Joy
gets a bad press
from poets and divines –
it’s fleeting, can’t
be trusted, brings
a downside;
better far they say
is bliss: quiet, indifferent,
that is, beyond all differences
that sadden; divisions
that steal our perfect,
timeless, spaceless I guess
unity
this poem looks
with joyful hope
or hopeful joy
well joy and hope
or would joy or hope be enough,
Paul,
to a future bliss
which when found
has no past or future but
only the perfect present
of the perfect present.
[another one with acknowledgements to Eckhart Tolle and ‘The Power of Now’…]
Joy, bliss, man, I'll take either one, any time. Personally, I don't think of bliss as quiet. somehow. It doesn't make a racket, but it sure doesn't put one to sleep! Intoxication, I guess! I think of joy as quiet. (ssshhhhhh...)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Who needs Joy when you have... life? I liked this M. Obviously. t x