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About this Poem 

"The poem came out of the end of many years of personal suffering. What I found at the end was just love, love for others and love for God. The series I wrote called 'Compassion' is titled after John Coltrane's piece, 'Compassion.'" Noelle Kocot

Compassion IV

Noelle Kocot

The human realities of the living are now
As close to me as my own—oh, see how
Dusty that plant gets when you don't clean
It! The rippling day is a fabulous lesson,
My pants are too loose, and yet. Bon nuit,
Mes chéries!
All over the whole neighbor-
Hood, your fluid legs move—you are all
Permission and flounce, and your stockings
Catch in the mere light. Perfection, wholeness
Is what I see now in everyone I touch. That
Day when two men came in from the stream,
Wet, bothered, the windows were blackened,
And the cats ran around. Rain came, but
Also sunlight, and the years of hard living
Dissolved. A blanket of verbs crosses the
Threshold. Poetry, you are mine, and I will
Go anywhere with you. A gap in the mind,
A spangled street, my spine, perfectly erect now,
Chooses these words, yet it is as if I have no choice.

Copyright © 2013 by Noelle Kocot. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on April 1, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Noelle Kocot

by this poet

poem
It's the fern beyond the wind, the classic
Eruptions.  Night is a funnel that is overcome.
Violence of signs beyond the pale. Stasis
Has its own way, the hard work, the violence. 
Convalesce, convalesce in the green green
World, in which you could hardly walk,
But that was before, before life set its rhythms
In
poem
Someone inside says, "Get busy."
But I've got appointments to keep,
I have an abstemious love of equations calculated quickly
While the tepid day melts into design.

And the high cheekbones of the beautiful life
Bear the loose look of a calendar by lamplight.
I search for patterns in everything.
I am tied in
poem
"You" have transformed into "my loss."
The nettles in your vanished hair
Restore the absolute truth
Of warring animals without a haven.
I know, I'm as pathetic as a railroad
Without tracks.  In June, I eat
The lonesome berries from the branches.
What can I say, except the forecast
Never changes.  I sleep without