake without blood or water

eyes behold everything


full youthful blood

feels good, blind pleasure

no uncetainty


boring, that is, and trite

shallow innocence

long before beauty, this cheap confidence



dark river runs through

washing last drops from vein and artery

breathless and empty


if you don’t know

         your way around

                  the world of sorrow

what good can you be?



bloodless and breathless

defeated by pain

or life is wasted


no song bur advertising jingles

unself-questioning smiles, ignorance,

cover for all the petty drivel


pebbles, sprays, fountains

unconsidered fluids

voided unedited from empty mouths


knowing this —

what lack of taste

would choose


to avoid

         the occasion

of sorrow and pain?






endless page of space

splashes of light taking their own time


light seen more than by which to see


nothing to see, only splashes of light

and whatever might be in them



inhabiting the huge emptiness

passing scattered splashes


expanding with the darkness, the everywhere

passing scattered somewheres


undisturbed infinity

scattered settlements unimportant


constant endless expanding uninhabited pool

available to any mind


all minds meet in this non-existent empty endlessness









margareta waterman is poet and performer, publisher and producer, and founder of nine muses booksmargareta waterman at Wikipedia