The true worship of all that's sacred
Is more than tolerance
It's acceptance even when
Your heart isn't feeling very
Compassionate...

~

in this place of darkness,
a quiet chill seeps deep within;
the place where light won't reach,
far below the noisy din
that floods my life above;
the noise that swallows me,
distracting purpose and resolve.
between this rock and hard place
hidden from all time,
where i feel there is no space;
though threatening in its silence,
and though i feel it’s crush;
this place that i despised,
had come to hate so much...
this rock become my cleft,
the cleft became my rock!
where i'm hidden from my foes.
from all that wish me harm,
where loss becomes my hope,
where pain reveals my gain;
where my tattered, filthy rags
are washed in water, clean and cool;
where i'm held in deepest love,
and sheltered from the storm.
as with mercy’s grace in action,
deep below within the earth,
water finds the darkest traces,
seeping to the lowest places,
the foulest air it displaces,
as it finds and fills
the needy spaces.

~

*post script.

is between a rock
and a hard place,
in reality within the cleft?  
perhaps it’s all just perspective.  
my hardest, darkest place
being under his protective grace.  
as water always falls,
down, down, seeping, trickling,
flowing, till it pools
in the very lowest
and darkest places;
just like mercy...
and what is mercy
but grace flowing…
grace in action!

I wish upon wishes
I wish all the
time

If wishes were horses
than beggars would ride
This is something we've known
for a
long long
time

But still I put
wishes on stars
and
go along
for the ride
whispering out to the great unknown
listening and wishing
for
another story untold

But
of all the wishes
I could bestow
I wish for that peace
we all
wish
to know.

what is poetic function?
the purpose of the muse?
can what poets labor at
be of any earthly use?

here we sit and ponder
nature's beauty found
our muse will make us wander
and take us off the ground

we soar o'r the canyons
we have ne'r seen
she depicts the colors
orange, red and yellow green

she controls the vertical
the horizontal, too
she'll wrench from you heartache
make you write the blues

she'll give you the music
write notes upon your brain
then when she has done it
words are written in refrains

sometimes it's the opposite
the lyrics are rehearsed
then music flows out from them
and the process is reversed

sometimes she is whimsical
sometimes she is deep
sometimes the best poetry
is written in our sleep

sometimes she is joyful
sometimes full of angst
sometimes she will teach us
sometimes she pulls pranks

she takes us to the seashore
she takes us to the park
she gives us the penknife
to carve our words on bark

she takes us to countries
to see folk starving there
she takes us to ghettos
so we can write despair

she rides the horsehead nebula
she straddles the moon
she lassoes the stars
she brightens up the gloom

she sorts all the words out
in our poor wee minds
sometimes we get ideas
from the words our muse will find

she may talk of God's things
to draw people nigh Him
or she may be atheistic
and urge us to deny Him

but she's always relevant
even though she's lazy
you may think her strange
you may say she's crazy

she'll talk to poets softly
love's passion to want
or she'll scream and rage!
she'll come on in a rant!

but any way she manifests
beauty clothes her form
even though she's naked
as the day that she was born

let her grow and nurture her
she'll come up like a tree
but do not try to cage her
she'll always break free!

in that case you're without her
you'll have trouble then!
you'll ball up your paper
and throw away your pen!

so, be kind to sister muse
feed her goodly things
you'll have found poems abound

she will give you

WINGS!

so what's poetry's purpose
when all is said and done?
TO TAKE
OTHERS WITH YOU!
then
my friends

YOU'VE WON!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/29/2016

Piano Cello Interludes*

I am listening to music,
piano with cello interludes,
thinking about you.
I hear the passionate sadness
mourning from the cello
as the piano weaves hollowness
and melancholy from black and white
minor keys.
I feel the disconnect
between the requiem’s movements
and the reality
of an alive, beating
but confused, sullen heart
fighting to be free.
~~~
It always amazes me
to hear the bow guiding the strings
in pulsing tempo
to the fingers caressing ivory
in such a way
that only a smile
can answer in return,
allowing for a kiss of life
in the midst of chaos
and death.
~~
In moments like this
I want to sit beside you,
place your hand in mine
and tell you all I have learned
and know;
all the secrets
that wander through my mind;
even those held in
dark recesses,
cobwebcluttered
and filled with spent emotions.
~~~
But I know I can’t.
Not because I don’t want to,
nor from fear,
though, to do so is scary
since it would mean giving you
my heart.
No, not because of this.
Rather, cause
I don’t think
this is what you need
or want.
~~~
Life is complicated,
complex in its existence
and it is this contradiction
between desire’s want
and equality’s need;
between what’s flesh
and what’s fantasy;
between art, aesthetics
and reality,
that guides my choices.
It’s how this contradiction
interpenetrates,
thereby shaping
and changing reality.
It is this contradiction
I hear,
feel and taste
in the weaving of piano and cello.
Music living with us in the gutter,
while enticing us to look at the stars.
~~~
I am listening to music,
piano and cello interludes,
I see vast galaxies,
nebulae,
and shooting stars,
Knowing this,
this music of you,
will last a lifetime.
~~~
~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 2.24.14

enjoy the music that goes with this poem
https://youtu.be/QgaTQ5-XfMM