To my friend Julie R.S.*

Being my girlfriend's best friend, it
Was bound to go either one way
Or the other. Now you
Name me
Brother.

When we share wine and guitars,
People sit down in the garden
Outside our open window
To enjoy. Your voice is proof

That God loves art and leaves its
Seeds within His children.
If I were you, I'd also pray as often
As you do.

You have much to thank for; and also
Ask. I sometimes ask too,
Why hurt so easily pries itself
Into the purest of hearts. Winter is
A cynical aunt... it'll help now;
Spring isn't; it's downhill from here.
I promise. And besides,
I sympathize with you;
But never
Worry.

You share the gifts of Beauty and
Strength with diamonds; gems,
Jewels.

I stood by your
Self-declared sister
In my godless snakeskin boots
In thankful poetic observance
As you were leaned into the
Water and said a self spoken Yes
To your absolute re-birth-Father.
I'll always respect you for that.

That, and the way you move
Through the ice-in-tummy-pains
That you are sometimes dealt
By the Hand of All Holding
And accept and withstand,
Knowing it's all part of
Your own Holy
Work-out.

I could carry you for years,
But your soul is loved by
Something so strong
It shines through
Your darkest
Hours.

I am as humble to that
As I am to our
Friendship.

Eyes of gods upon my
Every move.

I have nothing to hide. Such
Sweet freedom to

Stand for your every sin and
Uncencored secret.  

Back straight, and perfectly
Human.

Morning breath of Winter upon the naked
Back of Autumn, as they lie side by
Side on the bed of ploughed fields
I admire.

Mist kissed and coloured by turned soil
The age of Earth herself.
I kick frozen, brown leaves from my boots
And look towards

The river.
It'll freeze up at the tips of its longest fingers
Soon, inviting children with ice skates and
Red cheeks to dance and laugh.

Winter turns his mouth towards his
Dying lover's face, and kisses her farewell.
Until next year, my auburn love.
Sleep until Summer's watch is over.

Up here, the seasons are so stark they form
Four shades of adventure.
A land so proudly unholy anyone can
Walk on water.

Angel wings around me.
Feathers in my face.
Pillow the size of Jupiter.
Sheets of silken seas on surfaces of
Worlds yet undiscovered.
I sleep loved.

In the vault of my innermost,
Shelves shelf letters.
Some rhyme.

I'll never send you an email.
I'd rather cry into a rust red leaf
Held before your face to

Not kiss.
Winter is coming; Death approaching,
Carrying Life in

Her arms like a
Newborn
Cliché.

So we didn't ****
Ourselves this time
Either.

Drunk in the morning watching
The tail feathers of a magpie not
Being twigs within the yellow
Womb of swaying autumn
Bushes.

It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away

As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start

But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save

Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out

Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone

Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane

Fireplace altar.
Cathedral dome horizons.
Icon constellations.  

Snowfall prayers, solitaire twilight
Forest tree stump confessions.
Every shadow a priest.

Every infant an angel.
Willow wind psalmsong;  
Praising the Everything.

No heaten forcefully converted.
No sinner's soul purgatory held.
Heaven is when

I close my eyes. Heaven too,
When they're open. Preaching to the
Choir of me.

Church of One.
Hell on Earth. Worldly Paradise.
Yin to the Yang.

I feel the pain within it all.
The pleasure as well. Poor
Beautiful, ugly world.

Single disciple walking. I'll focus
On my humble
Feet.

For a Syrian boy.

Slipping away from desperate arms
Within salty, dark waters.
Familiar voices fade with distance and    
Drown, as stars become
Blurs lulling you to sleep with their

Good night twinkle-twinkles.  
Hands too small for any gun or
Grenade open up like little flowers
To a night no night-light ever could
Illuminate.

~

Where was God when you whimpered
In fear?
Swam an angel of light in the darkness
Down there in  
The deep, with her comforting hand on
Your motionless shoulder?

Little Dream Brother.
Dreaming nightmares all meant
For another.
Asleep in the sand, with the ocean
Washing over.