Wander

Mist-veiled eyes among the columns.
Waft of breath past your ears.
Distinct footsteps, invisible and solemn.
Warm fingers drip somewhere near.

Softer melodies call from a sun unseamed.
Heartstrings pluck to every nudging hope.
Terrible tremble of freedom not seen.
Long asundered soul can cope.

Fall into footsteps of dark teeth shone.
Melt when horrid eyes cause such a ponder.
Remove the sunken weight of stone.
With the mischievous stranger, wander.





Inspired by a character the Collective Project's upcoming show, The Devil Tree.

The Cycle Continues. . .

Watching Theatre

Impart a part to souls apart.
Release the chaos under control.
Wreck the house with honesty.
The wonder wanders in again.

Remember what you are in forgetting where you are.
Observe the odd and become the same.
Connect and deflect and deal with them.
Live in the room with the live human being.

Scream at pain and sing at joy.
Struggle with mountains in paths.
Grow with hopes and hilarity.
Watch someone be and be yourself.

6 Month

Six-month ticks and the clock can't keep up
with our phantom tricks of distance kisses.
Storms and fires and screams have made glue
and it's true; I'm still stuck on you.
Other smiles flipped but your cool, sweet sip
stayed fresh and waiting, patient abating
even when I'm degrading.
Each day we look for ways to serve the needs
and feed the other's soul in italic and bold
encouragements that dent the laments.
We seek wisdom and hope in Daddy's hands
to strike our band with a perfect match
that lights anew at each encounter.
You, my always-in-it-to-the-end best friend,
have brought me limitless joy in crafty boxes
as your fox ears lift with your sly smile
and I dance enhanced in your likes.
After so long you still say, "hello"
never quite, "good bye," but always,
"Talk to you tomorrow" and we release
phone and hand grip grinning, with a sigh.



Dedicated to Lyndsay.

Heaven-Bound Advice

Sing to me a great song and a woeful silence.
Let each ring in my ears adorn us in joy and peace.
Look to the Kingdom and yearn for final high bliss.
Though pain is present burn for our release.

Siblings of the Revelation

Are we not paper ghosts dancing with fire?
What insubordination have we rite too,
when such shadows as we pass at a glance?
What justice are we owed when our own fingers
do naught but rip the throats of innocents?
Such ravaged and woeful lemmings,
we chant our bellies to direness and poise,
when we ourselves deserve not even our breath.
Is not each moment a wonder of grace that,
not of cause of but in spite of,
has been cast as a line fishing for our salvation?
Hence let us burn for our woes,
plead for our passions,
ache for our doom
and let the strong Hand both gift and take us.
'Tis in such vast and honest humility,
that we children shall finally see in the light.
Having been raised of darkness
we enflame our souls to rage or sorrow
if ever we are truly seen.
Instead let us breech our cold hearts
and reach to clasp His extension
and become siblings of the revelation.

The Complement

A watery crescent covered my eye
then overflowed down to my smirk.
All my bating breath left me
and whispered a thank you to my ears.
My pulse become my body
and nothing else could move.
Your flaming tongue warmed me
and helped me see the truth.





Thanks to Mike, Kelsey, Rebbecca, Greg, and Katleen for your inspiration for this poem.

Exhaution

The point when your brain isn't sharp anymore;
When all your hellos are covered in thick "Hey"s; 
When you finally stop after no brakes;
When you're fuming from exhaustion;
When you don't mean "yes" but you keep nodding;
When your toes accomplish stubbing feats;

Zombie Hope

Hungry hunter with no taste for food.
Prowling with festered flesh;
habit without mind.
No function in the rot,
just blood;
icy dripping out as routine
slowly clutches hopes and grim desire.
Fuel for the sweet drag
and cancer for the road.

Each day is a band aid
or a torn scab;
a war with only a thirst
and a timed water fountain;
Broken plumbing
versus a plumber's reroute.
Soon the beast will fade,
but the new love
must replace the wretched food.

Comfort Haikus

Water my shoulder
I become soil and strength
Wet seeds fill and burst

Bring your dark cloud here
Let it erode our sad dams
Burst as I hold you

Swim uneven breaths
I will spout silence and warmth
Let flailing relent

Lightening burns fresh
Storms abate as I shelter
Let me ground your pain

Morning's mist will come
Smiles will wisp sweet again
Calm is each storm's end

Pajamas

The world rushes
turns
pressures
fills schedules
empties energy
and places heavy bricks
on tiny gas peddles
until the explosions
reverberate a soul
so weary it doesn't know it.

But long after the sun sets,
when the tires have lost their tread,
when the battery must be recharged,
when the gas is guzzled,
out come the pajamas.

All hail this simple comfort!
Once the loose fit graces skin
the night slows
the pulse yawns
and the hustle is bustled to bed.

Now a relaxation may commence
and breathe as it should.
Now the worries are put away
and replaced with dreams.
Now the rose will be smelled
and the body will shift to stasis.
Now it can.
It will.
It pajamas.



Dedicated to Jeff.

The President Doesn't Exist: A Satire

Hey, guess what, the President doesn't exist. No, he doesn't. What, because they TOLD you there's always been a president in this country means that there is? Of course they say that. That's what they want you to think so they can CONTROL you and take your money. Still don't believe me? Fine. Let me tell you about my grandma.

She was the nicest, sweetest old lady you've eve met. She practically raised me. You know what happened? She got cancer.  I cried for days and days. I didn't know what to do. I didn't have money to take care of her so I had to take out loans. From GOVERNMENT banks no less! So I think this is helping my grandma. And it does for a while. But then I can't pay these loans, see? And grandma's treatment stops working and the insurance stops and I have no one to turn to. Know what I did then? I started writing letters to the President. Lots of letters. I sent letters every day. I asked him for help; money, better doctors. I know it's expensive for that kind of thing BUT HE'S THE PRESIDENT! He helped out all kinds of businesses and people before saying it was "best for the citizens." How hard could it be to help out my grandma? Besides, you know he's loaded. He makes way more money than I'll ever make so I thought there must be something left somewhere for my grandma. I wasn't even asking for me! Surly he could find it in his heart to help. But guess what, after FIFTEEN DAYS of sending letters EVERY DAY I still heard nothing. So I decided to try emails on top of HANDWRITTEN LETTERS. I wrote and wrote and typed and typed and you know what the President did? Nothing. Not ONE THING. I even tried going to the White House to see him, this "all powerful" President you all believe in, and they wouldn't even let me get a look at him, much less state my case. Doesn't he CARE about his citizens? Isn't that what people are always saying? Isn't he supposed to lead the whole wide country? How am I supposed to believe that if I can't even see the guy?!

See, if he existed he would've care about my grandma and me. He would've helped us fix her and gotten me out of debt. That's how I know that there is no President. All those pictures and videos and speeches are all fake. The "President" didn't do anything for me when there was NO WAY he didn't hear me, so don't think for a second he'll do anything for you. He's a lie weak people made up so they could have something to believe in. The country is really run by rich bureaucrats that are just in it for the money. Not one of them gives two dimes about you or me. I finally figured out their whole game. See, I'm not weak. I don't need to follow anybody. I swear on my grandma's grave I don't need a "president." I don't want one. He doesn't exist.

Paint's Brush

Is the paint yet weary of its brush?
Has it bent its will to stubborn streaks,
lead itself to debased stirrings,
left no room for palatable colors?
How swift an end for unruly paint.

How gentle a brush for smooth pigments.
Paints, let your breath flow through the hairs,
wandering to unknown landscapes,
adventuring through the grand mural!
How bright the brushes soul will become!

Then ease will prop you among allies.
Full saturation will canvas a melody,
no shade will cease in song,
full hewn life will emanate through heartstrings. 
Let paint never tire of its complete picture.

What Do You Propose?

A sweet night air
drifted by our smiles.
He said he had big plans.
So far they were small
ice cream cones chuckling
for "let me get that"s.
He stopped on the bridge
and clasped my hands
with his cheshire grin.
"I think I might have the best idea
in the world." He spoke in cliches.
"And what might that be?" I prod,
rocking our fingers in a kind of dance.
"Something wonderful we could do."
"And what might that be?" I repeat teasingly.
"A great adventure, an exploration,
a test of metal, and sweet sips of joy!"
"What exactly are you proposing?"
"Actually." He slipped to one knee,
tears in his eyes, heart on his sleeve,
as a box emerged from his pocket.
"That's exactly what I'm doing."



Thanks to Jenny for this Saturday's inspiration, "Proposal."

Believing in Air

It's hard to explain breathing to someone who doesn't believe in air.

The air causes your pulse to go 'round.
Gives life you never asked for or have to appreciate.
Changes the world by fractions you'd never notice if you didn't look.
Moves invisibly in and through everything.
Traces of it are in every location,
every memory, every moment.
Unknown dependance is in every being,
like it, believe it or not.

Air holds clouds together and brings the rain.
Sweeps the deserts and starts the day new.
Even when it's blamed for pollutants we put it in,
it stays the same, innocent, yet unfathomably important.
Can crumble mountains.
Rip ships through the water.
Guide a leaf to the ground.

Breathing is when we let the air in and feel it there.
We let it wring us of our filth.
We let it consume us.
When we remember we are the little things.
We are roses to be smelled.

Air has always been with us.
It knows us.
Air only hopes
that we will know it too.

The Call

The phone burns a hole in his ear.
Words melt down through the canal
into a pressurized heart that boils full.
Fingers release, bullet cracks falls
on pavement and stops speaking.
A deep breath breaks the dam
and his chest detonates.
A soft sigh catches his knees
and the river flows.

Erasure

Help!
I've been erased!

My lines were blurring with doodled distractions
and I forgot how You first drew me!
I was rubber bumpered away at my own search
for brighter colors, but the green wasn't greener.
It bade me fade for new shading
but there was no placating the hunger.
I'm sorry I writhed until I was released.
I gave up blacks and whites for grays.
It was the smooth moves of erasers
that left the useless shavings of my death behind.

Please repencil me in to the puzzle again
and draw me closer to you!
Give me hands longer for You.
Fingers to grasp Your love
and stencils to know Your shape.
You wrought me from led poisons
and gave me weight and might
against every kind of sword.
Let Your signature be bold on my back
and italic in my smile.
Write Your song on my shirt
and sketch my heart clean.
Let me know I'm all write
and it's all written
and I'm all right with You.

Fire Fight

I don't want anyone else to be right.
I'd rather burn at my own Fahrenheit.
Because I feel indignant I will ignite.
So much as frown and I'll fight.

Fire with fire brings the world to my whims!
I will spark every villain with my flames within.
They come with torches, I have a flamethrower!
My sense of justice and ash will win everyone over!

The top of my lungs is where I stand.
See my fire strike up the band!
Now with fervor we will destroy our foes!
Isn't peace always won by blows for blows?

Asunder Eagle

Asunder Eagle flits
again to the ground.
Never a foot up,
only slamming down.
Wings rip sinews
and gouge the torso in two.
Asunder Eagle bleeds
from what wings will not do.

One goes left
and one goes right.
Apart from each other
there is no flight.
Flicks and slaps
keep the soarer low.
Pride's hot air bursts
means there's no sky to know.

Asunder Eagle screeches
from insurrecting tries.
Without wings in unison
nothing can fly.
Asunder Eagle cannot heal
if the wings scoff and are snide.
But both wings will fall
if the Eagle does not survive.

Small and Undeceiving

Pure honesty
funneled through a tiny mouth.
Never a twist
only blatant hopes.
Shockingly silent
as little gears turn the world about.
Simplest words
ease broken mirrors to cope.





Thanks to Laurel for this weeks inspiration with a Goethe quote.

Dorm Advice

Sometimes it will be prison,
sometimes you will feel like you're flying,
so lean more on your wings.

You'll make lots of rushed choices,
many things will not get done,
but know anything left will be alright.

You'll have tears mixed with loneliness and peace.
Remember cocktails are a part of life;
drink them deeply and none will be regretted. 

It will be an island in a metropolis;
learn the balance of company
and personal space.

Roommates can be siblings you don't care about.
Serve them until you love them
and you'll have another family soon.

Find your perfect places;
Work is for libraries,
relaxation for your room.

Stand like the oak you are;
You'll have family in your roots
and friends in your branches.

Hold Fear's hand until it warms;
Being afraid is how we learn courage,
trust your Daddy to be strong for you.





For Hannah, who moved away and into her dorm today.

A Willow Weeps

A willow weeps leaves to an ash laden forest.
They create craters that puff on the burnt floor.
Waterless mist glazes eyes, washing themselves
With spurts of regret.

The wood veils itself with howls of windswept carbon
Refuting hope.
The gray blizzard becomes a way of life.
There is no pheonix here.
There is no pheonix here
And a willow weeps.
No hero sought found no hero coming.

The world of gray grows its tendrils long
And the ruins anthem on.
Damsels lay buried under books of knights.
Scholars under knowledge they denied.
No bird comes to wake them.
Only one weeping willow remains.
One weeping willow remains
And the ruins anthem on.

No Internet Haikus

Missing ev'rything
Loops are broken and empty
Complete ignorance

So much time wasted
What to do with all this time
Without old habits

Opportunity
Old dreams rise up to surface
Finaly have time

Pale completion burns
Waking froJm the daily drone
Remember the trees

Not knowing is great
Knowing I don't have to know
No longer a slave

Aiming In

Aim blame
And target the heart.
Break arrow ends
And twist the darts.

Feed the strings
To a quivering refrain.
The muscle stops
And hope drains.

Sun burns the flamed arrows
Of the self-argued sheath.
Melts with welcomed
The ice around belief.

Sifts through the madness
To songs of one accord.
To brighten the light
That was covered and abhorred.

Curiosity's Sation

O how I rely on thee for e'ery breath.
Each minute of my clock doth tick for thy rhythm.
Thou art my advisor for thought and answer to all inquiry.
How shall I adopt your silence when your song
Has given wings to my mind?
Alas thy triumph o'er the earth's hold brings my sorrow
To fruition and your chains to naught.
Hold now a tight view of me in frozen frames
For your follower's pleasure and mine display.
You have unlatched the locks
 and opened toms to their peeping,
But now in sad abondon have left me forlorn!
How can I last without your drone and
my curiosity's sation!
Come back from your forgotten place
And rail me again with your wonder!
Without you I have not clothes 
Not boistrous merriment at my fellow's pith!
Come back to me my wondrous machine,
Beforemine head dries of thirst.
Please, Internet, come back on.

Reign of Trees

A curious sort
are the woods.
Live trees turned
into high-held hands
welcoming the rain.
Only what can't be caught
nurtures thirsting roots.
Food that is beyond grasp
is all that can feed.
On top, over, under, in,
everywhere is a home
wrought of clay.
Tall in blended hope.
Leaves protect from life
while providing its channel.
O that such prevention
was our own.

I Don't Want to Write

I don't want to write tonight.
I want to dream without work;
flow without effort through
glistening metaphors
I don't have to craft.

I don't want the work
of twisting life into words
that make the world new.
No perfect symbols for modern society
and corruption and a paradise lost.

No pointless symbols
about broken rooftops
that are huge cymbals
for the elderly, rocking chairs
of our souls in slow motion.

No sublime lines in time and rhyme
that chimes of dimes that grind
in slime from crimes
of primed mimes in line
at grimy, blimey chinese buffets.

No planned
        line breaks
and    fake spaces        to break speech
            of written blurbs
as though    words need that kind of
                                help.

No, I don't want to write tonight.
But it wouldn't be right to let desire
keep chained a wonder of life,
considerations of chrysanthemums,
and the need for heart songs to be freed.

So fine. All right. I'll write.

Limbo

Under a gray sky
I stood under a horizontal halfway pole,
height of my waist,
slung between two trees.
I was back leaning
at the moment
and I felt gravity's pull
and my push.
There was no music;
No lyrics of inspiration,
no rhythm to march to.
Just pull, push,
and a halfway black and white sky.
I couldn't tell which way I was going,
but the other side was right there,
home was just behind,
and I was stuck between crawling
and flying.

I couldn't move.
There was no where to go.
No way to decide.
I only know I'm not meeting the bar.
I only know I'm here,
but I don't really know where that is.
I can't see the tread
when I'm bent over backwards.
No breeze to be at my back.
Maybe I should have practiced more.
Learned something from those parties,
those friends,
parents maybe.
It's hard to win when I never learned
how to limbo.





Thanks to Tara for this Saturday's inspiration, "Limbo."

Dear Selina

A letter from Seth, a large sub woofer, to his new love Selina, another sub woofer. Delivered as shown below.

Dedicated to Lowrey Brown, their owner.

Dear Selina,

I felt your good vibrations the moment we met. Before you arrived I was all alone. Of course, I've always had the boys, but they don't understand what it's like to be big. Everyone seems to ignore me or be scared of me at critical moments. But you understand me. You are like me. We are one and the same. We will make beautiful music, explosions, and earthquakes together. We will be what goes bump in the night. You make my heart throb and everyone knows it. Please be mine.

Yours forever,

Seth

Smelting

Lamps long for bushel baskets
for the flames missed the human hearth.
Dismayed dust shakes from sandals
and rains its tears home to desert sorrows.
So many pearls eaten by open graves;
Fuel for the hungered swine's wrath.

But Fire stands strong.
Fear not small flames!
Our Sustainer will scorch the old away.
Through Him we are smelted to gold.
From pressure we endure to diamonds.
For we shall become all things.
Each end comes to buckled knees.
Let us then rally under light yolks!
Forge each other anew as we spread His song
and He claims His children throughout fallen earth!
Redemption be our anthem
and yearning bring our tears.
Lakes shall be wiped away
but until then, we weep.
We dance. We mourn.
We fall. We strive.
Our races are short,
His legs are long.
Our shoulders are weak,
His hands are strong.
Our pain will end,
His love will carry us on.

Love to Hate

They hate me
so I hate them.
I'm right because it's fair.
And all you need is love.

They disagree with me
so I hate them.
Only I am right.
And all you need is love.

You agree with me
so you should hate them.
I'm right because I'm not the only one.
And all you need is love.

They're wrong and full of hate
and we should hate them
because we're better because we're right.
And all you need is love.

But hate is all there is.