Falcon rise— yellow racing eyes,
Blue wraith that rakes the skies,
Never has one fared such beauty,
Airs naught wholly bright as thee.

Is there a kneel for end of days—
Songs, deeds for those who prey?
Is there light breaking pied wings,
Or is heaven overlord to all things?

Sun spots feathering coated crest,
Talons top spires mountain breast,
When rivers of the wind fail all fowl,
What grace and splendour in a cowl?

Is there a psalm in the wailing winds,
A hymn that carries all innocent sins,
Or a fable, blue as stupendous skies,
A truest place where redemption lies?

The sea slides with lost ocean birds
And blue wings coast, row unheard,
Edging the skies with razors' tinge,
Seeding the immortal spark begins.

Falcon rise— yellow racing eyes,
Blue wraith that rakes the skies,
Never has one fared such beauty,
Naught airs wholly bright as thee.


                 — *after William Blake

Little king of sun toasting petal,
Cups the air with swirling wings
Flashes, flurries of wetted trials,
How you drink of nectar singing,

With invisible wings let whirring,
So robed in arc of rainbows' sky,
Even lofted mist of morn stirring,
All the shaped air, a moving eye.

HE'S LIKE A LION
FIERCE, UNPREDICTABLE
ARROGANT, PROTECTIVE
OBSERVED AND STARED AT
BECAUSE HE'S MAJESTIC; BEAUTIFUL
BUT CAGED
HIS STRONG SPIRIT AND SELFLESS WILL IS RUINED
HE'S DIFFERENT NOW
SHORT-TEMPERED, UNSURE
THE KING OF THE JUNGLE IS GONE
REPLACED BY A ZOO'S "BEAST"
AN ATTRACTION

HE'S LIKE A LION
WITH WILD BLUE EYES AND A SUNKISSED MANE
BEAUTIFUL CURLS AND AN INTELLIGENT FACE
HIS EYES HELD A MILLION STORIES
TO BE TOLD IN THE DARKNESS
WHILE HE WATCHES OVER HIS LIONESS
ONLY HIMSELF, GOD, HIS BELOVED, AND THE STARS
FINALLY FEELING AT HOME, IN CHARGE

HE'S LIKE A LION
MAGNIFICENT, STRANGE
I'M GOING TO RELEASE HIM
BACK TO THE WILD
BEFORE HE DESTROYS HIMSELF
A BEAUTIFUL LION
TRAPPED
IN A CAGE

The mountain praises You with its height
The valley worships You with its river
At the glory of Your rugged cliffs
And at the soaring eagle, I shiver

Your forests shout Your name
The rocks cry out in song
If the smallest sparrow knows You reign
Then why did I fight that for so long?

The pine clings to the steep mountainside
And the hawk feels secure in flight
So Lord, in my fear and doubt,
Please be my shelter tonight.

I came to the pavilion of the big cats
And in the center was a palace ruin,
The walls were stone and feeble mortar,
The great, golden monarch was the lion.

With wisdom eyes, he gazed upon me,
I lowered my head as was my station,
He did not move, nor deign to care,
In His royal chamber I was under thrown.

I thought, you are caught my over lord,
But his stance said, these bars are scepter
And I heard him say with a long lost roar,
'Hear my horn, I am he, the storm of Jericho.'

In the palace of the mighty, indifferent, king
His thundering voice crackled the lambing
Stables and even heaven closed under ceiling
Dome and I was caged when the walls fell away
And the whole, blown world, remade— a zoo.

Mountains hold amongst themselves,
in each of their valleys,
shared between their neighbors,
an air of majesty.

Sit upon the peaks, peering into unknown forest
as the wind buffs your face clean of all obligations;
carpeting your thighs with a buttery smooth gentleness
that caresses your mind into relaxation.

Regal pines strike back against
the enormous pressure at sea level,
raising up to thin the air
and to thin your worry.

Here you are lost
in the grandeur of something greater
than yourself,
but never greater than it really is.  

In the valleys shared between mountains,
on the windy peaks,
the mountains swallow you up,
absorb you.

And share with you, too
that majesty.