Oh, poet? Do speak!
the mumbling-foolery
a pompous excursion
of expanded hearts
By anonymous nameless ages
we are the forgotten souls
let our words survive
and what is the flesh
when matched against words?
NOTHING!
sO, –i PRAISE
the temple God
of scribbled notes
and let my skin fold
inside the vase of time
:: 01-22-2015 ::
And if everything true
had a rightful place
would there be enough
space? I should believe
more room for all the wrong.
:: 01-22-2015 ::
And my soul sings, “this winter,
my Lord, is too long
bring back the summer and,
where cheerful hearts dance
within fielded flowers
of daisy-romance,” so I too
long and sing my song.
To bid a lasting farewell
to ice and crystal-fallen
art, I wish today with
all my heart!
:: 01-22-2015 ::
And the daylight danced upon the heart
of the man who laid across the lap
of his woman. Upon a bench within
a park, his childhood hidden. And when
the clouds obscured the sun, his heart
leaped forth as a child! His lover
murmured: Are you here? The distant
laughter of playing children. And his
eyes flowered-opened and saw the light
of all the day and even night, within
the gaze of the woman who allowed him
a moment to become a child.
:: 01-22-2015 ::
The weary seams of soft-silk souls
seem too loosened to visit my world
but they do. And often by haunts,
their dreams become my own; as
a sin unowned; rarely my feet walk
within God’s garden silently.
The uninvited adore my skin
and breathe especially at night.
As many intervals between life
and There, so too my awareness
of Them, those who with ghostly
sculptor-hands, turn heads
and minds too. It’s my words,
my word, too, They built the
bridge across which I now go
while I sleep reading the
dark book of the Beginning.
:: 01-22-2015 ::
AND when the world has fallen upon the cavity
of your sunken chest go out into the day,
feel the sunlight and how it’s warmth has
become lit sheets of icy fingers upon your soul,
and know the bright yellow bulb in the sky
is a world of fire and ice.
And when your soul has slender-ed, into a pencil
without its lead and your mouth is no longer
able to spell or speak nor write, then the world
is an unspoken ill without its Scribe; some
say He has died or was never born and others,
that he died nailed upon two pencils upon a hill.
And when you have grasped this meaning and you will,
then allow the world to fall through you,
and all the kisses, wishes, and well-spent days
of your life…
:: 01-22-2015 ::
And if only one thing
in life you loved
were removed
You should find
love in all of life
:: 01-21-2015 ::
Love is
the most
gentlest
of tears
A soulSlip
of comfort
for all
tender hearts
The kindest
friend of all
:: 01-20-2015 ::
Today a royal visitor
made it’s way into
my home;
upon its entrance
I knew its Soul.
And now the marriage
of feeling — it holds
the tender hands of
its Bride, Emotion.
:: 01-20-2015 ::
That broken wheel I shall mend
if like a leaf that grew
to touch the sky
I should fall back in time
when summer turns to Fall
like the withered leaf
And like the waves
that crash against the shore
so my life like pebbles
no thing is unmovable
not even time
And tides bid well
when they return to sea
taking a bit of me
So I mend the broken wheel
of my tumultuous life
:: 01-20-2015 ::
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