Sound Poems, by Rob Sullivan

morning puja
chai tea at three
monks in monastery
droning sound
swirling around
brass bowl
into silence and stillness



hare, hare
hare krishna
sing the names
sing the names of the lord
sing the names of the lord and be free



gregorian chants
words of matthew, mark,
luke and john
(not for pope gregory the first)
but for your ears
your heart
your soul



paul winter consorted
with the hoi polloi
each winter solstice
within st. john the divine
like clockwork
clock with huge hands
hearts— ever open



covenant love bible church
( love, brother, love)
sinners— all fall short
saints— redeemed through lamb's blood
scott ross, ronnie spector, larry norman
same sunday service in '72
too cool for school
just right for church



sound the alarm
drop everything
run
run
run as though
your life
depended on it



listen to the sunrise
passed the mundane
day to day
listen to the sound
a day makes
warming night's  cold feet



if you sound willing
a posse will appear
ready to marshal forces

if you appear ready
cookie will rustle
up some coffee and grub

if you act your part
from the start
look real smart
be quick, then depart

this earthly plane.
your song'll be sung
on boot hill— all the same



sound of one hand
clapping
seemed less than
what we hoped for
on our world tour:
temples, ashrams,
synagogues, churches,
katmandu to timbuktu