He sniffed the wolves
~found them wanting
Wolves sniffed of him
~found him daunting

The shepherd fears
not beast of prey
With shiverin' lambs
he greets each day

Upon the hills
and braky glen~
shepherd watches
o'er his friends

And when the night
calls lambs to sleep
the shepherd sings
while grey wolves weep.

r ~ 25Mar14

This one day I was awalkin' down the road,
to Chicago, winter o'seventy, worst in thirty years,
'saw this young fella in a army jacket, shiverin',
his feet was cold.

I walked up and said hello, you don't know me,
but I saw your feet was cold.

I got some dry socks and bread bags that'll
keep'm dry, you can have 'em if you will.

He said thank you, sir, real polite, but
cold feet is what I'm gettin' past,
gettin' over it wit m'mind. A guru taught me.

Ain't working is it?
I saw your feet was cold.

Nah, it ain't, now yah mention it, and I'm hungry.

So he bought me a burrito, and I told him about angels,
and how some say cold feet are symbolic,
one told me once,
many's the wish gone awanting
for lack of a reason to try.

I had cold feet, back then.
walkin' to Chicago, tryin' to. Again,
wit my mind. And bread bags, this time.

Angels, I believe in, they all are helpful as can be,
within parameters, y'understand, but evil angels,
ain't no such a thing.

Not no more any how. Jesus fixed it, came and saw,
damright, conquered war by loving and forgiving,

All while the Iron-legged montrosity from Italy,
was squishin' Jews and Christians in mud

that stuck like clay to the Iron-legged beast.
Ironic, ain't it?

You don't know? Whoa. These are the last days,
all the sealed up stuff that lion's den guy
got from the angels, messages from YodHeyVodHey,
Jesus's our father, from the prayer,

on earth as in heaven? There ain't no evil angels
in any heaven you ever imagined somebody imagined.

Loki, don't count. There's jokers in heaven.
Probably.

Mark Twain imagined a hellish heaven,
but saw no evil angels there.

They're mythic materially, literal wills o'the wisp.
The idea of evil hybrids,
that was then.
This now, now angels are all they ever were,
messages in the medium.

Mediums are something past medium now, hot or cold,
media-evil memes can manifest from a mob in the medium,
but they are bubbles,
right? Professional testers of the patience of the saints,
protesting the end of time,
so what?

Comfort inside leads a train of thoughts
sphere of colored rays, distracting the growth
comfort in her eyes leaves me in my past
sunflower melts the ice, guitar pick in my hand
rotten tree is dust, golden yet unreal
luck beats in my heart, stolen, but it heals
guilt is on it's wings
ornaments made of snow
shiverin' seasons entwine for just one goal

I see her
lady in the flowers
I'll join her
in those fields
I know I'm not alone
I'll pick my stone
carry it home
till the woods eat my soul

Cold sweat
Soaking a little vest
Feel it caress
Each blemish
& bake up under the skin
Just...                     listen.....
I think that's the sound of my
Heart shiverin'
Though I can't really call it
One of the many....yes i seem to always   fall into this lawless state

before the maroon 5 concert
chaz said his mom wasn't home
she had stripped his mattress and
put everything in the wash
and I only remember wondering
why it hurt so much
and the silk threads of the seams
catching on my bra straps--
I had thought it was
supposed to be so much more
than pumping and churning
like pistons in a truck,

the difference was you
stopped when I asked
shiverin' above me in
a warm sweat
and all i could do was
run my fingers through
your hair over and over
stay silent and move slowly
because no one has ever seen
me like that, wavering
and rocking, working my
way up, using your hips
like training blocks, stretching
my thighs out over your bed--
lord I ain't ever asked for more
never bruised nobody 'cause
I wasn't thinkin', he's got
these welts i don't even
remember, he sayin he let me
in like he left the door's open
during the storm and I was
rain, hail or wind, a noise,
a knock, just me.
but I opened the windows,
the basement, the attic
pulled out the chairs in
expectation, I have nothin'
to say for my fears, they're
there and sometimes they
shift gears and gun it
but that don't mean
i didn't look at you
and wonder about
things I shouldn't
or replace my daddy's
name with yours just
to
see.

They’d signed on for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health,
Though they’d never dreamed that poor and sick
Would arrive with such ferocity,
Such vengeance, such utter malice.
Difficult to say how they found their way
To this particular section of down:
Too little of a taste for the three R’s, too much for two-buck chuck,
The whys, wherefores, and timelines not mattering much
When you’re falling ***-over-teacup Jack-and-Jill style down life’s hill.
They’d tumbled far enough to be holed up
In the front room of a structure approximating a house
Down on Elizabeth Street,
Looking like a Home Sweet Home a six-year old might draw,
Stairs, doorways, and window casings
All uneven and madly impressionist,
The thing not particularly successful at being air or water-tight
(If the folks from animal welfare found a dog in the place,
They’d be likely to go in and get it somewhere safe.)
They are huddled under what sheets and afghans
The nuns from Saint Rose were able to cobble together for them
And so they lay in ancient and unsteady sofa-like objects,
All but unable to move
(Though if he groans and thrashes enough to bare arms and legs,
She will summon something from somewhere
And painfully shuffle over to him
To retrieve and re-arrange his coverings)
Nowhere to go, no one to go see or to come see them,
Little left to do but wait for God
(Closer to Jordan than the Hudson,
Far as rivers go, he is wont to say)
To belatedly disburse some mercy, divine or otherwise,
Then to be pine-boxed and potter’s-fielded.
They have never see fit to ask any why-thems:
Little time for such luxuries, perhaps,
Or maybe the questions and answers simply more of a burden
Than the already over-burdened can bear,
Or maybe, as she said to one of the nuns
Who comes now and then to do what little they can,
Lord reveals things to us in a whisper,
And an angry stomach and shiverin’ bones
Conspire to make such a woeful noise.