Pages

Saturday, December 31, 2011

The Good of Night


Tonight the stars are sleeping.
They fold their hands
and bend their bands
given to unconscious weeping. 

The orange moon mourns. 
Hard created craters,
warm light abaters,
fill with a shadow shorn. 

Owls and howls are wordless.
Holding in breath,
waiting out death.
The iced air is mirthless. 

Yet the sun will rise tomorrow. 
The dregs tonight,
the bitter fight,
will be relieved of their sorrow.

Dark will be wretched away. 
Drudging swarms
and bitter forms
will all be allayed. 

Thank You for the darkness of night. 
Dance and songs
can be in throngs
with the smallest hope of Your light.




Thanks to Joanna and Barbara for this Saturday's inspiration.

Friday, December 30, 2011

Romance Haikus


Holds the towered flag
Waits for the beginning flare
Hopes the ship will see

Gladiator shows
She smiles for his effort
He wins for attempt

Dreams bright wood hidings
Pursuit through select smiles
Seduction to live

Laughter running chased
Tease fills adrenaline veins
The pursuit is hot

The game never ends
Limitless mysteries veiled
Each layer new joy

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Break


This is how I break.
This is how I fall.
This is what it takes 
to break down this wall.

But my will gives out
before my strength. 
I look at how far I've come
and see no great length.

So I lose hope 
and I lack the will 
to even bother anymore 
for my efforts have been nil. 

And so I give up,
and so I give in
to being ruled
by self and sin. 

I feel the crunch of my bones
and the pain in the sound,
but easier than falling 
is staying on the ground.

My hope is gone. 
My will is shattered
after trying to fight 
and being brutally battered. 

What I lack is heart
not the strength or the might, 
but willingness to go on
in a losing fight.

And so I fall through, 
just as in weeping. 
Like tears through my hands
my heart is seeping.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Hunt of the Octopus


Deep hungered legs reach,
spread in all directions.
Strange fish saunters by
brandished for inspection.

Suckers pucker and pull back. 
Two legs chewed from the prior bites.
Tiny synapses fire and land,
Warn against all appetites. 

The water pulses in and out.
Strange slithers and sways.
The gleam tempts arms to stretch
they hold in the cold and stay. 

Still stubbed tentacles ponder,
the wonder strikes feared bites.
Strange turns and eyes connect.
Two beats of two hearts quiet the night.

Strange slips a silt fin to touch
a baby stub tenderly as it retracts.
A drip of salt water blends in the sea. 
The gaze tilts and neither reacts.

Water frames a cold chance forlorn.
The dance holds on ocean rugs.
Final chances tick and abate.
A risk, decision, a deadly hug.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Sick


I'm sick.

Sick like an oil spill.
Ill like my brain keeps miss fire ing.
Sore like I have an eagle stuck in my throat.
Impaired like I see two of me in the mirror.
Weak like it takes seven days to stand up straight.
Tottering like taters in a plastic basket.
Spinning like a CD vom it.
Delirious like a coke cane.
Coughin' like I'm about to be buried.
Achey like I'm trying to open a lock.
Disease like I'm floating in the ocean. 
Sweatering like I'm wearing wool.
Leaking brain lube like it s'not funny.

Like a vacuum eating a straw; sick sucks.

Monday, December 26, 2011

The Phoenix Son


You are the phoenix and I am in ashes.
Left bathing in your wake I sleep. 
My resist; futile slings and slashes.
Your song; gentle napalm seeped.

You have razed me to the ground. 
My lungs convey the flame's licks.
The sky is black under my mound. 
My cold blood and the fires mix.

Sparks glisten: stars through the night.
Your echo plumes carbon specks to listen.
My ears perk, hands clear debris from sight.
Droplets stride over my face; I am christened.

The fire You started melts into my dark.
Heat waves past my heart and catches.
Burned bones roar and hear the hark. 
Subtle lift pulls to my feet; undoes my latches.

New marrow pumps and sears my cracks.
Iron blends my chest and softens my heart.
Wings burst from blades on my back. 
I phoenix as did You and from ashes depart.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Christmas Haikus


Part 1

Shrimp wrapped in bacon
is one of our traditions
So I say, "Booya"

Santa give billions
Dollars are nothing to him
He's the one percent

Book gifts are for nerds
Christmas fills up reading lists
seventeen proves point

Cares fade to background
Whole family together
Jokes, smiles fill air

Torn paper burns bright
Snacks and coffee, daylong treats
The meal approaches


Part 2

Pooped cave filled with cries
Troff filled with greatest treasure
Scream fills world with hope

Bridge o'ver death is crossed
Angels sing of great collide
Peace pieces for all

Salvation is here
Love of God incarnate cries
Small blood will buy all

In our feet and hands
With our voice and sorrows still
Jesus reconciles

Humbled God in flesh
Torn from heaven to all pain
Love comes small to save

Saturday, December 24, 2011

When All was Magic

Tiny pricks of light slice through the eternal dark. 
Eyes opening reverberate walls from their spark.
First time fingers stretch and pull tight the air. 
Legs squiggle, lungs drag, and the screams tear.

Fingered foods play in taste buds grasping bites.
Smells burn bright ideas and colors in cold nights.
Glowing movement brings smiled cries to song.
Bouncing in gravity, floor boards become gongs.

Incredible lights beam, colors form and change.
Giant hands hold: faces twist; become strange.
Everything crisps, crackles, sweet scents waft.
Thumping beats drum from titans warm and soft.

Falls shake and fracture into unpleasant surprise.
Knowing more than before, lights dim in the eyes.
Understoods are left alone, no reason to chew.
Everything was magic when everything was new.





Thanks to Ashes for the inspiration of "You can't beat magic."

Friday, December 23, 2011

Torn Heart


A gentle caress over my chest.
Soft fingers begin to press. 
Deep and quickly they pierce my skin 
and rip from my body my bones within.
Then, in such a fragile place, 
each hand competes to win the race.
Each grab one side of my frail heart
and begin to tear it apart.
One half do I long for, and the other I love, 
but can I have them both? Is this death from above? 
My heart is in pieces longing for her, 
but I cant have her yet, and inside me He stirs. 
Such passion, such beauty, and o what a death! 
I must find it now after my last breathe.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Troll of Desolate Refuse


Marks left in blind assimilation
herald your past quenching
and the tactless forethought
of hoarded conventions.
How, in this act of convenience,
canst thou leave me so interrupted?
The perils of the broken membrane 
that once held order in our compartment
now fill to the brim with empty vassals
clogging all our unity!
How now shall we pervade such tragic depths 
to once again become mended o'er such discrepancies?
Thou hast repeatedly destroy our silent bond
and burned our agreed sanctions in this treacherous gaze.
The stone silent presence that thou bestow 
irks my veins to enflamed yearnings of destruction.
Yet the bane of all is this:
such pillaged goods have proper placing
but even so thine refusal to bring any such order to our abode
consumes thine spirit and precludes reconciliation.
Now, Troll of Desolate Refuse, rectify thine crook'd ways
and get all those cups out of our bathroom.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Paths Untrod

Sift the sultry glance.
Playful stations pull 
at the separation of body and brain.
I wander down paths I'd never take,
but always want to.

The air burns thick
and the hormonal haze fogs mirrors
so I'll never have to look back.
So many partners in a ballroom I've never been to,
though I often perch the window sills.

Soft question marks twirl in dances I want to know,
but can't.
I mark floor patterns and mimic alone.
I'll go home soon to she that is me,
but not yet. 
Not while these graceful sashes ring in the air,
Not while their dance parades. 
Not until my hunger at the window is sated. 

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

The TV Took My Breath Away


The TV took my breath away and gave me happy feelings.
The monster came with his fist and gave me happy beatings.
O entertainment, I pay you for life, love and prosperity 
Only to find that the one gift you give is depravity.

You make me desert.
You burn my soul.
By numbing reality.
And leaving me null.

My body bashed and bleeding;
My fire dead to spark;
Sucking all my light away 
And giving me the dark.

I never held any control in controllers.
Not one life have I ever truly saved.
My body numbs and twitches out
In these fake olympic escapades.

You suck my life, 
Pale my skin, 
Glaze my eyes, 
Eat me thin.

Zombie glares stretch forth claws,
Chew my brain in dragon maws.
A tear rips down my slacked face
frozen in a flicker's embrace.

Desperate coffee fingers linger,
shake with vibrated explosions,
hush quiet the soul singer,
and never explore the oceans.

Yet I am a voluntary victim.
You smile at my chagrin.
I am the only reason
That you could ever win.

Though sick I seek the symptom.
The breath waves goodbye.
No dead would be jealous
and the living would only cry.

I must loosen my hands
to fend off this attack.
I let the TV take my breath away
and now I want it back.

Monday, December 19, 2011

The Desire of Other Half


Waiting.
Never half sating.

Wonder. 
Sighs; quiet thunder.

Wander.
An endless ponder.

Stutter.
Crave warmth and shutter.

Hoping.
Twisted in coping. 

Fighting.
Thrash for lightning.

Holding. 
Wish for the molding.

Listen.
Tears dry and glisten.

Longing.
Ear bursted thronging.

Singing.
Soul bled ringing.

Dancing.
One day romancing.

Stillness.
Sweet salve of illness.

Breathing.
Life lived deceiving.

Yearning.
Purged heart-longed burning

Fulfill.
Simply know, be still.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Last Minute Haikus


What time is it? Crap!
Run! Grab my, uh, coat? wallet!
Why won't the car start?!

Run through building
Run through grass, run to the car
Dead stop in traffic

Ninety per hour
Didn't know the speed limit
Sorry, officer

Another yellow light
Press gas, think I can make it
Oops, red light again

Finally home now
Barely enough time to write
Writer's block ensues

Last minute blogging
And no good inspiration
Equals bad haikus

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Blue


Midnight, grass just below the knee.
Black moon and white stars.
Wind sifts through clothes
and leaves hungry.

The stars dance little rings;
salt on far off margaritas. 
Glistened drops drip off the nose
and all falls down.

A symphony plays
breaches lungs
and is shoved it out.
No more smiles.

An expanse wastes.
The chorus fades.
Deaf ears watch eyelid insides
and all the world cools.

Grins fall below the field
upside down and forgotten.
Hugs alone in silent sighs.
The night hangs blue.





Thanks to Aliya and Barbara for today's inspiration of "Blue."

Friday, December 16, 2011

The Pain of Decisions


I sit and wait, abated elation
finding station in the wagon tails
of trails yet to be perceived. 
After all path running is simple 
with one pimple to pop but the stop
drops if two tiny tyrannies buckle to knees
and unfactioned reactions 
don't always have a point on the compass. 

Which way when black is grey and white the same
and all earthly brain taming is slain with disdain 
in a parade of unknown cavalcades marching on either side
with starching pressed shirts and singing spurts of wisdom 
in a language you don't understand.

Forks in the road means commode pricing
is dicing and becoming a succumbed place 
you must face or trace back to slacked beginnings 
when your winnings are unknown and growing
to be times of slimed eyes trying to pulverize meaning
out of clay coated glasses.

But the mutt is the irony that these eyes and me 
find despairing and raring occasions for inflations
that curl burled fingers to lingering accidents
that prevent indignation and spark incineration
to the conflagration of deadly wrong choices 
voiced out of noise poised pansies that demand manly's 
to sees clear steering potholes in dueled paths to goals
that may kill everyone in the end.

The life and death of breath breathes in the last 
and final finally of death valley walkers;
the twin roots and stalkers that find 
the difference between golf and golfers is the pith 
listed in lederhosens chosen because of the look
as opposed to the smell. 

If everybody wins, then everyone loses the chooses. 

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Journey of the New Birth Haikus


Tiny head fits palmed
bright grey eyes gleam in wonder
Nothing can scare yet

Feet cannot hold ground
Crying until squeezed to chest
Peace come from safety

Small fingers reach hand
Tight curls around one thick thumb
Old grin guides in dark

The mountain towers
Tools provided: map, foot light
Secret work of love

Lost climb, the fall tempts
Wisdom's voice for open ears
Strength for more than stone

Above sight peak looms
Chance's myth begins to reign
Storm brews against hope

Slip and fall to stone
Tears hide in the rain drops splash
Hand lifts to standing

Abandoned no child
Palm covers necessity
Fingers grown still reach

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Ode to the Possum I Hit with My Car Yesternight

Last night, ah, yesternight, when first we met.
'Twas instant; our meeting and our parting. 
Thou fell swift from waddle to death and yet
I can see no time from start to smarting.
When once your grey pelt shone bright in my lights
you dropped from view into a dull "bum bum"
a heart's final circuit 'fore death's escort.
A smile caught in sight
frowned a speedy harbinger of your doom.
Thou had thine brain wracked of different sort.

O possum, thou thought may be in question,
but the irony of crossing the road
causes many jokes to form suggestion.
The attempt to play at death that thou showed
was a clever form of method acting.
However thine stakes have jabbed through thine heart.
All goals set and achievable for thee,
full engaged, reacting
yet  sadly now thou cannot play the part.
Thou paid breath to asphalt: too great a fee.

Now thine song will sing in heaven e'er long;
upside down from gates shone of pearls pale glow.
Bugs and creepy pleasants galore will throng
No more death to rob thee thine role to know.
All grief and sad breathe for me shall soon pass
as once did fall the light seen in thine eyes.
Long heart weeping and wondering will end 
as to life I hold fast.
Good night, good night, sweet friend with soft goodbyes;
With I glad for possum that God did send.



Dedicated to the Possum I hit on 12-8-11 on Cheatham Hill Road.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

How Now Shall I Breathe


Lines cast in the fish parade 
brought home a white flagged ship. 
Tugs and nibbles at bait recent rotted
send the pale steam of surrender. 

The other avenue has thought of opening
but is cold and keeps the doors locked. 
This night street hangs in distant balance 
of star bright wonder and the chilled mystery.

But this white flagged ship,
ported after many pursuits,
bares its cards clean to table
and offers treaties of hope. 

Cards and chips held tight to the street.
Back alley gambles lure without promise.
The signs cannot be read without light. 
The adventure holds its hand ready. 

The one, warm welcoming,
the other uncharted and blinding.
And the world tilts its head and wonders, 
"How now shall I breathe?"

Monday, December 12, 2011

Cantaloup Can't Elope


CANTALOUPE. Will you marry me Cantaloupa? I know your parents hate me, but we don't have to tell anyone. 

CANTALOUPA. We cantaloupe can't elope, Cantaloupe!

CANTALOUPE. But my Aunt Antelope can elope cantaloupes, Cantaloupa!

CANTALOUPA. Antelopes eat cantaloups, Cantaloupe!
Your aunt antelope can't elope cantaloupes. 
We'll end up cantaloupes eloped in Aunt Antelope's throat! 

CANTALOUPE. Have hope, Cantaloupa! I know how we could escape! (pulls out rope)

CANTALOPA. What's that?

CANTALOUPE. It's a Tope Cantaloupe Aunt Antelope Loping Throat Slope Rope. Will you please let Aunt Antelope elope us, Cantaloupa?

CANTALOUPA. . . . Nope. 

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Homonym Haikus


They bought a new Thair
But where is their Thair, in there?
They're there with their Thair

The new store opened
with merchandise you put on
its where wares wear wares

In a foreign land
I ate but it was chilly
with Chile's chili

It is Christmas time
the cat is out of the bag
Broke Claus's claws clause

Denial was fast 
The knowledge fumed a bad stench
so he knows nose noes. 

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Blessings Rain


The cool night burns bright with fires. 
Lights shine swimming in their song. 
The chorus of the luminant pyres.
Glowed insect tweet their throng. 

The stars descend and swoop low.
Bright organs flutter and lilt. 
Cloudless wonders seep and flow.
A lighted rain falls and tilts.

No storm nor wind breathes here.
All is peace among the earth.
The wandered hearts are near. 
Dead to life, all is birthed.

Lights pour soft and strong.
Drying tears and lifting sighs.
Gleeful banters to all belong.
All the world has opened eyes. 

Glories in the highest reign. 
Woeful glances dissipate.
Folly has been slain. 
Open now is heaven's gate.

Water eternal flows down.
The bellow thrums throughout.
Loved in the blessings drown.
Warm in the quiet shout. 

Friday, December 9, 2011

Body, Mind, and Females


My mind and my body fight on e'ery occasion 
In which I meet one of the female persuasion. 
I think I could ask her out, perhaps to get a meal,
but my body walks the wrong direction and and create this ordeal:
"Must get away. Not good thing." my body says to my mind.
"Starting feel sick. Hit with brick. Must leave behind."
"But it might be nice. And it could be fun." My mind defends,
but my body is master of hearing and deafness it pretends.
"Quickly turn about my friend, she is now so far away."
"it for safety, my love, we must leave today."
And by this time it is to late for she has walk far out of sight.
And now again my mind will chastise my body late into the night.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

A Fairy Christmas


It was a cold winter. The birds had left by the first of September. Now bearing on December eighth, there was little time to finish Christmas shopping. Navi, in his helpful fairy way, was quite proactive when it came to Christmas shopping. He had already sent out gifts to his distant friends and relations, magically sealed to prevent opening before the 25th, before many of them had even put up their Christmas trees. The real trouble was finding something for his dad.
Navi's father had always been hard to shop for. What do you buy an elder fairy that has everything? Magic could bring about most desires for a fairy that old and powerful. Even with Christmas just around the corner, Navi couldn't get a list or any one desired item out of father. No matter how many times he said, "Hey! Listen!" his father refused to hear. Navi's heart hung low this time of year; yet another time where he could not give a good gift to his father. 
But on Christmas eve, Navi noticed something strange about his father; he was shivering. This brutal winter was taking its toll even on such powerful fairies as his father. "Navi wants to know if you are feeling well, Navi's Father," Navi inquired. His father curled himself into a tighter ball, brightening his own light and said, "No, Navi's father is fine, Navi." Navi turned to exit and said, "Navi hopes Navi's Father feels better soon." So Navi left, still not knowing what his Father could need.
Navi thought about this predicament for a long time. When a fairy grows old it becomes weak to the cold. Navi loved his father so he decided to set out and find something to help comfort his father and solve his shivers. His Father was much too proud to admit he was old and cold. But though a fairies magic could produce light,  they could not produce heat. Therefore Navi needed to find a way to keep his father warm. 
Suddenly a brilliant stroke of genius struck Navi. He would give his father a wool coat! This would be something practical that his father actually needed. O joyous day! Navi's glistening light shot out and flew to the Hyrule Market. The journey took a long time and when he arrived the sun began to set. He went from stall to store to stall until he finally found the perfect, fairy-sized winter coat for his father. He was fairly certain it used to be a boy's hat, but that didn't matter now. All that mattered was that Navi would finally please his father. 
Navi practiced over and over again both his Giving Speech and his excuse for staying out all night on Christmas eve. There was no time to head home before the temperature had dropped to dangerous levels at night. Navi found a warm place to sleep in a street light, but his excitement wouldn't let him rest. With such a great gift, how could anyone chastise him now? 
As soon as the sun rose Navi began the journey home. It was just as his father had awakened that Navi returned. His father looked at him and said, "Navi has been gone a long time. Where has Navi been all the night?"
"Navi left to find you the perfect Christmas present so that we can be merry this day, Navi's Father." 
Smiling, Navi's father said, "You do not need to call me father, Navi. I am your dad. Let me be Dad to you. Now what is this gift you have brought me?"
Navi, his eyes aglow, excitedly pulled out the wool hat and gave it to his dad. 
Navi's dad rubbed the fabric softly and said, "What is this Navi? Is it made of denim?" His father, grinning brightly. 
"No." Navi beamed. 
"Is it  cotton?" 
"Nooooo."
"Then what is it made of, Navi?" 
"It's fleece, Navi's Dad!

An they lived happily ever after. Merry Christmas. 

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

It's Not Good to be Alone


Cut off a finger and leave it alone.
Soon you'll have not but dust and bone.
The ashes will gray and fade away.
Spread to void and lose the day.

Any puzzle piece all by itself
hides collecting dust on the shelf.
Cold and completely lost in junction
when lonely it  can serve no function.

A single paint streak is accident
to mark hidden places never meant.
Dried and chipped it falls and flails
but none can hear its weakened wail.

Every finger has a hand, every piece a puzzle.
every paint has friends to know and  nuzzle.
Anyone all alone is hiding, waiting for death
come out, open, commune, we will have breath.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Identity Haikus


A dog says meow
That does not make it a cat
Action is not self

If one falls it hurts
Does not become a faller
Is a walker still

Strawberries on sign
Yet bananas underneath
Words can't determine

What I think I am
A cat or a bird or frog
Is defined by sound

Creator spoke things
His word is the final say
He causes the truth

Monday, December 5, 2011

There is Cake at the End


Clap Clap Clap. 

A well done race.
Last place? 
Good Pace.
Turtle races win the accident prone. 
Just jog. 
Light trod.
Old bod. 
Run hot.
After all
the overall
is to move.
Still staying
Praying
muscle's stones
creaked bones,
dead If I ever saw one.
Well done.
Last place?
Good pace.
Race won. 
Cha cha is all in the feet.
Dance a party's worth all alone.
There you are
bright star,
shining solitude. 
Maybe not a great,
but a dancing dancer. 
There it is. 
You found it. 
Nice job.
Just head bob
and everyone will sing along. 
If they won't
Don't fret
bets all are in 
or all alone.
Shone the Shiner
and all will be tea
and cookies
and a back break of work
of pain
of falling 
and cake.
And the cake is good.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

It Walks


It walks. 
It leans on the corner
and twists its head 'round the alley.
A small nail file sharpens teeth.  

Sandpaper songs float gently by the waste,
Silk shoelaces neatly tied,
Deep red fedora pulled over irises,
Death black coat eating the night.

The rain covers the distant street lights in a thin blanket. 
The mystery is finding its way. 
Left at the heartbeat, right by the sigh.
The allure stirs the breath in its lungs.

A tear dropped and it smiled.
Its hat grew bright and its coat hungrier.
Shoelaces pulled themselves tight.
teeth razored its lips.

The door opened and the shadows grew.
A lingering finger slipped the lock and broke it.
climbing the stairs it heard the sob
and approached the last door.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

O Coffee: A Love Poem





O Coffee.
You sweet and succulent devil, you.
How young I was when you soaked your talons into me
and yet too old still.  

Coffee the first time we met you only let me see a subtle bite of you. 
You in your sleek black dress, 
tantalizing in your twisting steam.
O Coffee! 

At first I could not handle your bitter fumes
but when I sugar you up with sweet nothings,
when I mix a bit a white purity in your blood
O Coffee!

How can one even begin to ascribe how you are the fuel for the world.
You are the diesel below e'ry pilot's wings,
The envy of e'ry energy drink
the fuming rage that doth fire e'ry storm
O Coffee!

I would drinks pots and pots of you a day
just to see you walk away, 
with that seductive swish as you make your way down my gullet
O Coffee! 

From where do you come and to where do you go?
From fields of Columbia to the jungles of Africa;
There is nowhere where you are not exotic.
O Coffee! 

Roasted fresh your aroma is the cologne of life.
Should I whiff thee all my days 'twould be too few.
Even the sound of you, slow, selective, roasting churns my soul to revelry.
O Coffee!

Your grinding songs doth purge me from all fallacies.
Your black soul doth brighten my view.
Even an early morn is robbed of its mourning.
O Coffee!

Just to listen to the flaming drip.
The somber clock that needs no alarm
for it's wondrous song to be heard.
O Coffee!

E'ry day of my life I have seen thee
tasted thee, felt thee in my blood
And even decafinated you bring joy to e'ry morn.
O Coffee!

I have sipped you from my mother's womb
I have tasted thine glory all my waking days
and I shall dance with thee to mine grave.
O Coffee.

Friday, December 2, 2011

A Snow-Covered Room


Sometimes when I'm alone it snows inside.
The roof over head only holds in the clouds.
You think someone would learn to provide
something like a cloud vacuum, but not as loud.

It's cold when there's no one to lie with.
One string is a cord easily torn and broken. 
I sit on the couch with real potatoes for pith
and the food always cools and springs are pokin'.

The snow melts sometimes and I see a mess.
It runs down arm or my head or my leg.
But when it freezes again I get depressed;
for me to leave my games, you'd have to beg. 

It's hard to get out of bed covered in snow. 
The sun breaks windows and I cover my face.
If I don't look then I don't have to know. 
What I don't try and fail I can't disgrace.

Maybe one day the sun will come through. 
Sometime before I'm covered and drowned.
But what else can anybody say or do,
in a room covered with snow and frown.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Fall Haikus


Crisp air refreshing
We store up warmth: winter's bane 
Hope for snow and sun

Coco's steaming smile
Marshmallows sing soft
Veins and bones relax

Leaves pave the walkways
Potato chip walks comence
Winds throw confetti

Sun sleeps more and cools
Brighter beams permeate earth
Temperature Softens

Play streams in the streets
Games echo throughout child souls
Adventures remain

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Fall Break and Finals





Ah, this time of year,
is crystal clear,
when textbooks flail and thud.

Between the jingle in the air,
and sleeping in chairs,
all we've learned is mud.

Still full from thanksgiving
we think we are living
but with brains so full who can tell?

One week 'til emancipation
but the dread realization
is 400 more pages and I can't spell.

With only 8 more tests,
and no times for rests,
this "fall break" breaks me in two.

They call it vacation
but it's exasperation
when all at once everything is due!

All I drink is coffee,
all I think is toffee,
yet I drool on my desk wide awake.

It's no big deal,
just a giant banana peel
when my whole life is at stake.

With one final breathe
before the plunge of death
I take a small economic nap.

but even after waking,
an extra four hours taking,
all my energy is still sapped.

Can there be,
no hope for me,
with all this information to pretend?

Tests and papers may be vital,
but isn't also survival?
Fall break and Finals will be my end. 

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Fickle Beast of Turning


Such bouts of indecision wrack you.
I see thine desolate regime burn indignant against other's of your vein.
Their stability mocks thee.
Though I see thine whimsical wrath protrude yet. 
How in one swift account can thou press infernos and ice upon mankind?
At once thou art a cool draught and a searing rage. 
I once tried to predict thine mania and was scorned
in bitter respite to a tragedy of frost not flame.
Warmly you soothed mine soul and danced playfully through the morn,
but thine black face gritted teeth against all mine expectation 
and left me frozen in a snow forged expanse.
What wrath have I ever brought to thee? 
My indignance is not only mine own
but also of all who live in thy glorious chamber. 
Perhaps I alone could not 'suade thee to stability
but surly the cry of millions should find a cushion in thine heart!
A sultry fiddle string am I but among a chorus of gloried angels
how canst thou still resist such a plea?
O Fickle Beast of Turning, shallt thou always boast of thine indifference?
Mine apparel shall always be dictated by the hope of thee
by the soft subtlety of thine voice,
but please thee to once hear the request of thine citizens, 
and frickin' make up your mind Georgia Weather. 

Monday, November 28, 2011

Dancing the Storm


She danced alone in a parking lot.
Her dark blood dress washing in the storm;
She pressed out her limbs,
pulled in her chin,
convulsed wind,
and her tears fell with the rain.
She jumped and fell.
She rolled and stood.
She washed her soul with the clouds,
purged her mind with the movement,
cringed her mouth in bitter weeping.

She didn't know anymore,
but her limbs did.
They lashed,
sighed,
burned,
fell,
bit at the asphalt,
screamed in bone-fed rage.
They longed for rainbows and silver lining,
found thunder and floods,
fought rapids and placid lakes.
She was everything and nothing. 

Her voiced had broken from weeping,
Her soul had wearied of breaking,
Her eyes had wretched of seeing,
The clouds had cried with her,
The thunder had screamed for her,
The lightning had revealed everything,
And when everything became nothing,

she danced.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

The Writer and The Written

Angeli floats gently above a grassy knoll with a backdrop of stars. Several small daises in a clump accompany her. Eyes closed, her face looks longingly upwards.

Bryant sits writing with a pocket sized pad and pen in a desert under the same stars. He is joined by a tumble weed, a cactus, and a small fire.

BRYANT. (Reading what he's written) A map of the stars and planets was foreign to her.

ANGELI. (Descending and opening her eyes, looking at the ground) I Stepped out into daylight, foot falling onto soft grass. (To Stars) Good night, good night, my pale friends. Let us make this one last end.

Beat. She spreads her arms out and begins humming. The melody is soft and sweet. She sways. After a 30 seconds her eyes dart open. Her eyes are locked straight. She does not blink or look away.

ANGELI.(Ferociously) He had no idea where he had come from or where he was going, but he was determined to get there.

BRYANT Quickly slaps then rubs the back of his head as if he had been stung. Beat.

BRYANT. (Writing) And that was surely about to change.

ANGELI. Your options are limited. My song is singing in its own right.

BRYANT. (Writing) The meadow was in full bloom this year. And some things are worth fighting for.

ANGELI. It is hidden now.

ANGELI AND BRYANT. I can feel my pulse.

(BRYANT checks his pulse on his neck. Baffled, he returns to his notepad.)

ANGELI. (Smirking to herself) It will be like a game. (Making a grand gesture) But even he couldn’t help but laugh.

BRYANT laughs suddenly, surprising himself.
ANGELI rubs her arms as if to warm herself.


BRAYANT. Why did it have to be this hot?

ANGELI. He just needed to find something worth asking for.

Frustrated BRYANT stands and looks at the notepad in his hand. He sighs. He impulsively writes something else, looks at it, and scratches it out. ANGELI giggles mockingly. BRYANT cringes and rips out the top pages of the notepad and throws them into the fire. ANGELI disappears in a waft of smoke. Beat.


BRYANT. The knowledge of its demise is enough. 

Saturday, November 26, 2011

A Star Born


I float, dark in the expanse. 
Listless, 
waiting. 
Shimmered gas,
twisting around myself
in anticipation.
I am murk,
sipping myself in cool specks,
wandering among speckled lights
far off in the void. 

I heard a low hum;
a smile that sighed in love. 
A chuckle forged through my vapor
and a dim song began.
Two twilight forms came from among the horizons.
Closer they swept and danced with hands clasped around each other.
Their wings turning in waltzes
mixing me with their forlorned gazes,
pushing soft, subtle whispers through me 
and carving a form for me.

I had no shape
yet they moved me.
They sang a song 
that forged me from ashes.

A light sparked in my aura,
my dark gases shifted,
circling quickly in the wing's paths,
catching the echo of the song.
I was thrumming,
the speck of light grew,
beating, pulsing harder and harder.
Soon they fluttered to vanquished the horizon. 

Then came the Voice
it surged through me 
vibrating my soul
entrancing my gaze
and my limbs.
I could not see Him,
but I felt His hands gently embrace me
He led me from one corner of the universe to the other,
spun me round in our dance.
The light in my center surged bigger and brighter
His laugh force my smile.

at last He twirled me quickly,
my light exploded in brilliance,
my body amassing into a sphere.
I burned bright and shone; 
a beacon to the galaxies.
I sang as I still sing,
bright, bold, joyous in my refrain. 
Now I am a purge of darkness,
a light to guide the lost,
a proclamation of hope,
all because He once touched me.





Thanks to Jim Crigler for the suggestion: The Carina Nebula. Click the link to see the picture that helped inspire this poem!

Friday, November 25, 2011

A Man of Extremes


I have a broken mezzanine. 
I know nothing of in between.
I have the left and right wings,
but I can't fly without connecting.
I know only of extremes;
always yes or no never maybe.
Unless it's 'very maybe';
A maybe without boundaries;
a maybe with out end.
Then I can be maybe
 but only if it may be all the way.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Thanksgiving Haikus


Food and food and food
Family pictures and parade
Thankful Thanksgiving

Coffee steaming hot
Homemade cinnamon rolls
Small conversations

Some games together
Musical TV numbers
Slow and relaxing

Dogs in laps sleeping
Softly wait for the grand meal
Naps and snacks all day

No lack or needing
All family together
Preview of Heaven

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Cold Heart Renovations


Hello, 
um, 
well,
welcome to my heart. 
Sorry it's so cold,
the last tenant left the AC on and
I don't really come here very often;
you know, when there's no one here to visit. 
That sure explains the bill though.

So, yeah, 
um, 
welcome. 
It's good to be here, 
uh, 
with you. 
I mean,
I like you being here. 
Like when I'm here. 
At the same time. 

I know it's kind of dusty, and all. 
Sorry.
I didn't really know you were coming,
and um, 
this is awkward but 
uh,
can you help me clean up?
I mean, 
I've never really liked the way it's arranged,
so, 
like,
feel free to change stuff around, and all that. 
I want it to be nice for you is all. 
Like you like it 'cause,
'cause I like you and stuff. 

I mean, I never really remember what it's like so I probably wouldn't know the difference if you moved the couch or the blender or whatever.
It can be,
like,
custom fit and stuff. 

So, 
um, 
yeah, 

uh,

Thanks. 
for, 
like, 
coming. 

Feel free to stay as long as you like. 
I don't have, 
like, 
anyone else that's gonna show up,
so I guess it's, 
um, 
a party for two,
or something. 

So yeah,
um, 
cleaning.

Where would you like to start?

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Haikus of Wrath and Love


God's thoughts are for you
His longing is for your love
But His wrath is just

We are no blank slate
All corruption is the proof
And He loves us still

Darkness fills our souls
Flame is our just earnings 
His light is our hope

He will conquer but
Evil continues for grace
There's still time for us

All who desire 
He will give Himself if asked
His blood will cleanse them

Ever-wrath is fair
Joy promised to all who ask
True justice for all

Monday, November 21, 2011

A Foggy Morning


Morning clouds came down to visit today.
They were a mix of white and gray.
And with all their quiet teaching,
and their soft, wet beseeching, 
they waded deep in the streets to stay. 

Resting their feet up under the ground
they sat so simply and looked around.
From everything they thought the saw,
from chasm yawns and stretching maws,
they laughed but never made a sound.

Far more dense than the thickest woods,
they hugged us deeply as best they could.
At once they enjoyed this happy refrain
and silent they had mouthed His name
they wanted to stay and they rather should.

Alas! The sun rose high and far above
and shone and baked the clouds with love.
Once had heard their lovers call
they waved to friends one and all
and flew softly away as doves. 

And now they hang up in the sky
grinning, I'm sure, waving goodbye.
All because on this cool morn,
we played until the sun was born.
Now we both shall smile and sigh.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Patient Hunger


Why are you still teething?
You've chewed all your teeth away
and you won't let them grow back.
Every time you start strong as bone 
but you rip out the marrow and it falls
and they fall
and they fall.
You crave all the sugar sweet.
You never get full
and you always get hungrier
and you always get hungrier. 
You pick up anything you can find 
and never once 
and never once 
is it food.

Why are you still teething?
The food will come.
The promised is coming 
and the promise is coming
and the promise always comes 
because Daddy is not a liar.
So stop chewing,
stop chewing away 
at each empty calorie 
in this junk pile.
Wait.
Wait.
0 wait,
for the meal to come.

Prepare:
Set up the tables and chairs 
and the table cloth,
scrub the dishes,
shine the silverware,
lay the napkins,
light the candles,
because before those candles are out 
the meal will come.
The meal will come. 

But you must stop teething, 
you must start preparing, 
you must let go of all these empty things.
They're not food.
They are not good.
They will always make you hungrier.
Why are you still teething 
when Daddy has promised so much?

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Sense


They say they seek truth
but when they look
if they don't like what they find
then it must be something else.
The eyes closed.

Rather not deal with reality.
Over intellectuals explained
against evidences most reasonable
to sing songs to themselves. 
The ears deafened.

Only touch and sight were allowed.
If they could only feel it
then they didn't believe it. 
Emotions don't exist. 
The closed fist tightens.

The minds grew to big,
bigger than they were. 
An inward focus intended
not to see past their tongues.
The taste buds sleep. 

Any etherial must be dreams.
saying, "Hallucinations and delusions"
sweeps all opinions beneath them
of anything they can't comprehend.
The scents die away.




Thanks to Jennie for the suggestion asking why some people don't believe in God. 

Friday, November 18, 2011

A Stone and Two Birds


I was holding my dreams when a man walked up to me. He was of a similar build to myself and was covered in a black coat. 
"Are you gonna use that?" he asked. 
"I'm not sure." I thought it an odd thing to ask. 
"Can I use it?" 
"No, of course not." I replied. "They're mine and I'll keep them to myself, thank you." 
I did not want to be short with him, but I felt I had no choice. He was rude. 
"Well if you're not going to use them, you might as well let me have them."
"I am going to use them. . . Maybe."
"Then let me make use of them until you decide." 
"No. No I will not. I have slaved hard over these dreams. I have sweat tears, bled from my ears, danced my heart around them. Breathed them into gladness, shriveled from them in fear. . ."
"And you don't know if. . ."
"Given them my silence, inflated them with sunlight, let them eat me with laughter, embalmed them with my soul. No, I will not let you use them."
"All this and you are still indecisive?"
"No! Well.. yes. What if they break? They seem so fragile."
"And what if they're never used? They are as good as broken as long as you hold them. Let me have them."
"Why? You'll drop them and they'll shatter. You don't know them like I do."
"And I never will, but better break them through me then for them to fade on your shelf because you're to meager a man to use what you've made."
Now he had said to much. "What do you know of my worth? Insults are for the dull-witted numbskulls who care not for the dreams of others."
"As you just proved yourself to be one." He chuckled at me. Infuriating me all the more. 
"Well what of it?! You have no dreams!"
"Don't I?"
"No, of course not! Your hands are. . ," I stared blankly at his hands. He was holding my dreams. "Give them back!" I rushed at him and he skirted out of the way. He's a quick one. "Those are mine! I walked them through the. . ."
"Yes, yes. I know what you've done for these poor dreams." He tossed them lightly in his hands. "But what you don't see is right in front of you."
Steaming I looked down in haste. My dreams were still in my hands. 
"But. . . how?"
"My it's warm. Mind if I take off my coat?"
He was careful to keep my. . . his. . . whomever's dreams in his hands. 
"Understand now?" he asked as his coat dropped to the floor. 
I gaped at him. His clothes were mine. His eyes were mine. His dreams were mine. 
"No." I replied.
"Well then." He kicked his coat to the wall. 
A pause lingered. "Aren't you going to say something?" I asked. 
"No."
"oh. . ."
More silence. 
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Am I supposed to tell you?"
"I had hoped. . .  Why do our dreams look the same?"
"Because they are. Why do we look the same?"
"Because we are." I don't know how I knew this, but I did. 
"Then what good are dreams you never let fly?"
"Dead like a stone and two birds."
He smiled. "Like a life and a dream fall not from lack of wings, but from lack of trying."
We moved towards each other and our dream melded in between us. 
"Will we use our dream?" He smirked. 
"Yes." 
Then our feet left the ground and never returned.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

The Trouble with Dreaming


What a wonder is fantasy;
To find a world of dragons,
treacherous trolls,
and villages to save.

Adventure sated 
in full stomachs of mutton,
Brawling bar fights,
and blood covered swords,

A cause to fight; to defend, 
enemies and war brothers
bound thicker than blood,
A tyrant to dethrone.

Heads flying in the clouds
to find the mysticism
and a fairy tale escape,
but all dreams end on waking. 

Gravity always takes its toll.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Deep End





I'm standing at Deep End.
I didn't see it coming, but now that I'm here I have but two choices;
go back or go over.

The dread I arrived with has yet to flee
and I find my pansy feet too frightened to move.
My heart is baited on a chain
the metal enters through my back
and holds my chest in its cold fingers.

I know that if I make this step then my heart will not go with me;
it will dangle over the side hoping for me,
wanting nothing more than to see me climb up again.
But still I go over.

Is it jumping or falling?
well, I supposed that's all in the landing.

Goodbye, my Breath.
If I feel you again it shall be at the bottom.
If not then because of the bottom.

I unroot my feet,
spread my arms,
and welcome the panic wind.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Hold on Tight


It feels like winter night with a cloudless sky
stars stabbing knives right through my eyes 
longing and twitching for quiet regimes
nothing is harder than forsaken dreams

hold me tight
so I can let go
help me fight
so I can glow

wait for it wait for it
it all comes back
relentless upheaval
in sleeping attack
hold on hold on
for blissening sweeps
that inhale the lungs
until ends of sleep

hold me tight
so I can let go
help me fight
so I can glow 

see it see it
put it behind eyes
tears bring it back again
like longed for knives
grab it stab it
find new ways
for it's only moments
'til the end of days

hold me tight
so I can let go
help me fight
so I can glow

Winter nights will be blinded by the Son's rise
star's knives will wither away
remember for every cruel night
the Son will steal moon's bitter gaze

Monday, November 14, 2011

Haiku of the Promises


Anxiety stings
Emanuel still loves me 
The promise is true

The valley of death
loses its bite and its sting
death died long ago

Though all is peaceful
I worry about today
yet He cares for me

When I fear and doubt
His song still rings in my soul
nothing else matters

I try to control
Success never satisfies
only He brings peace

Make my own story
I scream when it all goes wrong
His plans are greater

I am a paint stroke
I can't see all my siblings
yet we are beauty

Sunday, November 13, 2011

How the World is Saved


The sky is falling and I am standing.
I sit down and look up from my chair. 
My lemonade becomes less demanding.
The stars burn black through the air. 

The sky falls in flaming shards.
Mirrors melting and reflecting the earth. 
I sip and stand and sit and sip. 
Smiling, anxious, waiting the new birth. 

The sky slices melting through the ground.
The ground falls gently from under my seat.
No need for panic at hearing the sound. 
I float, mid-air, sitting, lava warming my feet.

The world is over and it sings a song.
Cries from molten cracks in praise.
Through fire, fumes, and beating gongs,
this is how the world is saved.

My ice melted, lemonade evaporated.
I smile into the glowing sky.
Daddy smiles back, appropriated.
This is what it is to live and never die. 

I dropped my empty glass to fire below.
Daddy pulled me in, face to face, 
wiped away my joyful tears and said, "hello."
He purged my body and soul of disgrace.

He gave a cry as rivers and trumpets ringing 
and from all depths and sides and colors of earth
came a choral breath and joyous singing:
The world and His children in second birth.

Caught in crowds beyond a number or count
each soul was brazen; bright in His glory. 
Now as the holy family, finally found,
we can fulfill Eternity's plan and story.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Flying and Mr. Sky


I sat in my yard and gazed up and up. 
I saw a fly fly by and wondered why,
can't I fly?
So I asked Mr. Sky how I could reach so high.
he asked "why?" back.

My plan of attack was to back with reasons
and songs and seasons why the Sky Guy should let me fly. 
My outlying outline is sublime and so taking his time
to chime my alpine sized prized as I realized it ties 
to planetary peace and said, "please," 
until he listened to my glistening
gossip before I lost it.

"Here's my plan," I said even quicker. 
If my zipper was undone, 
well that's no fun,
so I'll fix it 
and mix its meaning
and zip up flying.
The loud clouds will clap
and gleam their teeth white across the sky.
"A new fly," they'll think and so'll Think I!
I wouldn't be the only one it seems,
that'll think flying would be keen
and soon lots of fly guys
and girls would be hurled
over the world and we'll twirl
in great formations 
and sanction relations against retaliations
and solve the world pieces 
with peace treaties
and chocolate treats
(some sugar free in case they are diabetically)
and diabolically save the planet!
Grant it the granite was stubborn
but earth clods moved their bods
to help prod granite to grant its cooperation.
Then those still born are happier 
under the peace brought about fly guys
and girls who bring pearls 
of perception to flies flying flung 
and sing songs sung to happy
zippers who zipped up the world
and curled their lips into while lasting smiles
and, considering all the lasting biles 
fighting the whiles of people's will, 
that will be a great skill.
But with flight in sight
all wrongs would right
and we would fight blight
until there were no more nights.

And that Mr. Sky,
unless you need more reasons why,
is why you 
should let me 
fly.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Fundevogel by the Brothers Grimm (featuring my vocal interpretation)

*Fundevogel means fledgling in English



There was once a forester who went into the forest to hunt, and as 
he entered it he heard a sound of screaming as if a little child were 
there. He followed the sound, and at last came to a high tree, and at 
the top of this a little child was sitting, for the mother had fallen 
asleep under the tree with the child, and a bird of prey had seen it in 
her arms, had flown down, snatched it away, and set it on the high tree. 
The forester climbed up, brought the child down, and thought to himself: 
'You will take him home with you, and bring him up with your Lina.' He 
took it home, therefore, and the two children grew up together. And the 
one, which he had found on a tree was called Fundevogel, because a bird 
had carried it away. Fundevogel and Lina loved each other so dearly that 
when they did not see each other they were sad. 
Now the forester had an old cook, who one evening took two pails and 
began to fetch water, and did not go once only, but many times, out 
to the spring. Lina saw this and said, 'Listen, old Sanna, why are you 
fetching so much water?' 'If you will never repeat it to anyone, I will 
tell you why.' So Lina said, no, she would never repeat it to anyone, 
and then the cook said: 'Early tomorrow morning, when the forester 
is out hunting, I will heat the water, and when it is boiling in the 
kettle, I will throw in Fundevogel, and will boil him in it.' 
Early next morning the forester got up and went out hunting, and when he 
was gone the children were still in bed. Then Lina said to Fundevogel: 
'If you will never leave me, I too will never leave you.' Fundevogel 
said: 'Neither now, nor ever will I leave you.' Then said Lina: 'Then 
will I tell you. Last night, old Sanna carried so many buckets of water 
into the house that I asked her why she was doing that, and she said 
that if I would promise not to tell anyone, and she said that early 
tomorrow morning when father was out hunting, she would set the kettle 
full of water, throw you into it and boil you; but we will get up 
quickly, dress ourselves, and go away together.' 
The two children therefore got up, dressed themselves quickly, and went 
away. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook went into the 
bedroom to fetch Fundevogel and throw him into it. But when she came in, 
and went to the beds, both the children were gone. Then she was terribly
alarmed, and she said to herself: 'What shall I say now when the 
forester comes home and sees that the children are gone? They must be 
followed instantly to get them back again.' 
Then the cook sent three servants after them, who were to run and 
overtake the children. The children, however, were sitting outside the 
forest, and when they saw from afar the three servants running, Lina 
said to Fundevogel: 'Never leave me, and I will never leave you.' 
Fundevogel said: 'Neither now, nor ever.' Then said Lina: 'Do you become 
a rose-tree, and I the rose upon it.' When the three servants came to 
the forest, nothing was there but a rose-tree and one rose on it, but 
the children were nowhere. Then said they: 'There is nothing to be done 
here,' and they went home and told the cook that they had seen nothing 
in the forest but a little rose-bush with one rose on it. Then the 
old cook scolded and said: 'You simpletons, you should have cut the 
rose-bush in two, and have broken off the rose and brought it home with 
you; go, and do it at once.' They had therefore to go out and look for 
the second time. The children, however, saw them coming from a distance. 
Then Lina said: 'Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will never leave 
you.' Fundevogel said: 'Neither now; nor ever.' Said Lina: 'Then do you 
become a church, and I'll be the chandelier in it.' So when the three 
servants came, nothing was there but a church, with a chandelier in 
it. They said therefore to each other: 'What can we do here, let us go 
home.' When they got home, the cook asked if they had not found them; 
so they said no, they had found nothing but a church, and there was a 
chandelier in it. And the cook scolded them and said: 'You fools! why 
did you not pull the church to pieces, and bring the chandelier home 
with you?' And now the old cook herself got on her legs, and went with 
the three servants in pursuit of the children. The children, however, 
saw from afar that the three servants were coming, and the cook waddling 
after them. Then said Lina: 'Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will 
never leave you.' Then said Fundevogel: 'Neither now, nor ever.' 
Said Lina: 'Be a fishpond, and I will be the duck upon it.' The cook, 
however, came up to them, and when she saw the pond she lay down by it, 
and was about to drink it up. But the duck swam quickly to her, seized 
her head in its beak and drew her into the water, and there the old 
witch had to drown. Then the children went home together, and were 
heartily delighted, and if they have not died, they are living still.