poetry

Stormy Water (a poem)

God why did you make loving you hurt so much
why are things most beautiful when they’re gone
to float peacefully over the black waves of anxiety
and still too overdrawn by their gravity to breathe

orange sunset sinking into the gray horizon
hazily miraculously craning backwards
turning the mirage world upside down
because I spine stiff am upside down

I try letting you walk down the stairs
from the top of my head into my heart
and instill your spirit to be still my soul
I’m still afraid of what you’ll find down there

a treasure chest of solitude that has yet to be cracked
open even though I accepted the key several years ago
I can feel you tinkering with the lock and the hinges now
and I’m sorry that I keep putting up such a restless fight

but please don’t throw me out to the fishes just yet
where there’s weeping and pulling of yellow teeth
hold me close to the boat so I don’t drift away
into the atmosphere of mist connections

work on me God and work through me
love on me God and love through me
that I may find peace and rest
in this weary weary world

Water Lillies by Claude Monet

Painting (a poem)

Painting…
up and down
up…and down…
up…and down…
up…and down…

Painting…
long and even strokes
long…and even…
long…and even…
long…she’s pretty

Painting…
long and even strokes, covering the canvas…
covering…the canvas…
covering…the canvas…
covering…she’s beautiful

Painting…
long and even strokes covering the canvas
adding vibrant color to a lifeless frame
mixing the colors for the perfect match
stirring the substance of soul…
the substance…of soul…
the substance…of soul…
the substance…she’s a good dancer, too
we even like the same music…common ground

Painting…
long and even strokes in the same direction,
not sloppy with indifference,
but slow enough to savor and fast enough to deliver.
fast enough…to deliver…
fast enough…to deliver…
fast enough…she just said that she was single.

single…I wonder…no…should I?
I might…I’m single, too…
should I be subtle…and romantic…and coy…
should I be the jerk who always gets the girl…
should I do it now…
no…others would gossip…
but that doesn’t matter…not really…
that’s them, not me…
not now…but I will…

Painting…
animating the blank, emotionless panels
and breathing life through the brush
giving them love
Giving them…love…
Giving them…love…
Giving them…she just said she wanted
to stay single for a while.

Painting…
up and down…
up…and down…
up…and down…
up…and down…

Painting…
long and even strokes.
long…and even…
Long…that’s fine with me…
I’d rather her be happy without me…
than her be unhappy with me…
as long as I get to spend time with her…
and even…

Painting…
stirring the substance…
I don’t mind waiting…
of soul…
and down…

This photo was taken by Michael Hull and is available through Unsplash.com.

Driving in the Moonlight (a poem)

my generation drives in the moonlight
of faith filtered by fallacious fear
of hope held down by hollowed histrionics
of love lost in the limbo of legality

illumination without demonstration
memorization without externalization
catechism without asceticism
reading a heap without feeding the sheep
knowing a need without sowing the seed
faith without works – and it hurts

we cry because nothing grows in the moonlight
we have just enough sight to see the path
and just enough height to hit the gas
but we can’t commit to letting God drive

we have to check our headlights and our tail lights
our engine light between every stop light
to provide new cars for our future security
never minding how hot the radiator runs
never minding the thought that rarely ever comes
works without faith – and it isn’t safe

my generation drives in the moonlight
we think we have to go somewhere nice
and we think we have to do something good
but we don’t want to wait for the Son.

This is a photograph of a wheat field taken by Cole Patrick.

Let Them Grow Together (a poem)

A man said that weeds were showing on the plain
ingrained with the seeds and growing with the grain.
The Creator, up on high, is throwing down the rain,
and we, later, low with sigh, are hoeing in a chain
these weeds of malfunction. We’re sowing with a strain
of deeds of destruction while mowing with the pain.
“Don’t uproot them now, as you’re knowing in your brain,
but let them grow together – as if flowing – as if twain –
and when the harvest comes, burn the chaff, save the grain.”


A poetic reiteration of the Jesus’s Parable of the Weeds as found in Matthew 13:24-30.

This is a photograph by Chelsea Francis that features the lower half of a woman tying her shoes.

The Meek Shall Indulge (a poem)

She said it like I perceived what she was
talking about: “the meek shall indulge.”
She then bereaved how meek she was,
how weak she was, how unique she was.
I then conceived how chic she was,
how sleek she was, how freak she was;
I heard her – and I couldn’t believe she was
talking about another lover she’s indulged.

This is an image of a hollow tree.

More or Less (a poem)

Is anybody right anymore?
Can anybody say the right thing anymore?
Can anybody do the right thing anymore?
Can anybody stand up for the right thing anymore?

More or less.

Will anybody fight anymore?
Can anybody keep the fight up anymore?
Can anybody let the fight down anymore?
Can anybody stand up and fight back anymore?

More or less.

Is anybody light anymore?
Can anybody leave the light on anymore?
Can anybody turn the light out anymore?
Can anybody let their own light shine anymore?

Moral-less.

This is an image from the Civil Rights Movement.

Civil Disobedience

To never letting voting be enough
nor abusing life for your convenience

to stop excess and live within yourself
denying all the loved luxuriance

to not await a change that must become
in revolution-based expedience

expressing discontent for injustice
to live in civil disobedience.


 

Just some thoughts I had after reading (and trying to summarize) the essay “Resistance to Civil Government” – better known as “Civil Disobedience” – by Henry David Thoreau.

This is an image of the moon shining brightly behind a tree.

Violet Cream

violet cream pastel moon
a light velvety lavender
hints of golden orange
blew in soft clouds
street lights below
defined the road

the road surrounded
was still black
still motionless still
negating any light it touched
hiding any love it felt
if it felt any love at all

hard to tell whether or not
if she wanted the snow
if she needed some time to herself
or whatever roads think
what is it about snow
that reminds us how heartbroken we are

she is the road
everything around her
blends in the background
but she is still black
still motionless still
there.

This is an image from the film CONSTANTINE that features Constantine walking through hell.

When The World Will End

When the grass is brown and hot and dry
and when the vapor hazes in the air
and when the leaves crunch under feet
because the sun refuses to lay off the heat

When the veneration of childhood
becomes the exaltation of impulse
and when the discipline of impulse
becomes the repression of freedom

When lovers can call each other such
and not even offer each other much
because where love was once a sacrificial action
is now nothing more than a sexual satisfaction

When one would rather lie and save from getting hurt
than tell the truth for what it’s wholly worth
and suspicion makes up in a relationship
for what a surplus of patience used to give

When the means by which one accomplishes
become the end for which one wryly wishes
and when the happiness that once was purely fought for
becomes the complacency that one was surely bought for

When ethics are as empty as whitewash tombs
with no morality to guide them
and no absolutism to back them up:
this is when the world will end.