D Vanlangdingham

You are running out of places to hide
because they no longer mean what they
once meant to you.

    And you are trusting more...
    because.. **** it, that's why.

You now love the man, who the bigger
part of you once hated--
but when the bigger became the smaller,
you forgot just why.

..And now all that you can remember is
that you have always loved the one,

    you tried
         so hard to hate..

And hate becomes love
when you let go,  and become  
a part of

the very part of you,
that you tried so hard  to un-do.

Your finest of  dreams
became known..
And in those precious hours
you soared,  as I soared
until your own,  
horrendously skewed,
self-view
slaughtered the ever-living
****  out of it all..
And, oh my sweet
little desert-wanderer-
you have been mad at me
ever since.

I did not create your view,
someone else did-- so horribly..
so very unfairly
     long before we ever met
I came to help  restore  in you
that which was stolen from you
so very long ago.
   But you hauled off  and kicked
   me in the ****
   as soon as your ever-wearing
   internal-messaging system  kicked in
And down I went, my beautiful--
a total ******* in your eyes
with no way left to bring you  the gold
your better-everything, still hungers for.
**** me, my beauty..
baby stick the knife in
    deep.
And in a moment of remorse
your tear-stained rusted fortress-gate
will swing wide open..
and with my last dying breath,
I will hand it over to you anyways--

         The gold your war-torn heart
         had always hoped for
         but never thought it deserved.

   You are Ishmael, my beautiful--


   a blood-borne carrier
   of the Living Word

paulSN

Open up the floodgates of hope,
and need
and along with the
access
to life it brings  
comes years  of being

left hanging
let down
ignored
abandoned..
hope upon hope
upon hope,  left

dashed
smashed
crushed
quenched
drenched

in the dry emptiness  
of emptiness itself..

until the resilient
childlike
hopefulness of a little-one
wears down

into despondency

And so it is
the hope of hope
that brings back access
into memories

of when we first  
gave up hope

and then (God help us)..
the reasons why.

Beautiful keeper of the gate
push through it all my love..
push through it all,
     and as you face your hell

you will begin to see your heaven again.

All these years
(and all those covered up, fears)
Ah, babe.. the things I would do
to keep myself separate..
to keep from being  pulled in--

to all things, nonlife;
from that which  my spirit
could not believe in..
to paths that felt to be
diametrically opposed
to a true north  
that I did not know,
but could only feel
Oh what have I done,
my beautiful--
I have judged, and lost
so much

in order to become  so un-able
             to  hold on  to so little

Just how much  of me
would be left,  
had I let you in; 

      ..everything?

Or  no-thing--


sans the memory
of all that I have done
in order to obtain it.

Selmhem Naise


"...A fire broke out backstage in a theatre. The clown came out to warn the public; they thought it was a joke and applauded. He repeated it; the acclaim was even greater. I think that's just how the world will come to an end:
to general applause from wits who believe it's a joke."
~S.K.


Uncanny wit
A bit of a ****.
And his Glory he hides
As the red orb he slides
Over the nose that knows.
It is to only "they that can see"
His 'pose that shows.
The clown is a genius...
And so very few knows.

Tell him...
Tell the clown what it is that you see,
In and through his funny-colored eyes.
Maybe the glory that is his
Will pierce through disguise
In order to be
What each of us that 'see'
Do already see.
That we
Are in the company

Of a truthteller kinda feller.


(Applause)
from a whole new kind of crowd

Your soul's movement
is everything..
my sin;  when made manifest,
a particulate--

(when breathed in,
there is a certain freedom within it)

Within view of the altar stone
all  hidden knives, become fully known
(and, alas, my love--
there's no ram  in the thicket)
Beautiful, within the endeavor
though still vastly distant--

(what a fool I make of myself
trying to make this thing, rhyme
by having the audacity
to use the word, Covenant.)

Maybe, I--
your long-lost,  supplicant  
has been  nothing more
than a deeply-embedded, replicant.
(or something)..