Category: Poetry

Carried Away

Life flowing from my heart

Is cut down by rivers of doubt.

The rushing water wears down

My early oaths and affirmations,

Slowing my faith to a halt.

My simple plan to ditch the man of the gospels,

Runs into blockades along the way.

Nests of love, peace and grace

Call me away from my solitary journey.

I sometimes fight the current,

Or allow myself to rest,

But naturally I am carried away

By the fantasies and delusions

Of my silly imagination.

Not Resting

Neon bikes strobe laugh elbow monster trachea

Destroy aluminum casserole covers close the dog

In the darkness of the garage wound my knee on

The fledgling goose beak as I walk through the park,

Home is where I rest, but I am not resting.

The Fight

With a battering ram strapped to my forehead,

I push through the glistening walls of the great cathedral.

But for what?

Has this victory won me anything of value?

After all, the war has already been won by my adversary,

And this stub in the toe is no big loss to him.

My screams in the darkness win me no favors,

Gain me no pity, although he may shed a tear.

Shall I continue to throw stones through stained glass windows,

Knowing I am only hurting those I love and who love me?

Whom am I fighting, anyway, if not myself?

Your Image

Terrified, I’m

Shaking in my shoes.

Overwhelmed with

The power of you.

But what have you ever done

To instill such fear in me?

I carry this trauma

Like a bag of gold.

I remember those words

That you didn’t speak,

And I am left

Scared and cold.

That hand that you

Didn’t hit me with,

That accusation

That you never made.

Whom have I twisted

Your image into?

Reaching Out

Reaching out.

Waves crashing,

At my feet.

Love crushing

The air

Out of my lungs.

What is to be

Expected

From my great God

Next?

Joy is pulling out

My fingernails.

Peace is knocking me

Unconscious.

What can I give

To board the train

Going up the hill?

What can I say

To bring mercy

To my body

And soul?

Grace

Is beating me

To a pulp.

Jesus,

Save me

From your church!

Save me

From society!

The powerful

And the rich

Hover above

My bleeding body,

Like vultures.

How can I escape?

Speed

Arrived on time or rather early. Write a rhyme and spin it surely. Who can tell the time of day? Who can see the sunset in the sky?

Find my wallet in the dryer. Find your smile in the mirror. Close the door to confrontation. See the score in conflagration.

Bright colors streak by on the street. A yellow taxi and a blue bus. A little baby causes a fuss. Secrets abide but they are few. Nothing settled, nothing due.

Where the brick road leads, my yellow liver bleeds. If the sweet tea did the deed, who am I to come up speed?

Jupiter

Blushing round the piggy bank, the saturnalia sisters run back and forth to the vegetable garden, behind the farmhouse.

Jungle boogie funksters dance to the heavy beat and break a few as they go. Fighting irises conjure up a feast of pheasants to feed the five thousand.

Galoshes end the street puddles and collect razor sharp carrot sticks. Polite orangutans tap dance into the hearts of five hundred year olds.

Stork hydrant rolling overture rankled beams into spaceships leaving for Jupiter.

Don’t Do It

Exec plops into chair and writes note to self. Don’t forget to care. Don’t forget about the little man or woman. Don’t keep it all for yourself.

Wouldn’t that be nice. Wouldn’t it be great if someone in power gave it all away. I know, it does happen, every now and then.

Wrong tests move death to life to death. Crashing waves cross plagues with Chinese amber knees and Colgate semifinals and coteries.

Life is like a restroom. You never know how much toilet paper you might have in the stall. Creases come closely to shirt tails and blue templed fish with yellow fins.

Lynx are the bathtub dreamers of the millennium stop said stop! Apples are not the kindest fruit that’s bananas. But not to your waistline.

Creatures from the American swamp open alligator jaws and find little kittens. And puppies. And people parts. You would do fine in ample tree vines.

Find fallopian tribes in coal mines and little kids on play grounds don’t try it at home. Drown Spiteville in closet canker slow pokes don’t do it.

Frosting

Smile lack so sad smooth life is not that weep for the end is near the beginning is coming the satisfaction of all will be found on the mountaintop.

Close the door (the end is near) but don’t fear for god is here. Womb shallow river pour out on this congregation of ne’er do wells and corrupt citizenry and ghost town revelers.

So much to leave behind a simple backpack is all I carry a sack with no lunch nothing but a cup to fill with water when I can.

Can you find the ancient ruins beneath the supermarket? The burial ground under the rollercoaster? What’s new? I don’t have a clue.

I like endings. Beginnings, not so much. I like meandering and intoxicating and flurries on a cool night. I like rivers and hills and dead man’s curve.

Do you see the end coming? It’s near, I tell you! Really close but doubt comes closer and I believe in doubt. I like to humor doubters and double crossers and hooligans.

How many doubts does it take to make a faith? How many truths does it take to make a scripture? So many confusing sorts of dreams and all kinds of visions and stalactites and frosting.