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Category: Poetry
the ugly inside
there should be a switch
to turn off the ugly inside,
some kind of lever to pull
to wash away the pollution
and reboot this oil-slicked mind
that the killing heart might beat,
beat life instead of death,
instead of being beaten to death
all glory
all glory to this present light
that spills across this earth, this face
– bright
it sings to every unsung creature’s delight
pressing against our eyes that we might
gain some lost vantage, some view, some sight
and with our sodden tongues unite
to sing with one voice of the coming endless day and the failure of forever night
but for the grace
there but for the grace
go i go i go i go i
there but for the precious lives
that spin their brilliant silver webs
in my gharish gloom i sometimes spy
in my hoary heart and shuttered eye
there but for another’s light
do i keep my lamp burning bright
against this self-imposed, never-ending night
till dawn brings clear salvific sight
go i go i go i go i
Viginti Quinque de Aprilis
it is warm today
as if our sleeping spring
has finally wakened
while a brighter sun
sends a whiter light
than has been seen
this is a promise day
a day that speaks to life
a day that sings of new,
summer’s short shadows
banished in the blue
A man of God
through life’s storm-death razing waves
many claim to have seen this Jesus
they run with glee to carnivore crowd
shouting in quiet, subtle voices ‘Ecce Homo!’
mirror, mirror upon our wailing wall
who is the most Christ-like of us all?
each one like Narcissus before the pool
loves forward with relieved suplicant sigh
no change, no movement is required
for He is warm-blooded immanence
‘He is like I!’
doom-hammer voices pound as nails through flesh
making a man of God, and a dust-filled god of man
I cannot say for certain what He looked like
but I can in foolish fearlessness declare –
He did not look like malformed ragged me
nor I in any way conform to heavensent He
Long lost is glorious resemblance
leaving bent, folded broken shadows
incomplete sickly songs of innocence
aimless wandering echoes of creation
futile fingers seeking transcendence
Mending Light (A Psalm of Grace)
Why oh God are you not here?
Light of the world
Swing down on wings of white love
And
Gather me up from this dust heap
Carry my self –
Body and soul
To the realm of glorious praise
Where light is unfading and
Life is the ever-present
Where is life in this cracked earth?
Who lives here – all walk with
Dead eyes
Dead lips
Dead words
Dripping from a cavernous maw
Would that I could tear the tongue
From the emptiness that screams around us all
Still – I am not alone
The world continues despite itself
As we work, walk, sweat and creep along
Against all the odds
You softly speak to me –
– grace –
It sears itself into my heart
Burning bonds –
Chains wrapped tightly
So heavy
Burned away
Some how (grace)
Some way (grace)
Some one (grace)
And the world is still a lost place
But now instead of being among the lost
I am a polished mirror
Reflecting pure light
And the darkness flees in fear
Not all my hours are as bright –
This mirror needs cleaning
Light of the world descend
Clean this broken glass
Darkened by relentless scratching claws
Come forth and scorch the world in life
So we can watch the newness spring forth
And become a billion polished lamps
Blinding the deep and deafening forever
With our cries of…
HALLELUJAH!
And the broken shall be mended in the end…
Hope
Fading into the coils
Moon-bleached skin stretched thin
Across the sheets like dead bones
There is life yet within
But…
It feels like a life already dead
Echoes of the garden voice tempting
With words – only words
No power –
not THE WORD
So the blood that is drying
The heart that is dying
Can be renewed
Turn back.
We are but shadows dark
You know –
We were meant to cast them
Instead
A greater light scours them away
(and I too perhaps)
“If it were not for the light there would be no shadow”
(I hear it whispered into my ear, sensual poison)
Not true.
True light that envelopes cannot suffer darkness
come a winter day
(this is an experiement in rhyme – i call it free rhyme becuase it comes from me – a free verse poet attempting to rhyme)
come a winter day
white and brown and gray
passes this day
like many a day
passes away
memory’s a haze
blurring before our gaze
black & white photos
along these days
seconds and minutes and hours blend
they never end
white and brown and gray
darkening day
we move as shadows
bent to our knees
crying pleas
we pray
come what may
white and brown and gray
still remains this day
black & white photos
waiting on sun’s rays.
Harnessing Chaos 