ordinary morning, late, bright and clear
weekend, no hurries, lets stay on in bed

in a flash, thunderous roar from above
mountainuous rock crashing, my mind saw

the skies echoed, rumbling in agony
rumbled and rumbled, on and on and on

strange sinister sound, trapped constant droning
UFO? baby superman landed?

rushed outside: no crash, just clouds in clear sky
rumble, rumble, rumble, man-made or what?

thundering, faint and far, near and muffled
none thunderous as the first rock that fell

then it rained: heavy; a soothing warm rush
droning masked, but strangeness etched, and lingered.

It sounds like prose,
perfect sentence,
punctuation and all.
But broken up here and there,
an attempt to imitate poetry.

To say words that are not words:
Driven - like a wind blown plastic bag:
Uncertain, circling, bobbing around -
But driven it is, if not tapped,
it’ll reached the seas and be lost:
To bring into existence a thing never heard.

A fragment, a hint, an ineffable thing,
an echo of the Word, long lost since Babel;
Yet living, its life’s magic very much potent,
resonant, manifold and transcendental.

Encouraged by similar sounds and whispers,
of dead and living poets,
of the same spirit but differently gifted.
That I owe it to all of them to do my part,
to craft this unique bit of mine.

And the ethereal Word,
more wholesome by the Day,
that it may soon resound,
loud and unambiguously,
that even the dead will rise.

we are not machines
performing predictably
scheduled and coordinated in time
with a will not our own
spirit imprisoned within
always rebellious, always restless
trapped in a world not our own

then the light imploded
chorus of myriad upon myriad
unbearable songs resonate within
we know freedom, we fly, we soar
into and out of the black hole
transcending life beyond flesh
we talk, we walk, we fear not

we write poetry

Not unknown nor unseen,
but not as conquering hero came.
Not crowned with many crowns,
with unknowable Name,
but as Branch, on Beast that spoke,
departs from the Father, to serve,
with his Body, to pay the Bride's price.
And when in the fullness of time,
on the tenth of the first month,
with a blast of angelic trumpets,
He shall return as King
with Bride and twelve Princes.

What is Space?
We don't know.
Here and There.
Distance, the Basic Notion.
Quantified with a Ruler.

What is Time?
We don't know.
Then and Now.
Change, the Basic Notion.
Quantified with a Clock.

What is a Ruler?
A Counter of Repeats of an Unchanging Distance
From Heel to Toe, a Foot
And Length is the Repeat Counts

What is a Clock?
A Counter of Repeats of Constant Change
From Evening to Morning, a Day
And Time is the Repeat Counts

Space and Time
Ruler's and Clock's Measurements
Conceived in Distance and Change
Presented as Length and Time
But Distance and Change remains
Unknown and Unknowable.
We don't know,
We don't know,
Maybe
we'll
never
know.

She's my constant reproach,
My thorn in my flesh, my neighbor.
I crossed the street to walk the other side.
Then I heard the **** crowed, and wept.

Do you see what I see?
Do you hear what I hear?
Songs of Joy, Silence of Pain;
Pride and Triumph, Prayers and Tears;
When the Righteous Flourish, the People Rejoice,
But when the Wicked Rule, the People Groan.