The parched earth echoed the wails for the dead
as flames devoured the crowd of corpses
mouth agape with unquenched thirst.

The sky had mercilessly looked away
having spit fire on them down below
sparing not one waterhole on its way
and the mother if only she could
use her tears for the baby to drink
but her eyes had turned dry as the earth.

Yet dark as the depth of love
the King's pond mirrored the princess' face
and would still beam the moon in her eyes
strangely hiding from the wrath of the drought.

One night sleeping on her ivory bed
her silken skin cooled with rosewater
the princess heard a voice:

When the fury of God
blinds him to the pains of men
an angel rises to break his heart
stakes her life to rend heaven apart
so his tears on earth fall as rain.

The windless night was deadly quiet
watched by moon in awe wide eyed
the trees sparkled in firefly's light
when the princess stood by the pond's side.

For awhile her eyes roamed around
resting on the marble's gleam
the sleeping grass her sweet playground
a home smelling all earthly dream.

She felt like swimming through the air
love glowing warm in her peaceful eyes
till she reached the end of stairs
that bore her frame with deep sighs.

The heaven broke down with thunderous rain
the seeds sprouted filled field with green
upon that land wasn't a drought again
never before had such harvest been seen.

In the depth of night if you hear a cry
from the clouds pearly by dawn's embrace
know God's tears will fall from the sky
as dewdrops mourning the rain princess.

Waiting for the storm
to lower its head and charge

In ozone incense of unstable air
Eons of ions ago
horned and heavy negatives
lock prey within vortical-eye
Angelic flutter of electrons struggling on--
in yellowish friction above...

“...Did I tell you?”

Love is lightning hotter than the sun!

Schism--

resolving in the only way it can
a design that cannot save itself!

Clouds roar away--
For a minute-- I think that I will too
-- along with all these words and rain

*“...and did I tell you...

how thunderstorms remind me
...of love...the way it should be

and the worship after?”

Perhaps you are right,
You are here for
little more than sorrow,
twisted ambiguity,
languishing in torrential rain

But what if you are wrong
And you are here to
transcend the sorrow,
clear the ambiguity
and dance in the sun

Were you to be as sure of the
latter as you are of the former,
how differently would you
live this day?

I don't ask your permission
to make a fool of myself,
tell you publicly
what my near, dear ones
have almost no clue

my mental torment,
headache-constant,
imperial and impervious
poetry, pills, therapy,
caring words
don't pay my kind of bills

a man has a job.
Feed you family.
Protect and serve.

do  it well,
there is no acceptable excuse.
none.

was supposed to be easing on down,
slipping under.

come so far, my soul is old.
my tired is w/o definition.
the legs, knotted shoulders,
body aging faster than I can write.
the doctors only give me
if's and unless's,
contingencies in order
to die a little slower

warped, reversal of causality,
the older I get,
the more mouths to feed.
tough, this unexpected situation,
a nine lives time survivor,
do it again?

defraud myself,
living like I can afford
to write,
with courageous reckless abandon,
when earnest is deadly
and Lady Luck gave me the finger.

simply amazing.
eyes, constantly tearing,
nobody notices.

Do not ! Like this poem,
don't.
hate weak,
been strong so long.
this well, just got dregs left,
drudgery ain't potable, or even
worth drinking.

need nothing,
for myself, need nothing.
not one object on this planet
want to posses or be possessed by.

Monday wrestle with strife,
star in my reality show once again.
now, deny reality.

Do not!
Like this poem,
don't.
hate weak,
been strong so long.

my voice is stilled,
it's poverty exposed,
ashamed of every word I ever wrote.

hush me not, for tis true,
write on for an audience of one,
on but one subject,
a life, mine,
yet, still unmastered,
after decades of trying.

poverty exposed,
a life unmasked
for what it is worth,
or not.

Said a man once from a motored caravan,

You are a fool.

Said I,

Perhaps. But in this, life is to me but one side of the coin; the other is death, and both are formed of experience, the one of this world, the other of the next. I am here without all that is necessary for a sure survival not by choice; but finding myself here I will not go back into those lands behind me, where men and women live in desperation, in servitude, in blindness. Not until I have passed through will I meet them again, and then only of necessity. And if I fail in my crossing, what of it? My bones will bleach here in the naked sun and the naked earth; the wind will scour them, and the sands will cover them, until at last they become one with the soil of the desert. My soul will be the same as it ever was, universal, eternal, one and separate from all things that are, existence. And my mind will be let go, in the doing of something great, and in the realization of it's place in the oneness of existence. That is enough. That is all.

daydreaming
even here there is
perhaps a cutting edge