Current Status

The remaining twelve hours
Have been spent watching flowers
As they shut then open from dusk to dawn
And if any is many
Will a discarded penny
Be the much needed charm for the brains against brawn
Can the mind conjure up further powers?
When one’s strength matches that of a fawn

Have you really let go
Given up this sad show
That takes all your thoughts and steals them away
Towards unrequited fruits
From labors minute
To which you unwittingly dedicate most of your day
Can it really be worth all you throw?
Are you capable of more than you say?

And as time passes, the wounds will be healed
But without Neosporin they will visibly scar
You’ll be whole again but slightly marred
With hopes they’ll obscure as your skin might stretch
Or just fade with the age of the eons

May ’09

Rise Moses

Seventy-five flights of stairs
Help keep me live, keep me out of the chair
Thoughts while being found in space
Are being wrought from an adamant place
Can you disavow
And how will you show
A disheartened landscape where nothing will grow
Is this what you think
On the brink of insanity surging

Is there hope in this dark place
While drastic din contort, with fear, my face
Confounds my ears and ‘gainst my brain
Resounds a dull yet persistent pain
Can twenty-six see
What three fail to grasp
Like staff turned to death in the form of an asp
Can you see to talk
And then walk in a manner befitting

Joined in a dream but we knew
That the scene was one our mind’s eye drew
There we were set, odd it seems
Aware but in a very vivid dream
Can people awake
And take their ilk
To the fabled land of honey and milk
Will you make it there
Or just stare from the talk of the mountain

Oct. ’07

Arrows Let Fly

When arrows fly they always point
At those that they will soon anoint
With red wine and its cleansing toll
Which pours whenceforth from uncorked hole

And when the wine has cleaned his eyes
The anointed one a vision spies

I see a field of forgotten Greeks
Surrounded by far off mountain peaks
I see brother Ulysses scheming there
And Daphne with her leaf-like hair
Achilles tells me, “Tis better to slave
Than rule for eternity in the grave”
And so I leave him and cross the plain
For council I might ascertain
A sign in cumulus, nimbus sky
The same revealed to Constantine’s eye
When formed, the sign reveals afar
The Shepherd King’s personal star
And the Blue Man’s hand descends from its veil
To whisk me to heaven by my lone ponytail
The Last Great Prophet now I meet
Who speaks softly in a voice most sweet
We converse for hours but do not walk
In a dialogue where I rarely talk
Until he asks to where I’m off
I say “To the highest mountain top”
And when I start on my journey
The prophet brings the mountain to me
At the peak, ‘neath a tree, sitting cross-legged
Is a wise man with a large bump on his head.
He says, “Embrace diversity
But accept universal unity
To the air, the sea, the Earth, the plants,
And the animals from the yak to the ant”

And then I see a blinding flash
And exhaling, I have peace at last


Shouts Drowned Out the Tide

Shouts Drowned Out The Tide

Trickle down the river
‘Round the bend into the sea
Speaking with a shiver
Loud enough to voice a plea
Trying not to quiver
Standing steadfast on both knees
To drain one’s life with teeth and knife
Alarming grates against the gates
It’s no small wonder a sound of thunder will give a child the shakes

Skulking in the shadows
Out onto the other side
Tried enjoying waves had no
Shouts drowned out the tide
My wise and dear old Dad knows
Falls antecede one’s pride
It cannot be what one can’t see
The person dead won’t rise from bed
Alarming grates against the gates are all within your head

Nov. ’07

When Occur the Proper Gales

When Occur the Proper Gales

Does a picture steal a soul
Or just leave it in one place
A stagnant piece, but hey, at least
You cannot let it waste

For to use the gifts you’re given
Is the greatest gift of all
But in terms of the mind, you’ll often find
They’d rather let them fall

When the wisest fish has told you
To swim the crimson tide
Can you reconcile and still beguile
Yourself not to run and hide

A sympathetic man
Has Inquisitions done
And made them glare at spike’d stare
And given to the count of one

Is there use in asking
To petition against your fate
Does fate exist or have I missed
The Writing on the slate

Wherefore do I travel
Which way do I hoist the sails
Where to go and how will I know
When occur the proper gales

To sit and stare and nothing more
To sit and stare at the filthy floor
To sit and stare, Do I even dare
To alter anything?

Feb. ’09