Words Wander

Words seem to wander then wonder
at the sight before them and try
to describe light clouds in the sky
with blood red drops from a silver pen.
A quill pierces my heart and draws
a flood draws my feelings and what I try
to think. What do you do when you
run out of ink? What do you do
when the wolves howl outside the door
when ravens scratch curses on the
nightside of your windows when the last
bus out of town is nothing but fading
tail lights and dissipating exhaust?
Do you cry do you scream do you run?
Or do you stand... do you stand and stay
standing no matter what comes against you?
I can see you standing there in the high
light green grass with drops of dew
in your eyes, as still as the words we
have never spoken...

Upon aWayKing

Alone in the room the cloud of dark dreams disperse

and alabaster skin brushes my face my arm, hands brush

my chest and lips my shoulder... I am not alone.

Sweet sunrise through hotel drapes plays with my eyes

Making shapes of colors and diamonds of dust.

Sweet lady wrap me up in your arms of light.

Lay me down with the false promises of

the submissive the passive

I won't put up a fight...

Slay me with what weapons and passions you have.

I deserve no better and no less.

Lay me in beds and tear me to shreds.

Crush me with whims and indifference

and cast me aside

Am I to be your groom

And you my bride?

There may not be enough space

In any room.

And what do I have to prove? And to whom?

That I can rise again and again

whether I win or lose?

Beaten, bloodied, or buried,

beneath the pyramid, inside the tomb?

And yet I rise,

I rise again with the love

our hearts have carried.

When all I have ever wanted

was more and more and more.

But for all this time this house of my mind

Has been haunted with ghosts white

and grey and black

all I have ever needed was a door.

Don't mind me, darling,

if I shutter twin windows

against the sun of a new spring,

I'm just resting my eyes.

3.20.2005

Conversangelic

The Deed is Done,
he said in a withered voice,
the sound is as if two crooked hands
were slapped together
more a thap than a clap.
What was i expecting?
a voice like a trumpet
What power, what might!
They might say...
I can see you are not pleased,
that you are not pleased at all
with me.
If you had a heart you might feel at least
something of their pain,
something of their grief and sorrow,
something of the trials of their tomorrow.
But the ice and cold they cannot bear.
Looking with eyes of the soul which see
without regard to distance or obstruction,
the winged one with the bag
dripping wishes like tiny argent crystals
met the gaze of the wondering souls
newly separated from their physical form.
You laugh for naught, knave of hell,
My Father will receive many of those.
Yes, many...but not all, the sibilant hissing responds.
Come face to face with Grace
we finally see it was never about right or wrong.

March 1995

Heaven's Kiss

"Inspiration" means 'God-breathed.'
A breath of God that is just cause...
(just because)

Branches bend, leaves curl in the waves
of wind. Spirits bob along the by-ways
of black streets covered by wayward
gleams of electic incandescence.
Spirits shrouded in skin some wrinkled some
smooth stalked by wild silences.
Spirits pass my body.
They hold close to shallow love,
shivering against imagined cold.

But my watercolor eyes stare out at this mosaic
world and see a similiar storm.
Similiar to the one the spirits fear, but not identical.
My clouds cover my spirit like a blanket,
full of warm whispers of winters long ago.
My trees hold boughs full of birds
warbling, trilling, whistling, singing the song of God.
My green jacket is unzipped hanging loosely
off my shoulders, my arms wide, head high.
God cries a sky full of tears that wash my face,
wash my soul, waking me from
the slumbering of simmering sin...

2.28.1995

Celeserendipity

A celestial yard sale: replacing the old with the new.
Serendipity is borrowed deja vouz from a future unknown
Just trying to get by is all he ever knew
He searched years and miles and mountains alone.

Foreshadowing trees unseen for the forest green
And brown and full of mystery and history and dark
Blind obedience to laws casting light on flaws
Words written in minds and hearts on Halloween
Written on scrolls on leaves on paper on bark.

Should've seen it coming, feet green and running
Soiled with grass wet with evening dew
Wet with sweat and tears that never stop coming
And with thoughts of wondering what to do
Next, wondering what to do if and when,
What if she kisses me back... what then.

We walk with fingers folded together hand in hand
Not worried about the salt water soaking our toes
Not worried about the weather or the sand,
When our lips meet, our breath is one,
Serendipity leaves us silent in two minds and one heart
A gentle, fierce embrace says we can never be torn apart
And as sure as the waters flow: i'll never let you go.

10.27.2004

The Veil

Hands thrown wide accept the water accept the tide
Arms held close play cards held close to the vest
Feet that step onto a wide path give grace to the labored stride
                                   Stitches of muscles tearing up the side
They push like petals on a merry met mountain bike
A hideous holy hike.
                                    A last ride like the one we all will take
            Where all will go
                                    A horse on its last leg a heart about to break
             Hidalgo.

Drops and drops of water pounds me into submission mixes with the sand
Makes mud;
Drops and drops of life sweat with submission I can't understand
Makes blood.
Hands thrown wide accept the nails accept the tide.

And then He accepts time only slipping past
Ripping the curtain that broke the lesser priests
Away from those in the holiest of holies

All this so that I would never be lonely...

And the Others, His Brothers, He saved Them
And the Hooker, His Sister, He kissed Her
Even held Thomas' hand in the hole in His side
And if it hadn't been for the Gulf, the Sheol, then...
Then the most beautiful Angel of All might
Have just switched to His side.

All this so I would never be lonely again.

7.3.2005

Waking

In December, Christmas cries a few snowy tears
Perhaps weeping for those the year has taken.
And the temperatures unswell, as well,
lowers its head in respect for those
who made it into heaven, and for those
who went... in the other direction.

The cold gnaws at you like the millions
of miniscule teeth of mice;
People shuffle from the door of their house
to the door of their car, with no hello,
not feeling like being nice.

Some sense of the season is lost.
The dreams that once brightened our lives
when we were children of presents and
family meals have become something to digest
like the meat we eat with forks and knives.

We cut away at our dreams:
If we can't go to Europe then maybe Alaska.
We always have to think about what it cost.
As if we know a raise is too much to ask.
Some sense of the season is lost.

Instead of slanting through two-degree air
today's sun sends shafts of light down
through forty-eight degrees that feel like eighty.
I realize as I walk to the mailbox that I do not
need a coat or jacket. There is a spring
in my step, and my back is straight.

I pause to watch the neighborhood children play.
They throw the football, throw rocks, throw punches,
and collapse, tired when they are through.
I find a letter from an old friend waiting for me in the box.
And I wonder if January the 9th should be a holiday, too.

1.9.1999