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Juhlhaus 16h
Fire walkers walk off the pain
Though each step draws the flames higher,
Each breath be an act of will
And your own heel the pyre.

With tenacious tread I seek
Early light like urban trees drink deep
Of lake water and clear skies. I plant my feet,
Only to stumble through
The withering wasteland of my wound.

I set my eye, with rigid strides
Press on toward the gold.
Maybe a fool: I am my own fuel,
As forward motion consumes, I'm vaporized
And my sparks skyward fly.

To ashes, dust
To dust.

Each searing step I take alone,
Then in the coals see marks
Of other feet; upward look and meet
Eyes ember bright, fingers tracing
Filaments against the night.

Fire walkers give off the light
By which we find a way,
A note or rhyme, a guiding flame,
As forward motion consumes, refines,
And our sparks skyward fly.

To ashes, dust
To dust,
To gold.
Alone the third thing can't be known.
Alone, I am a cold dark stone
In a universe yawning lusterless,
Spinning void of aim.

Then light shines
In eyes and skies
Of gray and blue
And I am a new daymoon.

Night leads the day
As day ushers night;
Light follows darkness
As darkness the light.

I follow you pull,
Take my arm check my stride.
You and I mark time and tide.

We meet.
We pass.
We kiss.
Heart quivers and the heavens shift.

"Let us go then, you and I,"
Wend our way across the sky.

The green beckons to
Me and you
Where green meets hues
Of gray and blue.
Infinite line: horizons new.

Misty islands ships drift past
Clouds cut by spires of stone, steel and glass
Cities bright in alley pools
Magic light on windswept moors.

Prairie hills in gentle rain
Northwood pines sun washed again
Spring moss upon the forest floor
Peeling paint on the unknown door.

"Let us go then, you and I,"
Together take the road untried,
Wend our way across the sky:
A little sphere of green and blue
Round which we dance,

Me and you.
For my Love, on Valentine's Day 2019.
Mercury expands
As pinched faces are eased and
Flowers remembered
Hints of a thaw.
Juhlhaus Feb 5
Even though I walked for an hour
In the snow melt mist
Threading my boots
Through the brown salt muck and flotsam
Winter's junk food wrappers
The city just stared vacantly
At its own face in the lake ice
Seemingly as uninspired as me
Not every day can be poetic, right?
Juhlhaus Jan 31
Hangs overhead by a solitary thread
Pommel set with Lucifer's jewel
Crossguard made of crescent moon
The Blade a king's interminable doom
On January 31, 2019 in the darkness before dawn I witnessed the triple conjunction of Venus, Luna, and Jupiter in perfect alignment, creating the shape of a long sword in the southern sky. Venus (the "Light Bringer") adorned the pommel, the waning crescent moon formed the crossguard, and kingly Jupiter gleamed at the blade's point. The omen was revealed to me as the fabled Sword of Damocles (dam-uh-kleez) which hangs over all those in seats of power, suspended by a single strand of hair.
Juhlhaus Jan 29
Blue sky over ice
And now water in my eyes
Not just from cold wind
On a cold, beautiful January morning in Chicago.
Juhlhaus Jan 25
Wellspring of blood and gold
In flame and glory ever
Doest thou faithful rise
Cast off thy vapor shrouds
Radiance of ancient godhood

By singing ice as prophesied
In the late darkness thy
Hoped triumph heralded while
Bearers chained on metalled rails
Muttered hoary protest under
Breath of polar air

But lo!
The brazen promise of thine
Image graven in beholder's eye
Rings hollow in the bitten ears
And the stung flesh
Feels thy boasted fire
Not at all

Above thee
Stands the city's goddess proud
So virile once thou smilest
Upon her white clad shoulder now
Ceres scorns thine impotence turns not
But fixes her steeled gaze
On the frozen north
Mythos of a -15˚F Chicago sunrise.
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