audio link
I saw then,
What I thought
In meaning and ambition
Made ascriptions clear
Until another's
Reality sense
Broke in
To eclipse the sun
Of my clarion view
I waited for it to happen
But it never did
Something else
More wonderful instead
Grew in the place
Of that which was dead
Behind the landscape
That I had painted
Arose a sky in broad expanse
Three faces full of hope and life
Together with
The hand of another,
Who caressed our being
Their brightness
Informs my view, and
As I gaze at them
Heaven is made new
When gravity swift
Pulls me down
They my soul uplift
Til the day come
When we all
With a Dove
Shall fly
High Above
Through the heavens
To a place
In The Way
Of His Majesty
And still greater Love.
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Monday, April 19, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Bureaucrazy - with audio
audio link
She said
He said
Hello
I don't know
Well I do
Who do
They do
The Do Do
Bird Flew
Killed inner child
When head notes
Mental and pedo-filed
Out their mouths
Came conjecturing
Everything was soused
Flooded Moreover
With heretofore
And Next thereof
All is come
That must be done
Now lies prone
Hence useless
This morass
Don't talk,
Or be an ass
Just baste and bask
So ask, please
Control the dis-ease
OK, OK
She said
Then went on
That talking head
It put me
Right back
In my bed
Because the pain
Eyes saw red
Deathly gain
Is the freedom
Of abused authority
A new problem
Over and over
Bore the brain
Soul and liver
A hole to drain
Pour in a river
Of false beliefs
Politicized nonsensical
Non-science's release
Kick one's self
More forms legal
To fill a shelf
Redundant commas
Bureaucracy commissions
Addendums callous
Onto Infinite revisions.
She said
He said
Hello
I don't know
Well I do
Who do
They do
The Do Do
Bird Flew
Killed inner child
When head notes
Mental and pedo-filed
Out their mouths
Came conjecturing
Everything was soused
Flooded Moreover
With heretofore
And Next thereof
All is come
That must be done
Now lies prone
Hence useless
This morass
Don't talk,
Or be an ass
Just baste and bask
So ask, please
Control the dis-ease
OK, OK
She said
Then went on
That talking head
It put me
Right back
In my bed
Because the pain
Eyes saw red
Deathly gain
Is the freedom
Of abused authority
A new problem
Over and over
Bore the brain
Soul and liver
A hole to drain
Pour in a river
Of false beliefs
Politicized nonsensical
Non-science's release
Kick one's self
More forms legal
To fill a shelf
Redundant commas
Bureaucracy commissions
Addendums callous
Onto Infinite revisions.
>>>>>
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Locusts in the Sycamores - with audio
audio link
It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon when I heard them.
Locusts, 7 yr locusts were sounding their life in the Sycamores, Maples and Aspens.
They had come early, for this was only August and not yet past the afternoon.
I remembered how they told of the coming of evening and eventually winter, Long ago, when I was a little boy at play. I would feel the sadness come over me. I knew that it was the end of Summer, the beginning of Autumn, the coming of Winter. I did not understand why this should affect me so. The passage of time meant nothing to me then. It did however, to the subconscious clock within me; that which communed with the eternal.
The locusts announced; "another time and era are passing, never to come again."
Once I was old enough to go to school, the locusts warned that it was time to come in from play, get ready for bed; and in the morning go to school. That which flourished in play with friends, died in school. Now, every time those cicadas with their cousins the locusts called out, it was like Sunday night before school and the end of summer all over again. The feeling ran deep within my being like hot brown molasses in a slow sinking procession down each bone.
It was an omen. Winter was coming early and it would be a long, cold, dark presence this year. My mind flashed back to brief moments of months before. Looking down each morning while picking up the newspaper, I would encounter an array of ants working furiously at their endeavor of survival. Marching every day or evening without fail across my sidewalk, from one Juniper to the next, they were there. Then, the prophet Solomon's words came to mind: " Observe the ant....." Prepare for the future without ceasing, and in the meantime be content in your sweaty toil; as well in your eating and sleeping. Why? Because Winter is coming.
Well, this year it was coming early. The signs were called out; the ants in tiny somber marching, and the locusts in eerie clicking song. Even the leaves had prematurely begun to fall.
Mother had been in the hospital on and off for the past 5 years. Dad as well. He was only a shadow of the man I knew growing up. The man who had once right crossed and knocked down a burly bearded fireman with tattoos who was refusing to help put out a burning building. A police dog had stopped him from continuing to pummel that sot. The maladies of age had shaken him, weakened his heart, taken away the pleasure of walking, and narrowed his sight. Mother on the other hand,
had undergone the hand of time with multiple and sundry plagues common to our generation.
She had also lost the thrill of allure and clever wit that had once brought Dr.s, Surgeons, Lawyers, Publishers and Poets to the cocktail parties and dinners that were hosted in our home. Life had now become a matter of complaint, she also had been robbed of the simpler pleasures of walking, eating and the enjoyment of company.
Autumn is here, Winter is coming whispered the locusts in the Sycamores. And suddenly, a finger loomed up within me, pointing me back to Solomon, " All is but vanity and a chasing of the wind."
All of this wonderment is passing...... , fleeting.........., flying away, and I also along with it. Mortality will one day come to call with its capital expression. I like Scrooge joined the community of humbuggeries and naysayers to its proposition. ...In confusion, I stumbled about, not focussing, hiding in my mind, lest feelings and emotion should overtake me ......I felt dizzy at times.
My Parents lay in their beds most of the day, living and participating in life through CNN,
"Little House on the Prairie,"and pharmaceutical commercials on TV. Slumber followed only to be interrupted by the habit of meals and ablutions. The wind was blowing the leaves right off the Maples. It carried along the chorus of wings in the trees; Winter is coming, Autumn is here. They weren't supposed to be here yet. They'd come early. It would be a long hard unpredictable Winter. The kind that makes a man's heart lonely and searching. The kind of cold that causes one to seek out the reassuring warmth of a few close friends. The kind of white blanketing in the night that propels all souls toward the Almighty Eternal. Let it blow then; like a dog, let the wind lick up these tears before they fall.
A clanging silence, a rigid river of dancing contradiction that flashes in a flurry before the eye of the soul; the pintele - (the spark of life) - threatened at once by the coming flood. Like lightning giving birth to thunder, shouts out the rainfall, so to the ants, with the buzzing of wings, and the crossing of tiny legs told the leaves to fall. And, as the leaves rushed along, they seemed to rustle out the message; the Autumn is here, the Winter is near....
And come it must! For this has been the way til now; ordained for each one to tarry an allotted time until the next season is ushered in, even as the one that is, passes over the falls into the Mind of timeless forgotten eternity.
It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon when I heard them.
Locusts, 7 yr locusts were sounding their life in the Sycamores, Maples and Aspens.
They had come early, for this was only August and not yet past the afternoon.
I remembered how they told of the coming of evening and eventually winter, Long ago, when I was a little boy at play. I would feel the sadness come over me. I knew that it was the end of Summer, the beginning of Autumn, the coming of Winter. I did not understand why this should affect me so. The passage of time meant nothing to me then. It did however, to the subconscious clock within me; that which communed with the eternal.
The locusts announced; "another time and era are passing, never to come again."
Once I was old enough to go to school, the locusts warned that it was time to come in from play, get ready for bed; and in the morning go to school. That which flourished in play with friends, died in school. Now, every time those cicadas with their cousins the locusts called out, it was like Sunday night before school and the end of summer all over again. The feeling ran deep within my being like hot brown molasses in a slow sinking procession down each bone.
It was an omen. Winter was coming early and it would be a long, cold, dark presence this year. My mind flashed back to brief moments of months before. Looking down each morning while picking up the newspaper, I would encounter an array of ants working furiously at their endeavor of survival. Marching every day or evening without fail across my sidewalk, from one Juniper to the next, they were there. Then, the prophet Solomon's words came to mind: " Observe the ant....." Prepare for the future without ceasing, and in the meantime be content in your sweaty toil; as well in your eating and sleeping. Why? Because Winter is coming.
Well, this year it was coming early. The signs were called out; the ants in tiny somber marching, and the locusts in eerie clicking song. Even the leaves had prematurely begun to fall.
Mother had been in the hospital on and off for the past 5 years. Dad as well. He was only a shadow of the man I knew growing up. The man who had once right crossed and knocked down a burly bearded fireman with tattoos who was refusing to help put out a burning building. A police dog had stopped him from continuing to pummel that sot. The maladies of age had shaken him, weakened his heart, taken away the pleasure of walking, and narrowed his sight. Mother on the other hand,
had undergone the hand of time with multiple and sundry plagues common to our generation.
She had also lost the thrill of allure and clever wit that had once brought Dr.s, Surgeons, Lawyers, Publishers and Poets to the cocktail parties and dinners that were hosted in our home. Life had now become a matter of complaint, she also had been robbed of the simpler pleasures of walking, eating and the enjoyment of company.
Autumn is here, Winter is coming whispered the locusts in the Sycamores. And suddenly, a finger loomed up within me, pointing me back to Solomon, " All is but vanity and a chasing of the wind."
All of this wonderment is passing...... , fleeting.........., flying away, and I also along with it. Mortality will one day come to call with its capital expression. I like Scrooge joined the community of humbuggeries and naysayers to its proposition. ...In confusion, I stumbled about, not focussing, hiding in my mind, lest feelings and emotion should overtake me ......I felt dizzy at times.
My Parents lay in their beds most of the day, living and participating in life through CNN,
"Little House on the Prairie,"and pharmaceutical commercials on TV. Slumber followed only to be interrupted by the habit of meals and ablutions. The wind was blowing the leaves right off the Maples. It carried along the chorus of wings in the trees; Winter is coming, Autumn is here. They weren't supposed to be here yet. They'd come early. It would be a long hard unpredictable Winter. The kind that makes a man's heart lonely and searching. The kind of cold that causes one to seek out the reassuring warmth of a few close friends. The kind of white blanketing in the night that propels all souls toward the Almighty Eternal. Let it blow then; like a dog, let the wind lick up these tears before they fall.
A clanging silence, a rigid river of dancing contradiction that flashes in a flurry before the eye of the soul; the pintele - (the spark of life) - threatened at once by the coming flood. Like lightning giving birth to thunder, shouts out the rainfall, so to the ants, with the buzzing of wings, and the crossing of tiny legs told the leaves to fall. And, as the leaves rushed along, they seemed to rustle out the message; the Autumn is here, the Winter is near....
And come it must! For this has been the way til now; ordained for each one to tarry an allotted time until the next season is ushered in, even as the one that is, passes over the falls into the Mind of timeless forgotten eternity.
Next - with audio
audio link
That which yearns to be
Is now becoming
A pill in hand
An herbal elixir
Raise the titanic
Now I wait
On speeding train
Against the tunnel facade
In thickening tension
Of foggy pre-game morning
Till black starting gun
In Screaming force
Sends Shot unyielding
A Falling outcome
Looks back aghast
With sudden shock
The former shell
Lies broken.
That which yearns to be
Is now becoming
A pill in hand
An herbal elixir
Raise the titanic
Now I wait
On speeding train
Against the tunnel facade
In thickening tension
Of foggy pre-game morning
Till black starting gun
In Screaming force
Sends Shot unyielding
A Falling outcome
Looks back aghast
With sudden shock
The former shell
Lies broken.
Over Jagged Peaks - with audio
audio link
The arrows shot well
So long ago remain
With those of today
Find their mark in
Black blue shades of pain
But this is life
To live in this skin
Not to fear of
Worry's cutting knife
But thankful for love
Family and wife
To God above
Focus on these
Instead of bigger toys
Nay, be at peace
Carried on by lighter joys
Thus like the sun speaks
I rise up again
Over jagged peaks
In flowing skies
With fluid tern
Till my Creator
Shall lay me down.
The arrows shot well
So long ago remain
With those of today
Find their mark in
Black blue shades of pain
But this is life
To live in this skin
Not to fear of
Worry's cutting knife
But thankful for love
Family and wife
To God above
Focus on these
Instead of bigger toys
Nay, be at peace
Carried on by lighter joys
Thus like the sun speaks
I rise up again
Over jagged peaks
In flowing skies
With fluid tern
Till my Creator
Shall lay me down.
Form & Beauty - with audio
audio link
Broken yet standing
The form could yet be determined
Pieces lay neatly spread about
Shadows held the vase on the wooden plain
A comforting kiss from afar
Light cast down its caressing warmth
Revealing a dance of dust and spores
The quietness of that solemn hollow
Called out the comforting grace
Of a lilting silent peaceful world
Part of a magnoglia was there displayed
In the absence of music or sound
A song sang to hearts beating close
In silky Softness, unspoken yet profound
The past, present and future
Are well, here, and now.
Broken yet standing
The form could yet be determined
Pieces lay neatly spread about
Shadows held the vase on the wooden plain
A comforting kiss from afar
Light cast down its caressing warmth
Revealing a dance of dust and spores
The quietness of that solemn hollow
Called out the comforting grace
Of a lilting silent peaceful world
Part of a magnoglia was there displayed
In the absence of music or sound
A song sang to hearts beating close
In silky Softness, unspoken yet profound
The past, present and future
Are well, here, and now.
Sundays - with audio
audio link
I hate Sundays
Sundays - YUCK!
Sundays always
Break my luck
Donkeys bray, and
Chickens cluck
But Sundays kill
Adventure's pluck
Sundays come
And Sundays go
No matter how many
No matter how slow
With enough Sundays
They serve to show
Ever nothing's changed
Never Nothing will
Time now to climb
Back up the hill
Bluster through
The weekly thrill
Till comes Sunday
To break the spell.
I hate Sundays
Sundays - YUCK!
Sundays always
Break my luck
Donkeys bray, and
Chickens cluck
But Sundays kill
Adventure's pluck
Sundays come
And Sundays go
No matter how many
No matter how slow
With enough Sundays
They serve to show
Ever nothing's changed
Never Nothing will
Time now to climb
Back up the hill
Bluster through
The weekly thrill
Till comes Sunday
To break the spell.
Stopped - with audio
audio link
I'm stopped indeed
With nowhere to run
In me grows a seed
That's only just begun
Now in the middle
I find myself caught
To be in that which
I would rather not
Behind the place
Before the end
Round I go
To start again.
I'm stopped indeed
With nowhere to run
In me grows a seed
That's only just begun
Now in the middle
I find myself caught
To be in that which
I would rather not
Behind the place
Before the end
Round I go
To start again.
Shattered / On repairing a Broken World - with audio
audio link
Long, long ago, in ancient times, there came a great shuddering in
the heavens so that the moon and whole celestial host were shaken
and thrown into consternation.
It was then that a frightened Phoebe came upon Atlas and found
him bent over and weeping while kneeling on the ground.
Surrounding him were the broken shards of the world that he had
once carried upon his shoulders. Why are you so distressed my love,
Phoebe asked? For you are no longer burdened with the punishing
task of carrying the world.
Atlas replied, it is as you say, but although I am no longer
betrothed to the slavish endeavor of lifting up the World, I am now
faced with one much greater.
But what could be more difficult than carrying that mighty orb
upon thy shoulders? Phoebe asked again.
Atlas answered, true it is that my task was formidable, but I could
perform it with great skill and pride; indeed it was for this purpose
that my broad shoulders were fashioned by eternity. However, I
cannot, nor is there any here among us, that can refashion the World
once it has been shattered and broken.
Phoebe covered her face and wept for a time with Atlas,
for the bitterness of the truth was more than she could bare.
But Atlas, looking up, his countenance brightened, suddenly
stopped her with these words; it is a bitter concession that we cannot
remedy all losses, answer all questions, know all things, nor can we
regenerate all. But there is hope for us gods yet, because once our
finiteness has been revealed to us, we may then acknowledge what
the philosophers have postulated; that there must be one who is greater,
a Grand Creator of the Cosmos who is Father to us all. In knowing
this we may now seek Him out...
Phoebe broke in before Atlas could finish; and as His children we
free to explore and come to know that which gives life and light to the
Sun, moon, planets, and stars. We can ask Him to help and show the
gods how to repair all that which has been broken.
Armed with this new understanding, not only Phoebe and Atlas, but
all the gods together with the rest of creation were comforted and
the universe found it's spiraling ellipsis once more.
Long, long ago, in ancient times, there came a great shuddering in
the heavens so that the moon and whole celestial host were shaken
and thrown into consternation.
It was then that a frightened Phoebe came upon Atlas and found
him bent over and weeping while kneeling on the ground.
Surrounding him were the broken shards of the world that he had
once carried upon his shoulders. Why are you so distressed my love,
Phoebe asked? For you are no longer burdened with the punishing
task of carrying the world.
Atlas replied, it is as you say, but although I am no longer
betrothed to the slavish endeavor of lifting up the World, I am now
faced with one much greater.
But what could be more difficult than carrying that mighty orb
upon thy shoulders? Phoebe asked again.
Atlas answered, true it is that my task was formidable, but I could
perform it with great skill and pride; indeed it was for this purpose
that my broad shoulders were fashioned by eternity. However, I
cannot, nor is there any here among us, that can refashion the World
once it has been shattered and broken.
Phoebe covered her face and wept for a time with Atlas,
for the bitterness of the truth was more than she could bare.
But Atlas, looking up, his countenance brightened, suddenly
stopped her with these words; it is a bitter concession that we cannot
remedy all losses, answer all questions, know all things, nor can we
regenerate all. But there is hope for us gods yet, because once our
finiteness has been revealed to us, we may then acknowledge what
the philosophers have postulated; that there must be one who is greater,
a Grand Creator of the Cosmos who is Father to us all. In knowing
this we may now seek Him out...
Phoebe broke in before Atlas could finish; and as His children we
free to explore and come to know that which gives life and light to the
Sun, moon, planets, and stars. We can ask Him to help and show the
gods how to repair all that which has been broken.
Armed with this new understanding, not only Phoebe and Atlas, but
all the gods together with the rest of creation were comforted and
the universe found it's spiraling ellipsis once more.
Psalms Chapter 82 תְּהִלִּים
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
How Long - with audio
audio link
How long,
Has it been..
Said the mouse
To the little bird
Since you have flown,
From your nest?
Seems like ages
Said the little bird.
But how long?
Asked the mouse?
In miles,
Maybe a lifetime,
But in time
Perhaps only a mile,
Said the Little bird.
You are perhaps
Just a bit confused?
Said the mouse.
Perplexed yes
Said the little bird
But confused no.
You see time flies
With it spans life.
But the time
And the distance
That I have gone
From my nest
cannot be measured
In those terms.
Who I am
Where I came from,
How I came to be,
My feelings,
Why, these are
All but impressions
That have not
The capacity
Or want
Of being captured
In a net of words,
For that would be
A trap to me.
When the little mouse
Thought about it,
He then realized
That these things
Could only
Be framed,
However meekly,
By the rising
Of the sun
And the change
Of the seasons,
As the winged ones
Fly over things
Made tiny
Below the arc
Of the horizon
In embrace with
The bending heavens above
How long,
Has it been..
Said the mouse
To the little bird
Since you have flown,
From your nest?
Seems like ages
Said the little bird.
But how long?
Asked the mouse?
In miles,
Maybe a lifetime,
But in time
Perhaps only a mile,
Said the Little bird.
You are perhaps
Just a bit confused?
Said the mouse.
Perplexed yes
Said the little bird
But confused no.
You see time flies
With it spans life.
But the time
And the distance
That I have gone
From my nest
cannot be measured
In those terms.
Who I am
Where I came from,
How I came to be,
My feelings,
Why, these are
All but impressions
That have not
The capacity
Or want
Of being captured
In a net of words,
For that would be
A trap to me.
When the little mouse
Thought about it,
He then realized
That these things
Could only
Be framed,
However meekly,
By the rising
Of the sun
And the change
Of the seasons,
As the winged ones
Fly over things
Made tiny
Below the arc
Of the horizon
In embrace with
The bending heavens above
How It Shines - with audio
audio link
Beyond the gates of mediocrity
Past the plains of mere critique
Dwells something more comely than the spring
Evermore so than the pretty petaled blossoms
Caught up in the eyes of innocence
How it shines
Brighter than knowledge
Sweeter than nectar honeyed sun
How it shines
Piercing the heart with flame
O however does it shine
That starburst eternal
From whence comes the welling up of hope
Wrapped in a love so grand
Its lightning would score the soul of all
O Perfect Presence from beyond the cosmos
A radiance that consumes to renew
That which It created in the unknowable
How It shines
The Shadow of His Glory
A casting of His countenance
The palm of His Hand
The light of His I AM
A caring of His am I
In the all that is
How It Shines
Beyond the gates of mediocrity
Past the plains of mere critique
Dwells something more comely than the spring
Evermore so than the pretty petaled blossoms
Caught up in the eyes of innocence
How it shines
Brighter than knowledge
Sweeter than nectar honeyed sun
How it shines
Piercing the heart with flame
O however does it shine
That starburst eternal
From whence comes the welling up of hope
Wrapped in a love so grand
Its lightning would score the soul of all
O Perfect Presence from beyond the cosmos
A radiance that consumes to renew
That which It created in the unknowable
How It shines
The Shadow of His Glory
A casting of His countenance
The palm of His Hand
The light of His I AM
A caring of His am I
In the all that is
How It Shines
Beneath the Sky Above - with audio
audio link
As I sit
Beneath th sky above
Streaming future thoughts
So many debts
So many roads
Not many right
Not many lead home
If home lies within the heart
How do I get the rest of me there
Can I pay the tax on my soul
The fee for my family's lives
Am I locked forever
Beneath the sky above
In an unbreakable circle
Of plebeian servitude
To some other's enjoyment
Is there no meaning left to make
From the creation of heart and hands
When the day is done
Can I only tell
Of how I filled another's storehouse
Of how I never enjoyed
My children in their youth
Because my heart was somewhere else
Looking for a way out of my predicament
No one ever told me
That I had concrete legs
When the race started
Nor did my poor leaden heart
Hear the news
As it tried in vain to fly
A curse on that ungodly thing
That makes one man a slave
To another man's pocket
To that crushing weight
Of life's announcement
That a man may not pass
The place into which he was born
Therefore tear out my heart
Give me one more dull
That dares not hope,
Wish or dream
One that does not
Mind life's cruelties
Nor the stripes
Of death's encroachment
Upon the shores
Of my sleep and awakening
Then shall I no longer
Desire the artist's renaissance
I will jump down
From the rocky climb
To blow bubbles in the mud
With the frogs and turtles
Who do not mind
Their shell and slimy skin
Oh to care not
But to be contented
For it is some kind of evil that
Puts the desire for a flash of brilliance
Within the heart of one who sits
Broken in the shadows of those
Soaring high into the sun.
As I sit
Beneath th sky above
Streaming future thoughts
So many debts
So many roads
Not many right
Not many lead home
If home lies within the heart
How do I get the rest of me there
Can I pay the tax on my soul
The fee for my family's lives
Am I locked forever
Beneath the sky above
In an unbreakable circle
Of plebeian servitude
To some other's enjoyment
Is there no meaning left to make
From the creation of heart and hands
When the day is done
Can I only tell
Of how I filled another's storehouse
Of how I never enjoyed
My children in their youth
Because my heart was somewhere else
Looking for a way out of my predicament
No one ever told me
That I had concrete legs
When the race started
Nor did my poor leaden heart
Hear the news
As it tried in vain to fly
A curse on that ungodly thing
That makes one man a slave
To another man's pocket
To that crushing weight
Of life's announcement
That a man may not pass
The place into which he was born
Therefore tear out my heart
Give me one more dull
That dares not hope,
Wish or dream
One that does not
Mind life's cruelties
Nor the stripes
Of death's encroachment
Upon the shores
Of my sleep and awakening
Then shall I no longer
Desire the artist's renaissance
I will jump down
From the rocky climb
To blow bubbles in the mud
With the frogs and turtles
Who do not mind
Their shell and slimy skin
Oh to care not
But to be contented
For it is some kind of evil that
Puts the desire for a flash of brilliance
Within the heart of one who sits
Broken in the shadows of those
Soaring high into the sun.
The Object - with audio
audio link
There is an object
Spiraling through the heavens
Where it lands is unknown
Many eyes are upon it
Including those of the beholder's
From which it had flown
Troubling, that little thing
Wandering and rounding
So high up in the air
Going onward still
Only slightly beyond
The gravity of care
But the sun grows anxious
So to the clouds begin to brood
Winds grow lacerating and wanton
To effect a change of mood
Exuberant hearts calling
Hands reach out in expectation
Of a hunger to be fulfilled
By the object's trajectory action
From the robin's loving call
To the Jay's so often shrill
Will there come a rainbow
To grace the harrowed hill
O'er the landscape of one below
By the object cast at will
The riddle remains unanswered
For capricious is destiny's will
Secret are the ingredients,
Of her sweet and sour,
Sugar coated pill.
There is an object
Spiraling through the heavens
Where it lands is unknown
Many eyes are upon it
Including those of the beholder's
From which it had flown
Troubling, that little thing
Wandering and rounding
So high up in the air
Going onward still
Only slightly beyond
The gravity of care
But the sun grows anxious
So to the clouds begin to brood
Winds grow lacerating and wanton
To effect a change of mood
Exuberant hearts calling
Hands reach out in expectation
Of a hunger to be fulfilled
By the object's trajectory action
From the robin's loving call
To the Jay's so often shrill
Will there come a rainbow
To grace the harrowed hill
O'er the landscape of one below
By the object cast at will
The riddle remains unanswered
For capricious is destiny's will
Secret are the ingredients,
Of her sweet and sour,
Sugar coated pill.
A Blackbird Visits - with audio
audio link
A Blackbird came to roost today
He called out to an end of play
Laughing, as if to mock the day
The raven cast a windblown shadow
Tipped over was the cup of callow
Rusted tractor, fields gone fallow
Bees find not the pleasant feast
From Faded flowers along the street
Clouds gray oppress the sunny thought
Frozen squalls bring good to naught
Rabbits in meadows, their races started
Now tortoise-like, turn back retarded
Beneath the specter of a hawk
Frantic scurry against the clock
Into hole and into den
So sleep a while there little one
Till radiant glory of the Sun
Breaks through the dewy heavens
And all the clouds have come unspun
With warmth smiling down on the earth again
Blossoming hearts in songs of gentle spring rains
A Blackbird came to roost today
He called out to an end of play
Laughing, as if to mock the day
The raven cast a windblown shadow
Tipped over was the cup of callow
Rusted tractor, fields gone fallow
Bees find not the pleasant feast
From Faded flowers along the street
Clouds gray oppress the sunny thought
Frozen squalls bring good to naught
Rabbits in meadows, their races started
Now tortoise-like, turn back retarded
Beneath the specter of a hawk
Frantic scurry against the clock
Into hole and into den
So sleep a while there little one
Till radiant glory of the Sun
Breaks through the dewy heavens
And all the clouds have come unspun
With warmth smiling down on the earth again
Blossoming hearts in songs of gentle spring rains
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Stephens In The Night - with audio
audio link
Sometimes in the night
I walk the way of Stephens
Under a fleeting moon
There to meet old friends
Who join me in the moment
Some twenty plus years ago
In a spectral gaze I see all at 23
As I struggle to find my way
Faces of teachers speak silent expressions
Up and down the walls and halls of Stephens
A kiss unmet, an invitation lilted, a hand not taken
Endless tests and auditions, words forgotten
In the day I become bald and fat, but in that place
Fields round the grounds aglow in faded grace
There walks a muscled youth with thick brown hair
Also in that place see the starlit eyes of those once fair
Unsure how to engage the willowy memory
I wander on with angst in quiet revere
Then looking down like a bird on those below
As Far away as their embraces are from mine now
Where are those lost in sleep so sweet,
Fairies, sprites, dancers lithe, petite
You clarion singers and mummers follow,
In winged reverberations like hawk and swallow
How is it this night that my flesh has become a shadow
Of a long ago forgotten young and lonely actor
Who like The Flying Dutchman, must return
On a purple cobalt foaming of ocean's churn
With the stars of so many souls once familiar
Away from college town passages provincial
Playhouse, chapel, barn and naked lake
Time's jet streams passing goodbyes spake
Of scurrying possum and hurrying skunk
Beetles and crickets creeping in flora's funk
Now carry this one back from Columbia
To the bewildering hot glow of L A
Among joy and sadness in tumbling flight
Fare Thee Well Till Another Long Deep Night
Sometimes in the night
I walk the way of Stephens
Under a fleeting moon
There to meet old friends
Who join me in the moment
Some twenty plus years ago
In a spectral gaze I see all at 23
As I struggle to find my way
Faces of teachers speak silent expressions
Up and down the walls and halls of Stephens
A kiss unmet, an invitation lilted, a hand not taken
Endless tests and auditions, words forgotten
In the day I become bald and fat, but in that place
Fields round the grounds aglow in faded grace
There walks a muscled youth with thick brown hair
Also in that place see the starlit eyes of those once fair
Unsure how to engage the willowy memory
I wander on with angst in quiet revere
Then looking down like a bird on those below
As Far away as their embraces are from mine now
Where are those lost in sleep so sweet,
Fairies, sprites, dancers lithe, petite
You clarion singers and mummers follow,
In winged reverberations like hawk and swallow
How is it this night that my flesh has become a shadow
Of a long ago forgotten young and lonely actor
Who like The Flying Dutchman, must return
On a purple cobalt foaming of ocean's churn
With the stars of so many souls once familiar
Away from college town passages provincial
Playhouse, chapel, barn and naked lake
Time's jet streams passing goodbyes spake
Of scurrying possum and hurrying skunk
Beetles and crickets creeping in flora's funk
Now carry this one back from Columbia
To the bewildering hot glow of L A
Among joy and sadness in tumbling flight
Fare Thee Well Till Another Long Deep Night
Friday, October 29, 2004
Blogging in Late October - with audio
audio link
It came upon me one rainy afternoon,
After the wind had died and the Fog rolled in
The rushing silence deafened me.
What the hell was Blogging anyway
With its Halloween colored B,
Smiling at me like a Jack O Lantern
I shuddered to think on it
But sure as endless October thoughts
Pounding at rocky beachhead shores
So it came, ghostlike, the Blog,
In the mindful mist like a distant hound
Howling out wandering news about the scent
Then a hand reached out from within the dark
And clicked the browser's button
Like a brewing witch with mouse in hand
A shower of black letters fell against the screen
Bleached deathly pale and bony white
X-rays shot flying pitch, as if from some black hole
And as I read on, beyond the late afternoon's twighlight
My mind was once again numbed with night
Something deeper now writes here
Outside, the rustling of the wayward leaves
Static's blue, red, green fractured aurora stream
Glowing eerily on the yard where little gobblins are seen
At the door a knock is heard, and then a creaking sound
Suddenly, the door swings open, with a blood chilling scream
TRICK OR TREAT! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!
It came upon me one rainy afternoon,
After the wind had died and the Fog rolled in
The rushing silence deafened me.
What the hell was Blogging anyway
With its Halloween colored B,
Smiling at me like a Jack O Lantern
I shuddered to think on it
But sure as endless October thoughts
Pounding at rocky beachhead shores
So it came, ghostlike, the Blog,
In the mindful mist like a distant hound
Howling out wandering news about the scent
Then a hand reached out from within the dark
And clicked the browser's button
Like a brewing witch with mouse in hand
A shower of black letters fell against the screen
Bleached deathly pale and bony white
X-rays shot flying pitch, as if from some black hole
And as I read on, beyond the late afternoon's twighlight
My mind was once again numbed with night
Something deeper now writes here
Outside, the rustling of the wayward leaves
Static's blue, red, green fractured aurora stream
Glowing eerily on the yard where little gobblins are seen
At the door a knock is heard, and then a creaking sound
Suddenly, the door swings open, with a blood chilling scream
TRICK OR TREAT! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!
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