Sunday, February 9, 2014

The Entropy of The Human Soul - Part I

Part I. The DĂ©nouement

Beginnings are so gurgling, giggling new
And I’ve had one or two
But when the time comes to end
I find that it, I cannot do

And what will it take
To find my heart and mind awake
To make more (time) than I spend
And bring this entropy to brake?

Directionless I fear
I will not find my “Here!”
That special place to wend
And weave my way to in my end

I wander in my state
While my mind and soul stagnate
My heart a supernova
Yet this red dwarf hesitates

Endings are so flickering, whimpering slow
I have a lot to show
But nothing new to add
to fight the creeping veil of woe

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Of a want of a destination

The spring of my achievement has fled
My breath now freezes on the platform
I am here with my burdens
Searching for a destination

I fled my home in winter
More cold at heart than in bones
The tracks beat the rhythm of my flight
And snow had cloaked the decay

(Yet when the train stopped in between
I dreamed of getting off
And walking into fields of white
Until the brilliance consumed me.)
Consume me.

But destinations are difficult
And I carried my burdens from the platform
To tables of slowly masticating hunchers
And lunch-supper-breakfast-lunchers

I was fed my destination at mushy lunches:
The humped backs, the shuffled steps,
The fogged eyes, the vacant stares.
I was destined for indigestion.

So I walked through uniform woods
To slide idle hands in winter pockets
But the closeness of the trees
Couldn't hide my loneliness from me

I purposefully evade my sense of purpose
And stuff the present in my eyes
Until I'm presently blind
And all I've done is flee and flee

I will carry my burdens from the platform
Past tables of slowly striking keyboard hunchers
And nine-to-five five-to-niners...
I'm finding destinations difficult.

Friday, June 15, 2012

The Crescendo

I rage, I toil, I cower and sweat.
I have not met my maker yet
and if I meet him I shall say,
‘Please come again another day.
I am not ready. I am not ripe.
The times not right!’ I’d wail and gripe.
I’d beg of him right there some sign
that he was fair; that fate aligned
and gave me all that I deserved
not less and from the path I swerved
by some dark power ill beset
to full crescendo of regret.

And in the whisper there I heard
the tempest break at silent words.
I knew, and he reminds me now,
that I deserved much worse allowed
for fate is held by piercèd hands
that save each one from fair demands.
From instant darkness, ash, and flame
and takes upon himself the blame

So God the Father please forgive
my angry heart; my will to live.
Teach me—slowly—how to die
that I might live for more than lies—
not what I see but for the hearts
That beat for thee—in distant parts—
a tune you love to hear and share:
The music of the lives you cared
enough to bring out from the dark.
And each that beats and stills you mark
as yours—this orchestra of strings.
So take my heart and make me sing:

Now in life and then in death,
may all I do; may every breath
be all for you my Elohim—
the Ever Greater Than He Seems.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The Grand Risk

And I said that if they don't
then you will
but I knew that the truth doesn't
down so simply,
because there
at the breaking
and in the moment of
the tale of the steps you took
and the hearts that
are lost in the blur of the 

Before the smudging
of present sufferings
there was love and
smiles and
and eventually
those things that will last on
into life and memory. 
And we look back
and see
and know
it was worth it to
go past this 
flickering hesitation. 

Go past this and don't
build those comfort walls
of fluffy cells
in the cold institute of your 
self-embracing solitude. 
Go past this into that
grand risk
of a heart open to 
greater loves than this.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

My Choice Draught

I’m inebriated on life
And all it has to offer
I keep taking big gulps
—Coughing, spluttering, spilling—
Rather than sips and swallows.

There is so much music
Sights, smells, things to try
Tastes to taste
Feelings to feel
Thoughts to think
There are so many books,
Sports, jobs, games, skills, responsibilities
And the people!

The people!
There are so many of them
So many of us
So many stories,
Tales of families, sorrows, joys
Of evil, good and all that’s between,
Friends, acquaintances, lovers, and all who could be...

Why is it that so few will touch my life?
So few... and so many...
I am drunk on presence
And thirsting for presence
I vacillate between extreme loneliness
And a desire for solitude

But the people
I wouldn’t give them up
I wouldn’t go sober
For while they kill me, enrage me,
Love me, challenge me, seduce me,
Question me, inform me, teach me,
Learn from me, touch me, strike me,
Enable me, analyze me, judge me,
Forgive me, kiss me, speak to me,
Destroy me and rebuild me
I know that I would not be me
Without you.

Let us get drunk on our presence
On our very being, and that being

Sunday, January 29, 2012

In the Presence of Greatness

IV. The Diving Post

Lone and jutting from the wave brushed sea
I waited long for him to climb up me.
Once a summer he’d make a single trip
To my lonely beach to take a dip.
He would swim a hundred feet from shore
To take a single dive and not one more.

III. The Pier Column

Barnacled, I raised my load so light
In my row I stood so true and right
And once a month she’d be coming down
To the coast by this fast dying town.
She’d walk the planks past me down to the end
And watch the sea pass by just like a friend.

II. The Evergreen

A blaze of green I stood so proud and tall
Until that day when my turn came to fall.
A man came with an eye patch and a brace
And looked at me with sun upon his face.
He felled me there, in land becoming stark
And took off his glove to touch my gnarled bark.

I. The Sapling

Awake with waiting till my time would come
To be between his finger and his thumb
And from his bag of forest he grabbed me
To place me in the soil to form a tree.
Upon a stump nearby, he sat to eat
And shed some silent tears into his meat.

V. The Carving

Now I stand upon a shelf austere
With memories in moments through the years.
She found me there along the beach one day
A chunk of driftwood, weathered, dried and grey.  
She carved and whittled something out of me,
Something always waiting for her to see.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

I Made Myself...

I made myself an island
And carved its edges mild
I made myself an island
But It still became the wild
I made myself an island
Safe from all the waves
I made myself an island
Where I’ll dig my grave
I made myself an island
And it stands here still, alone
I made myself an island
When I really want a home
I made myself an island
And my walls became the sea
I made myself an island
Oh Lord what’s become of me?