The Passing of Time

Roofless the temple stands, its purposes and priestesses
long gone, its fluted columns holding up only the stars
by night, and by day the thoughts of those who pass it by.
Silent it sits, its outer court thronged now by grasses that
genuflect to every breeze, and by history’s clinging dust
that remembers all, but will not share its words.
Stripped of the song of acolytes, its walls hear only
the anaphoric calls of birds that come and chant their
blessings on the lonely stones. Even the naos – once
the meeting place of the numinous and men – now knows
only the murmuring of winds that shadow discontent,
but which measure in their way the demise of gods and
the passing of time itself.

Sky Dance

As light fades from winter’s whiteboard-sky,
gathered starlings lift together with the urgent
rushing sound of countless wings, and the flock begins
what it had not planned, but knew deep in its genes –
the synchronous dance of murmuration.

Guided by an unseen genetic hand, leaderless these
avian actors move in unison – a collective mind that is
more yet less than surging flocks and beams of flight –
a miracle of mind directing matter, a testament to
life lived free, yet dancing still on nature’s puppet strings.

Richard West was Regents’ Professor of Classics in a large public university for a number of years. He has published numerous books, and many articles and poems under his own name or “Richard West” and other pen names.  He lives with his wife Anna in the beautiful American Southwest, where he enjoys cooking and trying to add flavor to his poems.