What Others Are Saying:

"Enter the world of Joe Wise and through that world

- of saying goodbye to a college bound daughter and

hello to a teenage son, of coaching kiddie basketball,

of remembering a grandfather - into the richness of

the human condition. These very personal poems

evoke life. Treat yourself."   - John Shea

"Joe Wise, a poet musician takes our daily speech and

family life and touches them with a magician's fingers.

As he does, he reveals in the hum-drum hurry of our

lives the Mystery of the marriage of the human and holy.

Each page in this book of poetry plays the music mystics hear and opens our ears so often deaf to that melody in our lives. These poems ignited my imagination and set my soul a' dancing."   - Ed Hays

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Excerpts from "Through a Glass Lightly"

The Squirrel     -     Edges of the Ego     -     So Long Kid     -     Rearrangement

Mason Jarred     -     The Bond

The Squirrel

Mid morning it was

nor dawn, nor noon

no special time by

human measure, no hallowed

space (my back porch

deck) no

reason to alert

the inner eye.

And there he was

this creature of eons

lovely in his

particular

ness

eloquent readiness

tensioned poise

unblinked eye.

Still I stood

quick he moved

now work

now pause

now work

I moved, board squeak

one rapid blink

then hold, shutter change

from forage scan

to alien alert

our presence to each other

altered now. His movements

all so skittish, gone the

deftness, gone the purpose

fearful scurry

oh how sadly

I who gloried in his

gifts became the

cause for hiding them -

him

self

under

the deck

somewhere                                                                  

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Edges of the Ego

The old edges

of the ego

are so wondrously comfort

able like

ancient lace around

the dollies of

my youth

as if the care

in fashioning gave

right to

permanence

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So Long Kid

Fall has only recently become a favorite time of year again. It's funny just how beautiful we are in dying - out of all the sameness in the green comes the swan song of each leaf - never more different, never more beautiful. And the branches letting go of each someday know the self-same journey from the trunk - and so on and so on - I lost my daughter to college this fall. She's probably coloring right now - an art major - the trip down to Murray State took four or five hours and I rehearsed all the way what I would tell her. And then when the final moments came and I stood amongst the few remaining unpacked boxes in her dorm room, I hugged her and these were the immortal words I uttered: "Well, good luck this semester."

The next night at supper, we put out three place mats, my wife, my son, and I and after we had prayed - two of us looked up with tears and Johnny might have, but he is sixteen and said, "Well, I miss her a little." It's funny to have Sting and Billy Joel absent from the basement while she combed her hair and made her face and all those things. There's an air of expectancy that's gone now too when the phone rings and you know she won't be waiting to see if he loves her tonight. I do. So long, kid and good luck this semester.

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Rearrangement

Re arrange this room

he said, my therapist, when I

came ripe for change I said

let's take those drapes

down, louvres there

replace that couch with

swivel chairs, this rug could go

and clear the way for thicker pile

and paler hue, these lamps

are out, more modern lines

and single sockets, silk screen

prints on those two walls of

soft horizons that

should do it doc,

says I

says he while shifting

one small paper weight an

inch or two

upon his desk

this too

is

a change

in

the room

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Mason Jarred

I've often wondered what it would be like to get potted. Well, not really potted. I've done that. To get jarred. Well, not jarred in the sense of getting shoved around but put in a jar, canned. If I was a tomato for instance, what would it feel like to live all winter in a closet on a shelf in a jar? What if I didn't have a bear like personality and that much hibernation didn't agree with me? What if I wanted to play a little or ferment a bit of a revolution? And the other tomatoes, what if we didn't get along? That's awfully close quarters. And how do I get chosen? I don't know if it's an insult or not. Do the best get to the table right away? And would it hurt my pride when the canning surgeon decides I need a little cosmetic surgery before I'm ready? A blemish here, a little spot there.

And, oh yes, the big question. Would all that waiting make me more delicious? or is winter just a long, long time?

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The Bond

The bond I want

with you

is as delicate

and as strong

as this slender

spider strand

shimmering in the sun

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