Static jade , silver portals masking sinuous , tarry leviathans
The wealth of Heaven released o'er twinkling avenues , the audacity of crows that gather in Spring rain
A lonely , bold Iris , the smatter of color along the edgewood , chatter of grounded Bluebirds , crescendo of April cloudburst ,
assurance of evening rainbows at the 'Lamp of God's veritable direction

(Loosely based on prayers from The Canadian Book of Common Prayer. 1962)

Almighty God, creator of Heaven and Earth,
You who sustains all things in all ways;
Send to me Your Holy Spirit that I may
always feel Your presence around me.
Guide me in all things, especially so at
this time of suffering. Father of all, I
commend my immortal soul to You.
Wrap it in Your arms and let me feel
your eternal love always within me.
In times when I feel strained and weak,
send strength to me. Sustain my heart
so that it beats only in Your solace.
Gracious Father, in so many ways
I have consumed myself with the
desires of the flesh; forgetting that
these are but transient pleasures
that will not elicit eternal salvation.
Almighty God, to whom all hearts
are open, all desires known: Cleanse
my thoughts from sin by the power
of Your inspiration. Create in me,
through Your holy name, the
understanding to see You are
always with me, at all times and
in all situations. I commend myself
always to You, through Christ our Lord.

My idol walks. Behold her beauty
born of Nicaraguan night
summoning poetic duty:
tremors of volcanic light!
Clouds of ash and lava dropping:
I come back… I going shopping.

Sounding her primeval waters
crater lakes, her green lagoons,
fabulous—this diverse daughter’s
humid palms and storm-tossed moons;
ascending up her jungle mount:
Transfer dinero to my account!

Stone-faced idol, pre-conquista;
rice with beans or sacred maize
labyrinthine Latin vista,
cumbias and sacred lays.
Hurricanes and quaking earth:
******, what’s your dollar worth?

She who left her quaint dysfunction
reeking of colonial woes
for the multi-culti junction,
holy in her *****-pose;
scowling like exploited nations:
How you say… congratulations!

Gushing like a flow of lava
running down her placid gaze,
ripened flesh; the scent of guava,
passion-fruit in paraphrase…
Monkeys howling, torrents pouring:
Poetry to me is boring…

Rubén Darío’s wonderland:
Flor de Caña the anesthetic.
Marx’s tropic reprimand:
Sandinismo as emetic.
Verses don’t impress this lass:
Please—the car need fill with gas.

Lost in hurricanes of thought,
pounding the roof, God pours, it rains.
What was it, really, that I sought
In her land where the poetry reigns ?
It’s love. At times I long to shoot her:
Why you waste time on that computer?

how less can be more
like the tiniest of lime-green shoots
about to unfurl their fancy to perpetual skies
more in the less, minimal beats , no stress
music I move to when I need a rise
a sudden arrival of pocket-sized birds, spinning my heart into a soar
this is how I know, how I know so well,  that less is actually more