Wednesday, August 31, 2011

A rose



How soon did blossom a rose,
so sweet and so prim,
When she, so awesome, arose
to humbly serve Him.




Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Portholes


Wishing chests had portholes,
to peer into the other side,
We'll see that red heart glowing,
(as we're far too prone to hide)
For when we live life openly,
and don't conceal the inside,
We'll share our innate worthiness, 
There's no need to be shy.


Monday, August 29, 2011

Tonight



All color as One color, 
light upon light,

All love as One love, 
right upon right,

All hope as One hope, 
height upon height,

All men as One men,
might upon might,

All faith as One Faith, 
sight above sight,

My thought is One thought,
I am One tonight.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Today



Today, I sit at Your threshold.
Today, I have ran my last mile.
Today, I am Yours for keeping.
Today, I release wish and wile.

Today, I admit utter ignorance.
Today, I wit and wisdom refine.
Today, I give You everything.
For today, I realized it was never mine.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

All I am is these words

All I am is these words; 
these words all I will ever be,

these words the song of my creation, 
these words the essence of my being,

these words the beginning without beginning,
these words so long as I can dream.

My world is in these words,
for in words I shape reality,

and thus I must be guarded in speech,

lest these words be the cause of injustice,
lest these words be the cause of dissension,

lest these words be the cause of my descending.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Humility and Hypocrisy

I'll find the needle in the haystack
I'll look the tiger in the eye
I'll burn the chariot on the racetrack
And I'll do it with a sigh.

For every accomplishment's belittled
When it's nothing in my mind,
The tree of life is self-whittled,
When to my own worth I'm blind.

True confidence comes from the Creator
That great Artist to whom all turn
Denying the beauty of His Sculpture
Limits my heart's ability to learn.

I must not make humility a hypocrisy;
But acknowledge weakness, as well as strength,
For failing to do so is dishonesty-
upsetting foible, drawing from forte's length.




Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Skipping stones



Some days we're the pebble,
Some days we're the drop,
Both ways, in the ripples,
We find ourselves caught.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

The Cocoon of our Choice

Subsisting on scarcity.
Content with contention.
Driven by dissension
Filled with fulmination.
Wed to the weak.
No more,
We cannot let this be.
So more,
Working for wisdom.
Focused on fellowship.
Doing with determination.
Comforted by connection.
Sustained by the Supreme.

Butterflies of the world,
wrapped in the choices
of you
and of me.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Sweet Crimson Wine (Give me more of it)



These hands have naught to hold, 
without Faith in that Other; 
For without Faith, 
these days would be far too insignificant,
Just a pain and a bother, 
empty meaningless chasms 
Spent hoarding coins and collections, 
Ruing my end, like any other.

And so if my choice is
To see by flesh alone,
Or to live and die 
In the realm of dreams,
I choose to believe 
In that conscious unseen,
I choose to believe 
In the Spirit and the sheen.

For our minds are beyond our measure,
How much more so our mind's Maker,
so why do we hope to tether
the Supernal to such short stakes, here?

Some will say I am delusional,
Intoxicated by the honeyed Words 
Of some strange and dangerous Mystic.
And I will sing in free verses,
If I am drunk, give me more of it.

For my soul thirsts
For that sweet crimson wine 
Of pure astonishment.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

The rat at my window





Begone! Thou unholy rat,
Thou noxious monster perched eagerly at my window,
I am not beguiled by the seeming innocence of your white whiskers
I am not allured by the seeming eloquence of your foul whispers.

Begone! Thou unwelcome rodent, 
plague me no more, Thou flea-ridden devil,
You may not gnaw upon the silken threads of my fabric 
For with those tendrils I weave tapestries of wealth and imagination.

So begone! Thou manifestation of evil,
take your pus, pestilence and putrefaction,
I will purge you from every passing thought and trepidation,
For soon I must rest, and account for that fast and final valuation.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

If I am proud



And if I am proud
it is only in this,
that I am creature of my Maker,
imbued with His spirit.

And if I am humbled
it is only in this,
that His Glory is immesurable,
His love is priceless.

And if I am abject
I am exulted by this,
that I was made for a Purpose
and my worth lays therein.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The greatest love story ever told.


she said, "I'm treading on broken glass,
knowing that this life won't last.
This blood's just an illusion,
Far too much pain and confusion.
I'm just a spirit caged in by bones,
stuck in this prison, longing for home."

He said, "Burst your cage asunder,
like a phoenix, rise from fire and thunder.
Listen to how the stars are singing,
how breath and flesh mingle in all things.
In the bright blue heavens you'll soar,
if you make faith and love your core."

she said, "But every day I do falter,
Broken down, hollow, myself a halter."

He said, "Take my hand and I will guide you,
with every footstep heal, fill, and renew."

her fingers did outreach, 
in hopeful longing she did seek,
and even though some days she was blinded,
through that hopeful grasp was she guided, 
with that inner eye did she discover
the path to Him, her true lover.

Layla and Majnun, reunited through 
the seeming tyranny of the night watcher. 




Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Flawless



Whatever happened to beauty?
What is so wrong with
folds and wrinkles, 
that we have to buff our bodies
into this plastic sheen?
Why must I feel that
I have to be flawless, 
just to be loved and seen?

It is our imperfections
that make us perfect,
after all, exciting twists
come from asymmetry,
and it takes the brilliant mind
that soars unbounded,
to think what no one else will think.

Yet so many of our sons and daughters
seek to conform and contort, 
to pull their skin and clip their noses,
until they fit through narrow tube of the media machine.
They do not know that this water pipe 
fills only a balloon-like confidence, 
so easily burst and demeaned.

We need to redefine beauty, 
a dirty word, rinsed clean,
We need to see that worth
comes from service and virtue,
not this unrealistic fantasy
fed through the lens of the television screen.
To scrub our eyes
until they're all-embracing,
Until every son and daughter
viewed as a king and queen.

Everyone is beautiful,  
when they smile and laugh 
and live in humility.


 

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The Dance of the Penguin


I want you to try something.
you're reading this for free, so just humor me.
Get up, dislodge yourself
from the siren's allure of your computer screen,
go downstairs or to your bedroom
(depending upon, of course, whether you live on multiple planes, like me)
and put on an ill-fitting penguin dress, or some equally uncomfortable clothing,
turn on Mozart or Chopin or even, heaven permit, Queen,
and while standing on one foot, like some venerated yogi,
lift your left toe to your right ear
Spin around fifteen times in perfect synchronicity,
and then SCREAM.

This is what it is to write poetry.

Each poem is a miracle, 
and a debacle, just as equally. 

So I guess what I really mean to say is,
Thank you for reading.

Monday, August 15, 2011

between streetlamps, the dark and the light



I walked along a dark and narrow path this summer night,
streetlights my only source of scattered illumination,
and as I darted between the halos cast in their reflection,
so too, did I begin to reflect upon the darkness and the light.

I cannot rely upon mere moments of inspiration,
such sporadic clarity will never win this self-insistent fight,
rather day by day I must strive and toil to attain perfection,
even though that perfect may ever remain an unassailable height.

I must see that these hands were made for molding, not for holding, 
to continue, unabated throughout the blessings and the blights,  
I cannot leave this wonky card table, bluffing, dealing, and folding,
But must rather change the game until it is played with what is right.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

A starved heart still hungers for more


I am sore,
from all this violence of affection,
my expectations, so tender,
so oft refused and rejected,
from the commitment insecure,
the thoughts insufficient
the wanting more,
and doing nothing about it. 

So I swore,
off that myth of selfish longing, 
to drink no more of that
pure hollywood concoction,
a poison sweet but toxic,
to starve this hungry heart
until its greed was defeated, 
beating rhythms metallic,
wanting no more, 
and thinking nothing about it. 

But I am betrayed,
by my dreams and delusions,
for each evening,
they speak of nothing but love,
love, love 
and doing something about it,

They tell of
mystic meetings remembered,
of long nights lounging
in the eye of the sunflower,
of the warmth of house
and home,
and the coldness without it.

And so today, 
that starving heart's hunger 
has been awakened,
perhaps drunk and delusional,
it wants more of it. 

Today,
my heart will give in to this song,
like an addict.

Today,
I will sing of love,
love, love
and wanting more of it.  

Today,
I will cast my heart out and wish for more,
as I cannot live without it. 

And I will hope
that you will hear the melodic wanting
this hungry heart transmits.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Cut into Pieces




Oh my God!
I am lost,
perhaps,
Never to be found

Oh my God!
I am cut, 
pieces,
Strewn upon the ground

Oh my God,
I am blind, 
darkness,
All I see around.


Oh my Daughter!
All existence begotten
The path before you

These wounds
Like a tender Flower
Cultivated, grows strong

Turn yourself towards
the Heavens of Understanding

For only then
Will you see the Light

For only then
Will you see the Love

It surrounds

Friday, August 12, 2011

Haiku Friday: To Act like a King (My thoughts on the News)

we are all starving.
but peaceful stance will sever
riots from protests.

----

So act like the King,
and not like your oppressor
We shall overcome.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Welcome to the fire world


Welcome to the fire world, 
My blue water lily child,
You were born in the cool ocean,
But raised in desert light.
And through wind and sand whirl,
It's a clear liquid you must find,
to vivify a gray heart,
so worn and so dried.
A sweet immortal potion,
Succor of spirit and mind.

So seek the hidden chalice,
my searching, yearning child.
Trust that you will hear its
resonating, crystal chimes.

Even though you're just a wanderer,
Singing in the silent wild.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Butterfly Freely Thought (In sonnet form)


The light of your insight will soon languish,
Like a fragile butterfly cruelly caught,
When truth is claimed not calmly distinguished,
When from notion it becomes hardened thought.
For the web of this world is full stranded,
Chains of existence linked on every side,
To learn humility is demanded,
In this search, self-insistence will misguide.
So do not suppose to comprehend all,
As the truth was never made to be owned,
Theories are meant to rise and some to fall,
Mighty kings inevitably dethroned.

   To be un-fundamental in belief,
   Only then will we find our world's relief.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Melody of Sun

Once I floated in a dark watery abyss,
fear my only keeper, I did not wish to exist.

And then something happened, something did change,
joy my new default, it was really quite strange.

It no longer mattered, anxiety only a myth,
Found hope my only option, to build bonds not rifts.

Now I live for nothing, but the Will Divine,
No longer hollow, not just biding my Time.

And I will fill oblivion with my Melody of Sun,
No longer attached to another, but solely the One.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Breaking the Cycle of the Oppressed

The core of activity is no longer charity,
not filling a hole, not giving a bequest 
but building capacity, working with parity,
helping each other to use what we possess.

And so be less of a leader, more of a guest,
See no victims, break the cycle of oppressed,  
A co-fisher not feeder, until we're equally blest,
For dependency on another is just as distressed.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

These words

I want these words to punch you.
Like an assault to the face.

And I want these words to grab you.
Like a lion in the chase.

And I want these words to attract you.
Like a bride to old lace.

And I want these words to hold you.
Like a gambler to the ace.

And I want these words to make you.
Like a lover finding grace.

And I want these words to guide you.
Like a light in barren space.

And I want these words to fill you.
Your heart has found its place.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

A song of peace (not the only one)

What effort has been given
to the slavers of death and destruction,
to the foul machines of war, 
such precious resources 
wasted, riven.

And through it all, 
the result of such heroics?
the salt tears of children, 
starving, burning,
the grave of the rose, 
the firefly's ashes.

But what effort could be given
to the liberty of craft and construction,
building armaments of different kind,
fortresses of faith,
weapons of mass living.

And through it all, 
the result of such loving?
the sweet voices of children,
singing, laughing, 
pure thought horizons 
beyond current knowing.

This is not naivety. 
This is hope realistic.

This is a dream of life
so simple, profound,
Though it may seem 
so beyond achieving.

If we choose hope,
trust, understanding
choose to greet the stranger
and love our neighbor
with a preference for altruism
serving, sharing
then maybe that real abiding peace
will not be just eagerly sung, 
but truly, and absolutely
Won. 

There's a chance peace will come
if we strive, all as one.

Here's another song of peace, by Melanie Safka (jump to the 1:09 mark if you don't want to see June and Johnny Cash):

 

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Filling in the Empty Skies

Some days the words flow easily
from the ink of my fountain pen
glimpses of a world beyond reckoning
of this poor, mortal kid.

And then there's days like today
as if the well of my creativity has run dry
and that shimmering door seems so closed 
to my bloodshot, broken eyes

I need a little inspiration today
a sweet story to satiate my restless mind
I need a little imagination today
small things satisfy an insomniac's life,
the lucid dreams of never-dreamed,
soothe all these sleepless, endless nights:

(a spinning dance in a desert land, 
intoxicated by a cool, green lullaby
or a liquid gaze upon pure starlight 
entranced with those merry fireflies)

Perhaps I'm just hoping that today,
Just maybe, I'll find a way 
of filling in the space 
beyond the empty skies.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Thoughts on time


Oh, what a wicked master is Time,
just when you think
that you have so much,
he creeps like a foul thief upon you,
stealing your every joy-
like an antique rug
pulled out swiftly underneath you,
its precious fibers and fringes
torn and wrinkled, 
leaving you unsure, 
with nothing but cold reality
to place your bloody feet upon.

And oh, what a blissful savior is Time,
for just when you're sure
that you've had enough,
he blows like a sweet breeze through you,
wafting over your dolor-
like a honeyed salve
delicately coated over every sore,
its soothing art and alchemy,
a balm and healer,
making you whole,
awakened to true reality,
the power to walk away and know.

Oh time, you both culled and crafted me.
And all I can do is plead here:
Please Sir, I want some more.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Reflections on a glass ball

In this glass ball we call the Earth
this sky, this sea, this sandy hole
where the briny clouds and heavens
are everyday filled with melodious song,
and birds, like blue-feathered lovers
warble tales of days and darkness bygone,
filling our hearts with the breaths of life,
and proclaiming the truth of
the arcane and the unknown
are we, these beings
which have been given the grace
to walk upon this passing world, 
to bend and shape and till
and call it our very own.

And although
In this sounding bell we call our shore
this place, this paradise, this port of call
where the hidden gem mines and coves
are everyday ringing with primal tones,
and the words, like pure-winged angels,
seek to infuse our minds with wisdom
raising our spirits to heights noble,
above the ancient and the old
are we, these beings
who deny our power,
to grasp onto the immortal robe,
to clutch and guard and hold
and call it our very own. 

And so
In this deteriorating cage we think our all,
our trick, our trap, our transition
where everything is but mirror and reflection
mirages of the pure water that is to come,
and the shadows, like thin webs,
mask the connections between souls
purifying the liars from the loyal,
beyond the spent and the spoil
must we, these beings
with a sight much keener,
mend this broken world,
change and alter and transform
and call it a new home.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Throughout it All

Indeed, all day I have existed, 
pursuing what seems to be
this unsatisfying flesh and bone.
But everyday I long for more,
my desire to escape and run.

And still, throughout it all
my work is not yet done.

Indeed, all day I have persisted,
grinding against what seems to be
an already pulverized stone.
But everyday I must ignore,
my longing for ease and fun.

And still, throughout it all 
my work is not yet done. 

Indeed, some days I feel so wasted,
mourning over what seems to be
the nothing I've ever did or done.
But everyday I hide my sores,
my dreams of life in the sun.

And still, throughout it all
my work is not yet done.

Indeed, some days I almost hate it,
spinning ever what seems to be
a spool that's already spun.
But everyday I am reminded-

That still, throughout it all,
there's work to be done.

And indeed, I must remember
that if I ever do desire that
Reunion with the Desired One,

Then I must have existed.

Then I must have persisted.

Then I must have made it.

Then I must have loved.