The temporal beauty which fades and falls,
vigor of body that to vale gives way—
dissolutions of bloom—have much to say,
as life’s costly sermon achingly calls:
“Put not your heart’s hope in gifts eyes now see
nor set store by charms easily broken.
Vibrant buds o’er which praises are spoken,
erstwhile by Fall, forgotten shall be.
But in Christ waits sure glory eternal
and by loss here that beauty there’s gaining
its resplendent weight, e’en now attaining
through Jesus intimate gem troves internal.”
God’s wisdom turns decay and frailty’s gruel
into a Homeward driving kind of fuel.

big pond
little pond
cardboard box

no fish
no frogs
one old sock

big street
little town
no one knocks

blacked out
windows
doors all locked

big lie
little man
walls that talk

cold sons
dark nights
eyes on the clock

dead winds
dying light
stars on a walk

big sky
little faith
clinging to a rock

Jack-o-lantern love,
stabbed by the autumn leaves;
bleeding all burnt orange and raw sienna.
And it smells like
cloves and vanilla
and loneliness.
Kaleidoscope confusion,
That dog bite pain in
my soul.
I don my navy blue
corduroy coat, as I
bundle up
for the great void.

The cold moon breaks through the crevices
and where do I hide?
there's nothing to haunt my mind
but only the guilts inside.

Told not to venture into the night
I braved in the power of moonlight
where every shadow was a ghost
every dark nook a lost coast.

If I had someone with me
it wouldn't be all that scary
but I left them on the way
thinking I wouldn't need them anyday.

The loves I betrayed
the souls I traded
descended behind the tree
like the waning moon.

Before long the dark would devour me
knowing, I moved down with the moon
with none but the sighs on my side..

The derelict offered no place to hide.

you can spread your wings wider
fly so much further

find yourself the other side of all tomorrows
but only if you want to.

when the sky turned black and we see red circles blazing from warlike planes,
when rivers streamed deep red and we see no children running,
when the air smelled like gunfires and we see nothing but the wilting of flowers,
when small boys turned daggers into toys and we hear nothing but the shaking of the grounds,

know that my presense is always in the scent of orchids that get lost through your nostrils,
know that we breathe in the same country and i would cross seas even when they became a pool of corpses,
know that i will be the same child who kissed you under the moonbeams

this poem will be here for just a moment
soon to be dust in the wind
in the shortest of time it will eventually find
it's way to the bottom of the bin

it might bring a touch of joy or sadness
but that depends on you
and at the time you read it
the frame of mind your mood

it won't take you to the mountain top
soaring to the very heights
or move you to the depths of despair
where it keeps you up at night

it won't bring peace to the nations
or have us holding hands
it won't repair any of the damage
that's been done over the course of time by man

it won't open any minds
or close doors on the best forgotten
in the least amount of time
it'll come and go from every noggin

chances are it won't be remembered
five minutes after it's gone
and without a tune to carry it
it may not even last that long