Rise up fire! Her heaven take
Let no strength your path break
Seize the sky and watch it burn
Red is Hell as you shall learn
Thy will strong not bend too low
Shine thy light on rich control
Keep thy toiled hand shadowed
Shaking with hunger sick men hollowed
****** power above unjust
Kings carry thy light in false trust
Poor scramble for the crumbs
Beat thy rhythm on God’s drum.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
Sleep they quiet moon
Rest thy forehead soon
And let sun shine above
The chorus of song. For love!
Day then brakes alight
Birds song there in flight
Below, resting sweet
Farmer rises day t’meet
Out in fields well tended
Rose spirit of morning unbound
Shining through a dreamy sky
The blessing of God’s infinity.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
High
The mountain
takes the sky above it and the black sand below
and raps them in his breath.
Rolling high above the waves and barnacles
My cheeks sting red from the skipping ride across the cove.
the mountain hasn’t changing, a constant.
I have traveled its omnipotent rode, many times.
My innocence scattered along the path
like dew.
The trek is easier now.
I am stronger. The mystery is gone now.
Once the woods held secrets and treasures for thought
and every step was a triumph.
The winding path was
an epic journey
and the elements threatened defeat.
Stumbling and sweated I’d reach the top.
The all encompassing spirit
would rap me up in her arms
and whispered sweet dreams of the future
the brevity of life
disappeared in my greatness and significant being.
Harder times sold the wonder from beneath my resting head
and here, at the foot of this mountain,
I stand in confidence
no longer amazed by natures omnipotent hight.
I see the shadows in the wood and feel no curiosity
and when nature sings I feel no desire to listen to its honesty.
I spend years (it seems) in book and introverted realties
which strip me of the purest form of humanity.
Where once I stood on the top of a mountain
and thought of the greatness of self
I now question all forms of lively hood
and fear the swelling waves of future.
As a child I bounded on wings of joy
into the wooden cabin on the mountain
and sang while time floated by
and tea boiled in kettle and I had time to dream.
Now here I stand where I have stood so many times before
and I can’t help feeling nostalgia
and longing for my innocence
where things where easy.
Innocence flies, it really does,
and once the sky has fallen the birds don’t sing.
and questions
why does experience create so many questions?
shouldn’t time resolve?
In the morning I’d awake and speed down to the shore catch
the glimmering fishes twisting in the light and make sculptures
from salty stones.
Now I awake in a cabin I have slept in many times
there is no novelty
and my privileges makes the exceptional ordinary.
I drowsily remove myself from sleep
and sit on the porch with a view of the cove.
I see a view which I have seen many times before
yet the incomprehensible contrast of the world
still strikes
hard
like a bullet through a chest.
In the years that come
I want life to crystalize
to form diamonds
hard, durable, and divine.
so when I sit here
I will have my future
and I will know some answers.
at least some
more than now.
I want the sea of fears to part
and let my spirit free.
I will sit on this wooden porch
weather worn and historied
and I will see through fresh eyes
and again feel the strength from within.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
I was driving on the highway
at a skipping 70.
Singing along to 80’s top 10
phrases like“everybreath you take” and “total eclipse of the heart”
splurged off my tongue.
Waving out the last ember of my cigarette
like a star in a constellation
I was drivin' back home after a
10 hour flight and 1 week business trip.
2 hours of sleep were guarded under my seat belt.
The windows were down, the air conditioner was blastin'
I was brakin' all the stops to stay awake
Come on! my ****** eyelids wouldn’t stay open
they kept slidin' closed as if 100 pound weights were clipped onto my eyelashes
like those freaks in the Guinness world record--
or something---
focus.....focus.... slurred off my tongue as red carlights blurred
and danced to a balletic symphony of speed.
The Choreographed Cars All In Spaced Lines
Flashed By
A Black Ranger Extended His Hand To a
Toyota
Dance with me?
The processed metals leaned close to
One another
Twirling their wheelings on the ground
Pirouetting
Other cars joined in
Tumbling on top of each other
Glass showered upon them like flower petals.
My cigarette was jammed into the dashboard
and the sirens of melodic ambulances
were in my ears.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
Our very souls are beaten into cages
of domestication
With ****** Fists
of Business Men.
Our freedom,
a squirming, squealing mouse
in claws-
fighting to escape
its captivity.
But like the caged rabbit,
hurling its self at steal bars-
steal bars don’t bend easy
it takes big hands,
business hands on high hills
but “if you want to be like the man on the hill,
you have to learn to smile as you ****
But the rabbit and the mouse,
beating and screaming,
against bars and claws
were created weaker than the capture-
And the cage keeps becoming
stronger, with diamonds.
And the bars shrink into the background.
Claws covered in silken honey.
But deranged rabbits hurl themselves
and bleeding mice struggle to beat
the order of things
and the cats nibble jaws squeal
shut.
And little children scream
to know the cruelty of reality.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
Big hands, Big arms
It makes a criminal out ya
Big hands, Big arms break things
I neva mean it.
I brake flowers
with these Big hands
they don’t know how Big they are.
It’s good if you’ve got a Big house
It’s good if your wifes got a Big rack
It’s good if you’ve got Big money.
But you, man, don’t get big
don’t look criminal man.
Be cool, be slim, be white.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC