They were both Mine—
In the possessive form of grammar.
One carried me with urgings I remembered as
Sweet and sour, mixed with red warnings and
Telepathic “knowing” I
Once read as nuisances to my stretching mind
And adulthood assumptions!
But oh, what Time erases and experience brands
Upon your soul!
They were both Mine—
Like my eyes, hands and dappled dreams.
Two I carried with elative nouns and expletives!
I filled every room with nuances of joy, the sights
Of carousels, cars, and trains!
My skin stretched for two,
My wanderings were about two,
And good-night kisses were safeguarded for two.
Suddenly I weighed a little less, my
Arms held fewer contents and my lips whispered only
To one.
Oh, what Time does not erase and what experience
Metamorphose upon the soul.
*Dedicated to a friend who was pregnant with two boys yet one died at birth.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
JULY
Heavy and sluggish the sky waits and the
Clouds ease their way across the pale blue—
It is damp to the skin and my thoughts waddle instead
Of swim and slick themselves like an eel –
My neck feels limp like a noodle and my
Tongue too hot for a meal except ice cream—
July rarely whispers a caress; I figure it’s her nature
To incite and excite the flesh to open its pores,
To steam off and choose to eat nothing but watermelon,
And soak in skinny-dipping style!
July is not my embraceable; it brings me a rash,
Dills my energy and stifles my relaxation at night—
Still, July simmers me slowly over coals of passion that
March could never do—
Lemonade just tastes better when “sweltering”
Has a lease on your lips,
Umbrellas dot each backyard and kids run about
With bare bottoms and smiles that stings
Ones memory.
Clouds ease their way across the pale blue—
It is damp to the skin and my thoughts waddle instead
Of swim and slick themselves like an eel –
My neck feels limp like a noodle and my
Tongue too hot for a meal except ice cream—
July rarely whispers a caress; I figure it’s her nature
To incite and excite the flesh to open its pores,
To steam off and choose to eat nothing but watermelon,
And soak in skinny-dipping style!
July is not my embraceable; it brings me a rash,
Dills my energy and stifles my relaxation at night—
Still, July simmers me slowly over coals of passion that
March could never do—
Lemonade just tastes better when “sweltering”
Has a lease on your lips,
Umbrellas dot each backyard and kids run about
With bare bottoms and smiles that stings
Ones memory.
“My Universe “
The center of the universe can be anything and
Anyone—
It depends on your perspective,
What centerpiece you desire to convert your
Heart’s champion—
Perhaps A child,
A husband,
Lover or friend;
Maybe Mt. Everest or the Sahara desert could
Wing and woo you with their diversity
Toward Utopia---
It is my density to choose no half,
No fraction of a whole but to hone in with a
Soft candle the center I understand
With no partialities or oaths—
You are grace sufficient
For my wonderings,
My voyages,
My adventures
And my possibilities;
Proffering,
Offering and,
Granting me plateaus,
Invoking heights,
Depths and auspice corridors never scathed
Like a field of Solomon’s lilies—
Oh solitude, what travels are fixed in your grasp!
Anyone—
It depends on your perspective,
What centerpiece you desire to convert your
Heart’s champion—
Perhaps A child,
A husband,
Lover or friend;
Maybe Mt. Everest or the Sahara desert could
Wing and woo you with their diversity
Toward Utopia---
It is my density to choose no half,
No fraction of a whole but to hone in with a
Soft candle the center I understand
With no partialities or oaths—
You are grace sufficient
For my wonderings,
My voyages,
My adventures
And my possibilities;
Proffering,
Offering and,
Granting me plateaus,
Invoking heights,
Depths and auspice corridors never scathed
Like a field of Solomon’s lilies—
Oh solitude, what travels are fixed in your grasp!
“At Certain Walks by the Marshes”
The crickets rub their nocturnal song like a Mozart’s
Concerto tuning in—
The rendering is dampened in midnight,
While the stars play the cymbals with silver pristine….
She is the sunset hovering the marsh, swirling around
The seaweed with divinity’s light,
While raspberry parfait lops across the evening demise
Like a water color masterpiece…
And I sit under the magic wondering if
My feet could touch a more perfect heaven than
This shadow of beauty’s mien;
Wet, tangled and swaddling me in Mary’s
Embrace—
And I,
Her centerpiece!
Concerto tuning in—
The rendering is dampened in midnight,
While the stars play the cymbals with silver pristine….
She is the sunset hovering the marsh, swirling around
The seaweed with divinity’s light,
While raspberry parfait lops across the evening demise
Like a water color masterpiece…
And I sit under the magic wondering if
My feet could touch a more perfect heaven than
This shadow of beauty’s mien;
Wet, tangled and swaddling me in Mary’s
Embrace—
And I,
Her centerpiece!
“Mustangs”
Some have reasoned that to “feel” is a waste
Of time, that mind over matter is the futuristic answer
To experiencing true living….
I am tomahawked at such independent thinking;
Cloistering the soul from the bitter and the sweet,
Like the oyster refusing to open…
Most go in search of aggrandizement, the lace
And fringe of exclusion, superiority and hoarding
For the sake of mere illusion…
Others resume to meditation and feng shui for balancing
The unknown to eclipse the known within that
Inevitably is non-evaporable…
If I am not mistaken, a mustang must be broken
Before it can be swift and, beautiful as its nature
For true joy’s collusion.
Of time, that mind over matter is the futuristic answer
To experiencing true living….
I am tomahawked at such independent thinking;
Cloistering the soul from the bitter and the sweet,
Like the oyster refusing to open…
Most go in search of aggrandizement, the lace
And fringe of exclusion, superiority and hoarding
For the sake of mere illusion…
Others resume to meditation and feng shui for balancing
The unknown to eclipse the known within that
Inevitably is non-evaporable…
If I am not mistaken, a mustang must be broken
Before it can be swift and, beautiful as its nature
For true joy’s collusion.
“I Do Not Think, I Know”
What of the wonders of the early mornings
The elliptic light and first intonations of the birds
Sweltering over a breakfast of cornmeal tones and mossy
Hilltops?
What of the wonders of licorice slow afternoons
Sipping siestas and the music of nothing-to-do
But remember and quell the anxieties of tomorrow’s necessities
With love’s cup?
What of the wonders of opal moonlit evenings
Wanderings and wonderings between the shadows
Unclipped desires strung from one star to another in secrecy
Like teardrops?
What of all these?
Perhaps if I looked at a different map altogether?
Perhaps if my eyes were blind and minions of patterns
Vanished; were water soluble and vacuumed,
Quests would be unreachable like God is?
The big bang and Darwin’s philosophy
Meet my eye and the eye disputes such immaturity
With dismay and a strand of hushed eyelashes wet
In a sob.
The elliptic light and first intonations of the birds
Sweltering over a breakfast of cornmeal tones and mossy
Hilltops?
What of the wonders of licorice slow afternoons
Sipping siestas and the music of nothing-to-do
But remember and quell the anxieties of tomorrow’s necessities
With love’s cup?
What of the wonders of opal moonlit evenings
Wanderings and wonderings between the shadows
Unclipped desires strung from one star to another in secrecy
Like teardrops?
What of all these?
Perhaps if I looked at a different map altogether?
Perhaps if my eyes were blind and minions of patterns
Vanished; were water soluble and vacuumed,
Quests would be unreachable like God is?
The big bang and Darwin’s philosophy
Meet my eye and the eye disputes such immaturity
With dismay and a strand of hushed eyelashes wet
In a sob.
“Looking Up”
I am the black hairy caterpillar winding itself
Up and up
On the green sweet tender of a summery leaf;
Wanting the stiffer footing of a stamen
And wreaking with a buzz no one hears but the wind…
Wings would remedy my reeling
Toward peopled sky…
Then you would cease to be the only one
untouchable.
*dedicated to my grandfather Enrique Lamelas who’s 93rd birthday was yesterday.
Up and up
On the green sweet tender of a summery leaf;
Wanting the stiffer footing of a stamen
And wreaking with a buzz no one hears but the wind…
Wings would remedy my reeling
Toward peopled sky…
Then you would cease to be the only one
untouchable.
*dedicated to my grandfather Enrique Lamelas who’s 93rd birthday was yesterday.
“Discovering Concaves”
There are black holes everywhere and anywhere
In the universe…
I just discovered a few, a million more in my
Estimation, somewhat coarse,
In Myself…
They are not invisible all of the time,
[Unfortunately] but some observing,
Non-myopic eyes have caught sight of these
Monsters…
Telescopes won’t enlarge them, only ignorance
And sin…
I yearn to fill them with undisturbed
Purity’s magnetism of light…
The cleaving of intelligence to Intelligence;
And each pulling-out of the hat not a
Multiplying of rabbits
But a propagation of virtues,
An independent
Exciton!
In the universe…
I just discovered a few, a million more in my
Estimation, somewhat coarse,
In Myself…
They are not invisible all of the time,
[Unfortunately] but some observing,
Non-myopic eyes have caught sight of these
Monsters…
Telescopes won’t enlarge them, only ignorance
And sin…
I yearn to fill them with undisturbed
Purity’s magnetism of light…
The cleaving of intelligence to Intelligence;
And each pulling-out of the hat not a
Multiplying of rabbits
But a propagation of virtues,
An independent
Exciton!
“Magik”
This morning you sallied in and kissed my
Mouth with no apprehension;
A morsel before switching to a “Man’s
World” stance…
Then,
Without warning,
The ocean of your skin swept
And swallowed me like a sinking ship
To the bottom of somewhere
I’ve never before set foot upon…
Did you know… magic used to be spelled with a “K”.
Mouth with no apprehension;
A morsel before switching to a “Man’s
World” stance…
Then,
Without warning,
The ocean of your skin swept
And swallowed me like a sinking ship
To the bottom of somewhere
I’ve never before set foot upon…
Did you know… magic used to be spelled with a “K”.
“Tipping My Hat”
Do you ever long for this world and
Everything about it?
I do…
Swans are dreamers,
Rivers are destinations,
Mountains are revelations, and
Sunsets are disclaimers for doubters…
This desire is indisputable!
And the trees applaud such
Wanting.
Everything about it?
I do…
Swans are dreamers,
Rivers are destinations,
Mountains are revelations, and
Sunsets are disclaimers for doubters…
This desire is indisputable!
And the trees applaud such
Wanting.
“At Midnight”
“At Midnight”
Faith is often blinding.
I do not feign to capture all its
Watts.
My fears creep and crawl
Inside of me like rats!
Greater still, experience and grace has
Tutored me that flesh and blood
Cannot understand the things of
God.
So I sometimes shut tight my impatient
Eyes
And learn from the stars that come to light
At their own appointed time.
Faith is often blinding.
I do not feign to capture all its
Watts.
My fears creep and crawl
Inside of me like rats!
Greater still, experience and grace has
Tutored me that flesh and blood
Cannot understand the things of
God.
So I sometimes shut tight my impatient
Eyes
And learn from the stars that come to light
At their own appointed time.
“When I Get Too Big for My Britches”
Sometimes I think I know Him,
I toss around His colossal name and deny
Myself of temptations—
Then I wise up,
I put my ear to my dusty window and
Know the birds know Him better than
I do.
I toss around His colossal name and deny
Myself of temptations—
Then I wise up,
I put my ear to my dusty window and
Know the birds know Him better than
I do.
“Paulina Sarahi”
Her Audrey Hepburn almond eyes,
Wealthy with curiosity and purity
Shine, gaze, wizen and ripple cool
With a passing peek
Into eternity’s privilege for the truly rich…
My little come-to-age-girl has called me
To remember,
To remember and
Remember the moieties and exclamations
Life hangs on us like Christmas ornaments
Dangling superfluously—
The recycling of emotions and dreams
Eclipsing silently at times
And bursting devilishly at others…
Her slinky limbs vibrating clues about Becoming,
About giving up some things and forfeiting
Others—
I am a receptor to her sadness and wildflower
Reasoning,
Swallowing gulps of her atmosphere for my
Own copulating…
Her elfin ears hear worlds untouched by humans…
Her slim nose looks down at ugliness most compromise on…
Her long tan neck stiffens at unkindness…
And her dexterous fingers collect furry ones
And more…
I don’t think she’s from here--
She is my little Eve still parasailing over Eden.
Wealthy with curiosity and purity
Shine, gaze, wizen and ripple cool
With a passing peek
Into eternity’s privilege for the truly rich…
My little come-to-age-girl has called me
To remember,
To remember and
Remember the moieties and exclamations
Life hangs on us like Christmas ornaments
Dangling superfluously—
The recycling of emotions and dreams
Eclipsing silently at times
And bursting devilishly at others…
Her slinky limbs vibrating clues about Becoming,
About giving up some things and forfeiting
Others—
I am a receptor to her sadness and wildflower
Reasoning,
Swallowing gulps of her atmosphere for my
Own copulating…
Her elfin ears hear worlds untouched by humans…
Her slim nose looks down at ugliness most compromise on…
Her long tan neck stiffens at unkindness…
And her dexterous fingers collect furry ones
And more…
I don’t think she’s from here--
She is my little Eve still parasailing over Eden.
“A White Ceramic Pot with Violets”
My eyes search my room full of the anointed-ness
Of my abundance!
There are closets-full of staples and essentials we
Women convert into vitals--
Tools to build an easier day-in and day-out living.
Screws and bolts and nails of all types to hold things
In place like muscle and sinew…
My pupil leans on the beauty of trinkets of years
Musty upon my photographs but dust-able on these like
A bit of today too discernible—
Wealth is relative; I am possessor of Himalayas of
Knowledge and wisdom in a couple shelves—
At my voice’s fingertips I could materialize the
Images of long past to my view…
Hourly
I stand at a mountaintop I visit like the wind,
Sweeping nothing under my feet,
blowing nothing Above me but
possessing,
embracing,
And engulfing everything in oceanic gratitude…
Solomon held nothing but withered grass in his gold…
I am content with my violets.
Of my abundance!
There are closets-full of staples and essentials we
Women convert into vitals--
Tools to build an easier day-in and day-out living.
Screws and bolts and nails of all types to hold things
In place like muscle and sinew…
My pupil leans on the beauty of trinkets of years
Musty upon my photographs but dust-able on these like
A bit of today too discernible—
Wealth is relative; I am possessor of Himalayas of
Knowledge and wisdom in a couple shelves—
At my voice’s fingertips I could materialize the
Images of long past to my view…
Hourly
I stand at a mountaintop I visit like the wind,
Sweeping nothing under my feet,
blowing nothing Above me but
possessing,
embracing,
And engulfing everything in oceanic gratitude…
Solomon held nothing but withered grass in his gold…
I am content with my violets.
“Personal Passage”
I write because there is nothing larger in life than
To be read, maybe even reread by another—
To be examined and then verified of being
Understood, or trusted like a saint—
I don’t imagine being immortalized
Or stacked in a library for hands with a million
Oppositions to wander through for
Poetic justice either—
Perhaps purpose is purchased or earned or even
Inherited by some mystic right—
But it is my reasoning I hearken to,
All that I am resonates with inscribing, putting down
My Self on the papyrus of today,
Like a manuscript never quite decrypt but
Interesting to the soul’s eye
For perpetual encounter.
To be read, maybe even reread by another—
To be examined and then verified of being
Understood, or trusted like a saint—
I don’t imagine being immortalized
Or stacked in a library for hands with a million
Oppositions to wander through for
Poetic justice either—
Perhaps purpose is purchased or earned or even
Inherited by some mystic right—
But it is my reasoning I hearken to,
All that I am resonates with inscribing, putting down
My Self on the papyrus of today,
Like a manuscript never quite decrypt but
Interesting to the soul’s eye
For perpetual encounter.
“Hieroglyphics of Faith”
“Hieroglyphics of Faith”
It evaporated and escaped my eye,
A spray of mist flammable to the soul
That yields only to the
The Truth
Limned in red-hot invisible caverns
And dissolves by the brush of His immortal
Finger.
It evaporated and escaped my eye,
A spray of mist flammable to the soul
That yields only to the
The Truth
Limned in red-hot invisible caverns
And dissolves by the brush of His immortal
Finger.
“Tacitly”
Can anyone listen to “Nessum Dorma” and fathom
What it must feel like to sound so beautifully,
To float up into the thin atmosphere
And fade off
Like an unforgettable echo from heaven?
Or can one listen to “The Swan” by a cello’s voice
And not have it sweep you into a sweet demise
Of loveliness
And mystic reverie
Like a dream that conveys you to God’s haven?
I believe that is precisely the rendezvous of angels
Among us terra firma creaturesAlways misplaced by tact
What it must feel like to sound so beautifully,
To float up into the thin atmosphere
And fade off
Like an unforgettable echo from heaven?
Or can one listen to “The Swan” by a cello’s voice
And not have it sweep you into a sweet demise
Of loveliness
And mystic reverie
Like a dream that conveys you to God’s haven?
I believe that is precisely the rendezvous of angels
Among us terra firma creaturesAlways misplaced by tact
“Moon-lit Lullaby
Child,
What has the moon brought you tonight?
The esoteric;
Does its radiance sail away the day in a cosmic
Chance
Or does its beauty ease you into the irrelevant and
Irreverence of muses and faeries gamboling?
Child,
What has the moon brought you tonight?
Does it cradle you in a coral reef?
And whistle you to the back of the north wind?
Has it landed your feet on a star that glitters pink
Or aquamarine?
I am dissolved in your eyes
And moistened Breath
Like a cool mint on ones tongue
Watching the sweep of your lashes
As the moon rises, moving clandestinely farther
From your tiny face.
Yet,
How close your paradise sounds to my ears.
What has the moon brought you tonight?
The esoteric;
Does its radiance sail away the day in a cosmic
Chance
Or does its beauty ease you into the irrelevant and
Irreverence of muses and faeries gamboling?
Child,
What has the moon brought you tonight?
Does it cradle you in a coral reef?
And whistle you to the back of the north wind?
Has it landed your feet on a star that glitters pink
Or aquamarine?
I am dissolved in your eyes
And moistened Breath
Like a cool mint on ones tongue
Watching the sweep of your lashes
As the moon rises, moving clandestinely farther
From your tiny face.
Yet,
How close your paradise sounds to my ears.
“Inviting Silence”
It is good to be silent, relaxed like a
Ball of yarn tossed on a rug,
Meeting no ones expectation or need,
Simply loose,
No shape, restraint or comeliness
For the outsider that deems posture,
Etiquette and composure as
Desirable…
It is good to be silent, thinking windless
Ideas that plop to the bottom of
Your soul but needs no language
Except a sigh…
Love must evoke such silence,
The interim of whiteness and the
Peripheral of inertia
Ball of yarn tossed on a rug,
Meeting no ones expectation or need,
Simply loose,
No shape, restraint or comeliness
For the outsider that deems posture,
Etiquette and composure as
Desirable…
It is good to be silent, thinking windless
Ideas that plop to the bottom of
Your soul but needs no language
Except a sigh…
Love must evoke such silence,
The interim of whiteness and the
Peripheral of inertia
“Cloud-Love”
If my soul were a cloud
I’d pour on you the coolest clean spring rain
And the swallows and sparrows would
Perch on your sleeve and cool their tiny
Feet from the hot sidewalk
I’d drench your hair,
Make you remove your shoes and socks
And have you foolishly skip
Up and down the busy street,
Lifting your hands in joyous recanting…
Silly?
Oh no…
Umbrellas were only meant for the
Unchild-like.
I’d pour on you the coolest clean spring rain
And the swallows and sparrows would
Perch on your sleeve and cool their tiny
Feet from the hot sidewalk
I’d drench your hair,
Make you remove your shoes and socks
And have you foolishly skip
Up and down the busy street,
Lifting your hands in joyous recanting…
Silly?
Oh no…
Umbrellas were only meant for the
Unchild-like.
“And How Great is His Joy In The Soul that Repenteth!”
Such aplomb like the oak and redwood
Teaches majesty in its greatest form—
But it is the olive tree,
The gnarled
And reaching-out
Filigree delicacy of its spirit
That plummets me
To my bony knees
Like glass bending to heat;
And seeping into my stiff-neckedness
Of too much knowledge
Fire!
I am anointed,
Sanctified,
Pressed from within; and
As I give of my unpurified oil,
He catches the droplets of dark liquid in
His cup
Like gold serum!
Teaches majesty in its greatest form—
But it is the olive tree,
The gnarled
And reaching-out
Filigree delicacy of its spirit
That plummets me
To my bony knees
Like glass bending to heat;
And seeping into my stiff-neckedness
Of too much knowledge
Fire!
I am anointed,
Sanctified,
Pressed from within; and
As I give of my unpurified oil,
He catches the droplets of dark liquid in
His cup
Like gold serum!
“When I am finally Loved”
There is a kind of sadness within that
Hums and blows like the North wind,
Shuffling,
Ramming and
Stirring things around…
A nest of twigs and twine am I …
A flightless soul that dreamt of love
And forgot to grow wings.
Still, I coerce myself to exercise and strain
The few emergent feathers beneath my
Fear
And I trust some dawn to discover
Me
In a sky of pearl light dancing.
Hums and blows like the North wind,
Shuffling,
Ramming and
Stirring things around…
A nest of twigs and twine am I …
A flightless soul that dreamt of love
And forgot to grow wings.
Still, I coerce myself to exercise and strain
The few emergent feathers beneath my
Fear
And I trust some dawn to discover
Me
In a sky of pearl light dancing.
“O Lord, How Long?”
Today I met GOD
While observing the sacrament go by
Then come closer…
Like a cool breeze lending miracles for
My unbroken walk and sweat of
The week
It brushed my hopelessness behind…
He did not bend to wash my feet
But he bathed my temples,
And unyoked my burden
With the words
“Remember me”as a boy stretched forth his privilege
To my impoverished soul
That in pride’s pabulums
forgets The Sacrifice
Dispensed.
*I love taking the sacrament but can’t do it often. Life robs us from so much spirituality and remembering Him is so unconsciously forgotten or set aside by the flesh natural inclinations. But I continue to try and thank God for his mercies in never giving up on me.
While observing the sacrament go by
Then come closer…
Like a cool breeze lending miracles for
My unbroken walk and sweat of
The week
It brushed my hopelessness behind…
He did not bend to wash my feet
But he bathed my temples,
And unyoked my burden
With the words
“Remember me”as a boy stretched forth his privilege
To my impoverished soul
That in pride’s pabulums
forgets The Sacrifice
Dispensed.
*I love taking the sacrament but can’t do it often. Life robs us from so much spirituality and remembering Him is so unconsciously forgotten or set aside by the flesh natural inclinations. But I continue to try and thank God for his mercies in never giving up on me.
“Capitalizing On Others”
Sometimes we write love in small letters –
Spreading the butter on his toast or
Wiping down the kitchen counter dabbed with
Peanut butter and jelly…
Love is often dangling on the clothesline
And snatching a peek at a sleeping face;
It is the giving up and giving in
To another’s want with joy…
Blowing, kissing and holding tight is
Love’s voice upon a little sore finger, a wrinkled
Cheek, a weary shoulder that saunters at
Days end hopelessly…
Minutes are just as vital in love’s scaling
Upward climb to perfection, the afternoons
Picking strawberries and the morning
Prayer that’s an alloy…
Write love, in capital or small, it doesn’t matter—
Pen it with every touch; add it to tuna casseroles
And let it water down every heartache at
Your midnight soliloquies
But compose it…
Jot it down
and engrave it without restraint!
Dirty your hands in it
and clean a soul with
It …
Like the only work you’ve employed!
Spreading the butter on his toast or
Wiping down the kitchen counter dabbed with
Peanut butter and jelly…
Love is often dangling on the clothesline
And snatching a peek at a sleeping face;
It is the giving up and giving in
To another’s want with joy…
Blowing, kissing and holding tight is
Love’s voice upon a little sore finger, a wrinkled
Cheek, a weary shoulder that saunters at
Days end hopelessly…
Minutes are just as vital in love’s scaling
Upward climb to perfection, the afternoons
Picking strawberries and the morning
Prayer that’s an alloy…
Write love, in capital or small, it doesn’t matter—
Pen it with every touch; add it to tuna casseroles
And let it water down every heartache at
Your midnight soliloquies
But compose it…
Jot it down
and engrave it without restraint!
Dirty your hands in it
and clean a soul with
It …
Like the only work you’ve employed!
“Mind versus Spirit”
We are all in the sad predicament
Of Lot’s wife
Wanting the tents of Babylon
And the flourishing of
Gold in our paltry hands
Knowing that right before
Our measuring eyes
Like summer figs ripening
In our mouths
The fruits of peace and plenty
Wave in the breeze…
Oh but the salt of unbelief stiffens and
Scales as fish-fins the hungry
Yet mendicant pupil;
And away we walk from
The Water
We are parched for,
Trusting the world’s ponds
While cool rivers ripple only
A look in the other direction.
Of Lot’s wife
Wanting the tents of Babylon
And the flourishing of
Gold in our paltry hands
Knowing that right before
Our measuring eyes
Like summer figs ripening
In our mouths
The fruits of peace and plenty
Wave in the breeze…
Oh but the salt of unbelief stiffens and
Scales as fish-fins the hungry
Yet mendicant pupil;
And away we walk from
The Water
We are parched for,
Trusting the world’s ponds
While cool rivers ripple only
A look in the other direction.
“God’s Kind of Jokes”
Have you ever seen the moon chuckle
And slip into hysterics?
I have…
When God threw a handful of stars
To the earth
And I rolled in it
And forgot it was April
Mud!
And slip into hysterics?
I have…
When God threw a handful of stars
To the earth
And I rolled in it
And forgot it was April
Mud!
“Heaven”
I think we some times forget Heaven…
Our hands work for the petty of what is bound to
Turn to withered grass and dross.
Our feet walk away from the narrow and choose
The ‘other road’ spelled out by Frost.
Forgetting Heaven is but human…
A yoke we tend to toss aside and extricate from
Our soft and unlearned shoulders.
A rest we believe far too far from our grasp
Ending at our child-like fingers.
Yet, it is always Heaven soul beckons.
The universe dimmed by adversaries that cry
Opulently to our un-mastered ears.
And it is heaven that never stutters or shutters
But rescues the child that seeks to hear.
Our hands work for the petty of what is bound to
Turn to withered grass and dross.
Our feet walk away from the narrow and choose
The ‘other road’ spelled out by Frost.
Forgetting Heaven is but human…
A yoke we tend to toss aside and extricate from
Our soft and unlearned shoulders.
A rest we believe far too far from our grasp
Ending at our child-like fingers.
Yet, it is always Heaven soul beckons.
The universe dimmed by adversaries that cry
Opulently to our un-mastered ears.
And it is heaven that never stutters or shutters
But rescues the child that seeks to hear.
“Time And Tables”
I used to fit and figure out in your equation.
The acrobatics of Time being adequate
For work, chores and travel
Finessed itself
Between like dancing through a crowd of
A thousand left-footers…
Our square roots don’t measure up as before
The fractions we’ve divided are dissonant.
Love has been tipped over like
Spilled cold milk
Between the cracks of yesterdays warm muffin,
And today’s old bagel.
The acrobatics of Time being adequate
For work, chores and travel
Finessed itself
Between like dancing through a crowd of
A thousand left-footers…
Our square roots don’t measure up as before
The fractions we’ve divided are dissonant.
Love has been tipped over like
Spilled cold milk
Between the cracks of yesterdays warm muffin,
And today’s old bagel.
“What Sparkling Cider and Joplin Can Do”
The piano winks the notes from some
Invisible box,
And the tune wears soft frills and
Chiffon
Like a sassy two-tone shoe kicking up
Gaiety and tipsy memories.
Joplin must’ve loved to shimmy in the 1800’s too!
You’d never guess the flirting that twinkles
My dim-lit room,
My shoulders ache from so much dipping and
The stomp
Like a midnight kiss stamps on my puritanical
Neck from the bubbly.
Invisible box,
And the tune wears soft frills and
Chiffon
Like a sassy two-tone shoe kicking up
Gaiety and tipsy memories.
Joplin must’ve loved to shimmy in the 1800’s too!
You’d never guess the flirting that twinkles
My dim-lit room,
My shoulders ache from so much dipping and
The stomp
Like a midnight kiss stamps on my puritanical
Neck from the bubbly.
“Worshipping”
pale and weary
the Soul of souls poled forth the
culmination of his life
as he ascended the hill
a splinting cross
clutched upon his bleeding shoulder;
and an assemblage of sneering voices;
exultations of ridicule
and vinegar’s drill
down near his sandal-less feet
my tiny soul kneels at the Sacrifice
and under the sanctuary
of his ransom I am lifted
from the grave’s chill!
the Soul of souls poled forth the
culmination of his life
as he ascended the hill
a splinting cross
clutched upon his bleeding shoulder;
and an assemblage of sneering voices;
exultations of ridicule
and vinegar’s drill
down near his sandal-less feet
my tiny soul kneels at the Sacrifice
and under the sanctuary
of his ransom I am lifted
from the grave’s chill!
“With Mary at the Tomb”
The milk and honey poured from His
Perfect and tamed lips…
Resting upon the shore and distant hills
His eyes rescued the withering souls
Who cried out and spoke
Son of David!
My hands cup to catch the sundry
Raindrops of truths, I sip…
Quiescent and leaning upon a boulder
I feel His eyes collect me upwards
And with one soft sweeping
I praise the empty grave!
Perfect and tamed lips…
Resting upon the shore and distant hills
His eyes rescued the withering souls
Who cried out and spoke
Son of David!
My hands cup to catch the sundry
Raindrops of truths, I sip…
Quiescent and leaning upon a boulder
I feel His eyes collect me upwards
And with one soft sweeping
I praise the empty grave!
"Left Behind"
I have been what most call lonely
With no umbrella to share beneath the storm
And diseased with the leprosy of emptiness
That can be the greatest unwanted Cup
I understand the scorpion that must sting or
It would never savor flesh
And the black widow’s need to weave to catch
The innocent
To touch and be felt is spiritual victual
And He surrendered to the eaten flesh once on the same
Lonely dust-flying pathway
To give the sacrament of Love from His full cup.
With no umbrella to share beneath the storm
And diseased with the leprosy of emptiness
That can be the greatest unwanted Cup
I understand the scorpion that must sting or
It would never savor flesh
And the black widow’s need to weave to catch
The innocent
To touch and be felt is spiritual victual
And He surrendered to the eaten flesh once on the same
Lonely dust-flying pathway
To give the sacrament of Love from His full cup.
"I’m Not Sure"
I’m not sure I can smile unless I paint it on
I’m not sure I can sneak in a chuckle unless I poison
My thoughts
I’m not sure I can endure any more beauty unless I
Cry
And open my limbs and flutter off into skies, into
His welcome.
I’m not sure I can sneak in a chuckle unless I poison
My thoughts
I’m not sure I can endure any more beauty unless I
Cry
And open my limbs and flutter off into skies, into
His welcome.
“Blessed Are Ye When Ye Are Persecuted for My Sake “
There were the needles of offense
Aimed at my zeal of soul,
I did not dodge nor renegade from
Friendless attack.
Unlike Stephen I still stand though
Beaten,
Not by stones,
Not by arrows and not by
Blasphemy, no,
My only wound and bruise
Inflicted by resisting the voices
Proposing there is no God!
My eyes flowing like a rolling river at
The violent net thrown around my
Neck to drown out
The Truth,
The Way and
The Life I follow …
I spoke out in a thunderous syllable
Then heard the silence of approbation
Pull me out from the storm
As I looked toward the visceral
Knowing Voice:
“Blessed are ye.”
* (John 14:6.) Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”
I have never sought deliberate occasion to impose nor disrespect another’s religious beliefs but my sister Liza attacked my faith this evening because I did not say things to her “politically correct” or general enough. I was called a “Christian bully to say the least.
Aimed at my zeal of soul,
I did not dodge nor renegade from
Friendless attack.
Unlike Stephen I still stand though
Beaten,
Not by stones,
Not by arrows and not by
Blasphemy, no,
My only wound and bruise
Inflicted by resisting the voices
Proposing there is no God!
My eyes flowing like a rolling river at
The violent net thrown around my
Neck to drown out
The Truth,
The Way and
The Life I follow …
I spoke out in a thunderous syllable
Then heard the silence of approbation
Pull me out from the storm
As I looked toward the visceral
Knowing Voice:
“Blessed are ye.”
* (John 14:6.) Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”
I have never sought deliberate occasion to impose nor disrespect another’s religious beliefs but my sister Liza attacked my faith this evening because I did not say things to her “politically correct” or general enough. I was called a “Christian bully to say the least.
“Wishful Thinking”
The night I found your eyes and heart staring
At me I trembled
I boiled over and dripped quickly like an
April icicle shafted through with pure sunlight.
You drifted then flew across the lake of my soul
Like a white and beautiful geese knowing your
Destination instinctively,
Losing no time to finding my
Shoreline dotted in moonlight.
The night I embraced you from afar I rose to the
Height of a cathedral of mighty stone
And stood in awe, repressed only by
Your twilight of blue shining through
The windows of your soul.
I descended to a green shoot under your feet and
Belonged to your sweet earthly breath. My head
White with your clouds and my hands burning from
Your smiling mouth that shook me like
A morning glory at dawn,
The dew from my soul watering your lips
As we stood in motion against winter’s
Emissary—Stillness.
At me I trembled
I boiled over and dripped quickly like an
April icicle shafted through with pure sunlight.
You drifted then flew across the lake of my soul
Like a white and beautiful geese knowing your
Destination instinctively,
Losing no time to finding my
Shoreline dotted in moonlight.
The night I embraced you from afar I rose to the
Height of a cathedral of mighty stone
And stood in awe, repressed only by
Your twilight of blue shining through
The windows of your soul.
I descended to a green shoot under your feet and
Belonged to your sweet earthly breath. My head
White with your clouds and my hands burning from
Your smiling mouth that shook me like
A morning glory at dawn,
The dew from my soul watering your lips
As we stood in motion against winter’s
Emissary—Stillness.
“GRANDMOTHER “
1913
a year I cannot recall like I do others.
I was not flesh yet, my soul still roosting in clouds.
1960
Daunting to think I could even saunter into her
Existence and claim her full attention,
But I did.
Birds… I understood her need for wings and
Song like wheat stalks bursting to be gleaned
And eaten meant for more than a sweet
Possibility.
She had culture, her hands told you in a snap
Or an unforgiving index rising for your attention;
Her culture was not to be confused with
Unkindness.
I liked her undefeated smile, her interpretations
Of life’s injustices, negativity was a mere umph
Instead of despair. I liked her washing my underwear
Into love’s verbatim.
I loved her fries the best, perfectly gold,
Sprinkled with just the right amount of salt and
How she prided herself in cooking
Without a recipe book.
I enjoyed her fast pace, never missing a step
Between coming or going like a Swiss watch
Ticking precision.
I want to have her far away stare,
she always seared beyond tomorrow.
90
would have found her wrinkled but still rounding
us up under her hand for direction, maybe a
few unpleasant words and a toothless
chuckle.--I don’t know.
a year I cannot recall like I do others.
I was not flesh yet, my soul still roosting in clouds.
1960
Daunting to think I could even saunter into her
Existence and claim her full attention,
But I did.
Birds… I understood her need for wings and
Song like wheat stalks bursting to be gleaned
And eaten meant for more than a sweet
Possibility.
She had culture, her hands told you in a snap
Or an unforgiving index rising for your attention;
Her culture was not to be confused with
Unkindness.
I liked her undefeated smile, her interpretations
Of life’s injustices, negativity was a mere umph
Instead of despair. I liked her washing my underwear
Into love’s verbatim.
I loved her fries the best, perfectly gold,
Sprinkled with just the right amount of salt and
How she prided herself in cooking
Without a recipe book.
I enjoyed her fast pace, never missing a step
Between coming or going like a Swiss watch
Ticking precision.
I want to have her far away stare,
she always seared beyond tomorrow.
90
would have found her wrinkled but still rounding
us up under her hand for direction, maybe a
few unpleasant words and a toothless
chuckle.--I don’t know.
“The Unearned”
There are certain hallmarks no one earns
But arrive at one’s doorstep like a cooing baby
Unexpected…
At other occasions we labor for that gift to
Bloom
Spreading forth white plumes and gleaning
New horizons…
I do not excel in the sciences or arts,
My education maximized only by experience
Like a mother learning by mistakes…
But grace is a wondrous thing
Quiet, unseen, redeeming the presumed
Defected.
Our careless and often
Godless ‘sweat at the brow’ exertion
Corroding truer vision…
Still, it favors, rejoices, blesses the
“Crack in the dark” attempt to rise
Above mere instinct…
Should I ever lean or trust my strength to be
Samsonic, how quickly my cage would be a
Lion’s den!
So I look at the cooing child within and
Remember it is by devouring fire I am
Saved!
But arrive at one’s doorstep like a cooing baby
Unexpected…
At other occasions we labor for that gift to
Bloom
Spreading forth white plumes and gleaning
New horizons…
I do not excel in the sciences or arts,
My education maximized only by experience
Like a mother learning by mistakes…
But grace is a wondrous thing
Quiet, unseen, redeeming the presumed
Defected.
Our careless and often
Godless ‘sweat at the brow’ exertion
Corroding truer vision…
Still, it favors, rejoices, blesses the
“Crack in the dark” attempt to rise
Above mere instinct…
Should I ever lean or trust my strength to be
Samsonic, how quickly my cage would be a
Lion’s den!
So I look at the cooing child within and
Remember it is by devouring fire I am
Saved!
“Venerating You Still”
I have known you for more than half a decade,
From your first babbling to the delicate wisps of
Your angel soft hair with ribbon—
The way you loved purses of all sizes
Never thinking your hand too small,
And the melodies you’d compose at the
White French provincial—
From the funny way you slept with sprawled
Chubby legs and how you loved rice
Like the Chinese—
Dancing met your brightest smile like
Sunlight shooting from your sweet hazel eyes,
And oh, how gently you whispered in my
Ear, (a beautiful fairy child)—
Your long pink fingers, your favorite word
“Why” and always running far too fast
For your bitty feet—
From your many cats, your bunny, even bugs
To thrills and squeal;
The gentleness exuding with every touch
On Grandma’s flabby cheek.
How quickly you’ve forgotten your beauty under
Life’s burdens of suffering;
Your cross almost too unfathomable!
But I remember; memorizing was easy when
It came to your surrealism, your
Enchantment for solitude, poetry, and Chopin—
Your innateness to giving, loving, blessing
Small and great under your spell....
I cannot fathom forgetting!
I ask: “Do you think you’ve changed so much?”
No, you’ve only forgotten to remember,
Like the servant who goes the second mile
And charges nothing extra.
*Dedicated to my sister Liza who has forgotten who she really is but will someday remember.
From your first babbling to the delicate wisps of
Your angel soft hair with ribbon—
The way you loved purses of all sizes
Never thinking your hand too small,
And the melodies you’d compose at the
White French provincial—
From the funny way you slept with sprawled
Chubby legs and how you loved rice
Like the Chinese—
Dancing met your brightest smile like
Sunlight shooting from your sweet hazel eyes,
And oh, how gently you whispered in my
Ear, (a beautiful fairy child)—
Your long pink fingers, your favorite word
“Why” and always running far too fast
For your bitty feet—
From your many cats, your bunny, even bugs
To thrills and squeal;
The gentleness exuding with every touch
On Grandma’s flabby cheek.
How quickly you’ve forgotten your beauty under
Life’s burdens of suffering;
Your cross almost too unfathomable!
But I remember; memorizing was easy when
It came to your surrealism, your
Enchantment for solitude, poetry, and Chopin—
Your innateness to giving, loving, blessing
Small and great under your spell....
I cannot fathom forgetting!
I ask: “Do you think you’ve changed so much?”
No, you’ve only forgotten to remember,
Like the servant who goes the second mile
And charges nothing extra.
*Dedicated to my sister Liza who has forgotten who she really is but will someday remember.
“Representation”
Like one riding gallantly over crags and
Blue cool rivers
This fragile soul
Rides,
Leaning full forward with majesty
In the storms of life…
She buckles up and defies even
The unknown gods
Without shunning or dodging
the thunderous fears
I’ve captured in tears as her beauty
Beacons in quiet might…
The reins of her heart are free and
Wild but never misdirected
Nor errant;
Careful as a newborn doe she
Steps down to regard all Living things
With delight…
Youth still dawns upon her soft face
And moonlight surrounds
The dreams she embraces like a child.
Awed by the assuage of spring
Spiraling from earth every boisterous April,
Her existence in a verb’s rite…
Heroic in her mounting at every Battlefront,
She rises in a praise to my lips.
I have seen a psalm forged in gold
On every stone God places in wisdom
To bring to pass immortality’s symmetry
With the promise of eternal life.
Dedicated to my sister Liza who endures better than most and defies my strength with her silence and reflective nature.
Blue cool rivers
This fragile soul
Rides,
Leaning full forward with majesty
In the storms of life…
She buckles up and defies even
The unknown gods
Without shunning or dodging
the thunderous fears
I’ve captured in tears as her beauty
Beacons in quiet might…
The reins of her heart are free and
Wild but never misdirected
Nor errant;
Careful as a newborn doe she
Steps down to regard all Living things
With delight…
Youth still dawns upon her soft face
And moonlight surrounds
The dreams she embraces like a child.
Awed by the assuage of spring
Spiraling from earth every boisterous April,
Her existence in a verb’s rite…
Heroic in her mounting at every Battlefront,
She rises in a praise to my lips.
I have seen a psalm forged in gold
On every stone God places in wisdom
To bring to pass immortality’s symmetry
With the promise of eternal life.
Dedicated to my sister Liza who endures better than most and defies my strength with her silence and reflective nature.
“The Interim between Heaven”
“The Interim between Heaven”
She is ten feet away and her small voice
Trembles in pain as I type away my hurried thoughts—
Not fencing myself from pouring,
Grinding out in black
Nothing of great importance…
Behind me she calls out for rescue
Like a cello sounding desperate but too beautiful
To unloose the tears, confined to the notes written by another in
Perfect control…
I listen with a choking,
My fingers aiming but
Missing every key in my useless attempts
Of composition; for
Her aching
Binds and wraps my soul in anxiety’s cadence,
For if I should exert one dammed-up ounce
Of passion’s rushing, I’d end up on
Resentment’s shoal!
How can one be offended by love’s divinity when
Love Is
Suffering,
Sacrificing,
Swallowing the vinegar, then quietly knowing
Her cross will be her eternal praise?
dedicated to my sister LIZA
She is ten feet away and her small voice
Trembles in pain as I type away my hurried thoughts—
Not fencing myself from pouring,
Grinding out in black
Nothing of great importance…
Behind me she calls out for rescue
Like a cello sounding desperate but too beautiful
To unloose the tears, confined to the notes written by another in
Perfect control…
I listen with a choking,
My fingers aiming but
Missing every key in my useless attempts
Of composition; for
Her aching
Binds and wraps my soul in anxiety’s cadence,
For if I should exert one dammed-up ounce
Of passion’s rushing, I’d end up on
Resentment’s shoal!
How can one be offended by love’s divinity when
Love Is
Suffering,
Sacrificing,
Swallowing the vinegar, then quietly knowing
Her cross will be her eternal praise?
dedicated to my sister LIZA
“Lily”
“Lily”
My lullabies are like snowflakes crystallizing
In a river of blue
Running down to your
Soul’s hungry mouth
I feed with sacred
Hymns!
* One day I’ll hold my little daughter, white and beautiful as a lily and sing her the lullabies in my heart.
My lullabies are like snowflakes crystallizing
In a river of blue
Running down to your
Soul’s hungry mouth
I feed with sacred
Hymns!
* One day I’ll hold my little daughter, white and beautiful as a lily and sing her the lullabies in my heart.
"Gable"
“Gable”
It is the perfume of your hands and the
Way you walk, deserving of all eyes to rummage
Across your possession—
Hands that can crush and cut through the wilderness
Of life’s denseness—
Do not bid me to dim my eyes behind my
Inevitable delight, my gaze must deign courage
If I am to cheat demise—
In your hands I would lend to weightlessness
And breathless—
Love has no claim upon my exclamation,
Adoration the syntax of my prolific verbiage
Bent by your shadow—
Do you not hear the life of me teetering at best
Like confession’s guest?
Guilty, guilty, guilty! No cross examination
Could uncover, reveal what I have unleashed
With one sweep of light—
Suddenly I am autumn’s gold blown pleasure
By your feet!
*Dedicated to my idol Clark Gable.
It is the perfume of your hands and the
Way you walk, deserving of all eyes to rummage
Across your possession—
Hands that can crush and cut through the wilderness
Of life’s denseness—
Do not bid me to dim my eyes behind my
Inevitable delight, my gaze must deign courage
If I am to cheat demise—
In your hands I would lend to weightlessness
And breathless—
Love has no claim upon my exclamation,
Adoration the syntax of my prolific verbiage
Bent by your shadow—
Do you not hear the life of me teetering at best
Like confession’s guest?
Guilty, guilty, guilty! No cross examination
Could uncover, reveal what I have unleashed
With one sweep of light—
Suddenly I am autumn’s gold blown pleasure
By your feet!
*Dedicated to my idol Clark Gable.
The Perfecting of Time’s Demigod.
I no longer hurry to the passing minutes
Watching dawn fade into sunset shades…
Time reels in and out
Like catching a swooping fish that misses
The hook but must swim the race…
I dent my hours and crash against the
Obstacles of daylight’s mirages and blows,
Moving through the maze
In faith’s zig-zag motion to the endemic
Design of God who measures every woe…
I philosophize nothing with my myopic eye,
Trusting my accounting to the invisible
Of each granted moment
Like the first push of air in a baby’s lung
And the last April drizzle.
Perpetual to the ticking of life’s empirical tone
And the honing out of daily bravery,
Lies the cold crooked metal
Of fear and fury I temper in rustic prayer--
To love and forgive my enemy.
I am a vast ocean of galilee storms
Waiting the lift of mortality’s fog…
My years duly crafted within yesterday’s,
Today’s and tomorrow’s scope—
The perfecting of Time’s demigod.
Watching dawn fade into sunset shades…
Time reels in and out
Like catching a swooping fish that misses
The hook but must swim the race…
I dent my hours and crash against the
Obstacles of daylight’s mirages and blows,
Moving through the maze
In faith’s zig-zag motion to the endemic
Design of God who measures every woe…
I philosophize nothing with my myopic eye,
Trusting my accounting to the invisible
Of each granted moment
Like the first push of air in a baby’s lung
And the last April drizzle.
Perpetual to the ticking of life’s empirical tone
And the honing out of daily bravery,
Lies the cold crooked metal
Of fear and fury I temper in rustic prayer--
To love and forgive my enemy.
I am a vast ocean of galilee storms
Waiting the lift of mortality’s fog…
My years duly crafted within yesterday’s,
Today’s and tomorrow’s scope—
The perfecting of Time’s demigod.
“Which One Is it”
“Which One Is it”
The black sun deepens upon earth’s face
Mercifully reaching to the core of my soul
And binding up my heart—
Mother Earth is breathing under my feet,
Dreaming like God for its fullness to be
Begotten—
I feel her suffering as my fingers trace
The dying child, the empty womb, recalling
A paradise forgotten—
This crevice, this rock from where I watch
Hide me between awe and pain
Like a crying harp—
Is it glory I am tingling under or is it
Glory I have dusted off with every
Mortal entangling?—
Is it moonlight or sun’s laughter
That wakens earthliness in the blood
Of existence flower?
It is demise to measure, delineate every
Motion, season, hour and minute as
No more than a dower,
Some deserved gift, pleasure earned
For Being the voice-full specie
Of a million cymbal’s caroling—
Earth, may I step lightly upon your smile,
Your beauty, which blows me over
With awesome reverence—
May I run naked from ego and sin,
Tipping my hat to every god
And gentle breeze that lulls—
Wiping my feet and licking my lips at
Every dawn for bread, and song and tear
That tutors what in me is so small—
And may my center fill its measure
In bewildered mystery and worship
To the heartbeat of your benevolence.
The black sun deepens upon earth’s face
Mercifully reaching to the core of my soul
And binding up my heart—
Mother Earth is breathing under my feet,
Dreaming like God for its fullness to be
Begotten—
I feel her suffering as my fingers trace
The dying child, the empty womb, recalling
A paradise forgotten—
This crevice, this rock from where I watch
Hide me between awe and pain
Like a crying harp—
Is it glory I am tingling under or is it
Glory I have dusted off with every
Mortal entangling?—
Is it moonlight or sun’s laughter
That wakens earthliness in the blood
Of existence flower?
It is demise to measure, delineate every
Motion, season, hour and minute as
No more than a dower,
Some deserved gift, pleasure earned
For Being the voice-full specie
Of a million cymbal’s caroling—
Earth, may I step lightly upon your smile,
Your beauty, which blows me over
With awesome reverence—
May I run naked from ego and sin,
Tipping my hat to every god
And gentle breeze that lulls—
Wiping my feet and licking my lips at
Every dawn for bread, and song and tear
That tutors what in me is so small—
And may my center fill its measure
In bewildered mystery and worship
To the heartbeat of your benevolence.
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