Ally

Sleeping warrior stirs among the ashes
Strength returning.

Battles enjoined
For allies still standing deftly by
For his survival now assured
They live forever behind him.

Sword sheathed, shield set aside, he rests
In knowing.

Regalia no longer worn for conquering hills
For charging through valleys
For protection against all manner of deaths,
Still it shines in waiting.

Rumbling as if a deep tremor in mother earth,
He rises to the new day
Of his strength.

Warrior still.
Champion now.

Himself finally.

A Fall of Splendor

You remain hauntingly wrapped around
My thoughts
As if a beautiful vine of perfect
Chardonnay-in-waiting.

A hint of your beauty
Lingers
On my soul’s palette .
The bouquet christened

With care and wonder,
your heart’s and mine.

Subtleties only imagined
Become vintage rare
Yet there for the tasting.

You are dawn’s unspoiled
magic
Living waters poured
Deeply through you
Filtered in life’s rich soils.

I toast my good fortune
In holding forever
The simple hint of
Complexity born of
Mourning mist and summer
Sun. A fallen leaf enduring.

Harbor

In quiet harbors, we became the still waters
For hearts solidly moored to each other.
Mirroring the world around us, others
Tendered themselves in our paradise.

We loved with gentle waves of belief
Entrusted to the anchor that is our soul.

I am now adrift.

Reflections gone, mooring vanished
I ebb without resistance toward
Life’s open oceans. Horizons
Have lost their heaven, skies
Their expanse.

Our sextant sees no stars, our sails
Inhale no wind. I am left to mend
The cloth, climb the mast, raise the flag.
Discovery has no more passion, reasons
Any enticement.

I no longer wish to sail.

Raindrops Dancing

raindrops dance
before jumping up from tin roofs to
laugh on their way down to
making smiles
in the small puddles
on the sidewalk.

trees reach for them
birds jitterbug in them

clouds clap their arrival
grass turns green with envy
as droplets glide from the heavens
to anticipating souls collectively
arranged as nature.

We humans carry umbrellas.

Snowman and Carrots

Long johns, Levis, itchy but warm wool socks,
Musty gloves, boots with shoestrings longer than an extension cord
And more eyes than a fly join
An almost thrown away “who’s gonna use it” hat
To shuffle me
hesitantly to the ice cold porch.

‘Build it’ is the only part of that crazy baseball
Movie I remember as I stand frozen
on the steps in front of old man winter.
He and Mother Nature
Must be having an argument.

Pure, pristine and powerful, the still air needles
Its way through any thin kink
In my winter’s armor. I’m doing this because?
Little doubt that huge doubt tells me
Sensible grown-ups
Don’t do this anymore.

Still, I stubbornly succumb
To being the little boy – again – who loves
Breathing in frosty mornings
While awkwardly building a snowman.

Ice on ice. Carrots and sticks. False teeth that
Laugh at the wickedness of the cold.
Oh
What fun it is to slide in
that great old-fashioned way.

The Ears to Hear

In the distance, the voice
Of an angel invites
Me to sing.

A duet, I’m told.

Deftly skirting
Edges of my soul, I stand
Composed yet dissonant,
Resonant but mute. Murmurs hum
Yet wistfully whisper
In concert with desires
from all Quarters of my syncopated time.

Is this the harmony I ache for
The melody of the gods
The relative affinity to my past
Or merely another’s Siren song?

Voices of angels beckon
As I wonder. They symphonize
Almost Gregorian
A Mormon tabernacle of
Majestic language known only
To one who has ears to hear.
Listen, I say, for in these
Trebling times, peace is possible.

Then quiet.

A breeze accompanies the distance,
Crescendo of interweaving harmonies whispering.

The silence of the angels
Wakens me.

Acapella is not my forte.

Dusty Damascus Roads

Scraps of God’s work
Shimmer along the way as I shuffle
Homeward to a place unknown
To wanderers like me, not lost.

The familiar tarnishes the treasure.

Holocausts of Truth
Sear my conscience, drifting
Chernoblesque beyond the day’s
Mindful intentions, mindless moments.

Cloudy thoughts obscure the heavens.

Why so many christs
In a world bedeviled by mere mortals,
I ask as I protect my weary soul from
Their dusty Damascus roads.

Never sensing the piercing Light,

High priests of the written
Emboldened by their own way,
Shine the sixty six and self-evident truths
upon me to light a path I cannot traverse.

Salvation.

They cry for me. I for them.

The Old Rugged

The Old Rugged

Evening’s curtain wafted quietly behind me in reverence
to the midnight song I knew would be my audition tonight.
No stage here, only life’s deep breathing in the air
alongside my father’s hospice bed.

No strangers but
I
accompanying the acapella journey of this Christian soldier
moving onward in the journey from captive to free,
from life to forever, from earth to heaven and from son
to mom. The old rugged warrior stands resting even while
laying beside me in labored expectation.

Years of joy for both he and I gather with us in these shadows
tonight. The tears have dried behind me; the tears have left him as
he knocks on heaven’s door to meet his Father, his family and
the fruits of his life-long labors.

He lays quietly, eyes shut and though I stand next
to him, he stands so much taller than I can ever reach.

So much of a man, this rugged old warrior.

“Praying” he whispers to me when I bow my head toward his mouth.
Even in death, the old rugged shouts life with barely a whisper. If
Ever pride was no sin, it is tonight and it is mine.

I gently clutch his hand and as I lean close to awkwardly sing his
Favorite hymn, I find I am joined by a choir of angels.
Together, dad and I, and his welcoming valets of the Gate, hear
The harmony from my crackling, off-key rendition of
The Old Rugged Cross.

I, too, will cling to the old rugged. This wonderful warrior, dad.

Argument With My Wife

Fissures become canyons
Hills, mountains.

Rivulets become torrents
Storms, hurricanes.

Silence, void of meaning, gains
Strength and power simply from the absence of

Words. Though full of meaning, they lose
Their power when trust is shaken.

Loss measured in the crucifix of time
Seeps almost effortlessly from the burden.

Still

I stand mute
Indicting myself through cowardly rationalizations

Echoes from vows at the altar
Transcend the distance.

I ache from the vast solitude
Like thunder that knows no lightning

Faint whispers of sentences understood by both
Of questions neither will answer.

Haiku: Love

I’m in love again;

Naked in thot, clothed in doubt:

A royal pauper.

Haiku: Time

Clocks and watches sweep

Days into months into years:

Where does the time go?

Haiku: Philosophy

Metaphysical

Contradictions face each other;

Mirrored Paradox.

Haiku: Story

Fiction is the truth

Imagined; Reality

Groping for its Dreams.

Gonna

Once upon a time...

...Gonna build a mansion

for my friends and I

...Gonna fill the rooms

with all the reasons why

...Gonna finally understand

And live Happily Ever After.

First Christmas Card

Bicycles in winter, Christmas in July

Boys & girls never wondering why

Theirs is the laughter that does not need seasons

Ours is the joy that understands the reasons.

Laugh like the children; become that girl or boy

Live with your heart, celebrate the joy

May yours be the best Christmas ever, by far

Sharing that precious Gift, being who you are.

Hollywood in the Sky

I stumble

Tongue-tied to the alter of my

Opinions. Reaching feudally for a god

I will never know, mastering only

My simple logic, I manage but a few odd

Words:

Is this why we toil?

Caught inexplicably between hopes still

Begging for fulfillment and unfulfilled

Dreams wishing for their final resting

Place, I consider the withering seeds I’ve sown

Year after year, day after day.

Endless in their return, virgin in

Their awakening, they wave anxiously

In the breeze, full of mindless chaff

Expecting to be set adrift with the other

Fallen leaves of Eden, bound

For another unsuspecting generation of

Idyllic wanderers.

Are they all lost in their own salvation

These creatures of capitalizm’s Christ?

Theirs is a wilderness without bushes that

Burn, without mountains that bear truth,

With plagues of their own making and

With a holy of holies where god no

Longer lives.

How I wish for one of God’s mirrors

To reflect his glory

How I hope for one of God’s songs

To sing the praises

Of their creator. I imagine somewhat faintly

His Lake of contentment rippling Quiet

Waves of peace toward my

Isolated, iconoclastic hardened heart.

I am lost in the place where so many

Are found. I am tired in the place

Where so many have rested. I fight

Like Jacob did his Angel when so

Many have simply seen their God.

Anxious, but burdened with doubt, I whisper sad

Nothings to no one, for no reason that I can

Think of, to anyone who

Can understand the faint echoes that

Struggle to escape from my soul.

The alter of opinion begs for a high priest of

Understanding and for the sacrament of

Knowledge.

I sacrifice nothing yet all I have.

This then is hell.

Prodigal Heart

My prodigal heart came home today.

I hardly knew what to say,

So strange to see it again.

I wanted to ask where it’d been

How it survived all these years.

But I found myself overwhelmed by tears

Rather than questions. Once made

Of stone, I long ago bade

It farewell as it went its way and

I went mine, numbly aware I could not stand

With this hardened friend

Nor could I spend

My entire life waiting to fall

In love without it. Sometimes I’d call,

I’d call in vain

In pain

For my heart to answer the desperate pleas.

I’d beg and often on my knees

For the walls to come down

So together my heart & I could drown

In that sea of emotions that come from giving

Completely, living

On trust and hope and belief

In the love of another. But no relief

Ever came; my heart was lost

While my world incessantly tossed

From one pretender to another.

No other

Magic could make real the illusion

That my soul truly had no confusion.

I existed alone

And had I known

It would take this long

To put the song

Back in my soul, I doubt

I’d be here to talk about

The contentment I once again feel.

Never again will my heart steal

Away.

Today

My heart’s lonely journey ended

As it arrived arm in arm with you, another heart befriended.

To the Stillness

Naked together

still regally clothed

in intimate thot

in passionate touch

your mouth, mine

my touch, yours

satisfied together

wanting more

close, …oh so close

and closer still

to the stillness

of you & I, lost and found.

In the Air

Fog hangs

in the air. Most of the time.
Fog covers morning’s glory

many a day.
Not this one. Not while the rooster crowed.

Late,

about the timethe sun dances with the evening sky,
a whisper slowly escapes as Mother Earth exhales the day.

Thin threads reach across the weathered fields of fall
suddenly full when they minutes ago seemed spent.
Fog cloaks dusk as if a bridal veil, moving

elegantly
across the sacred threshold of the rolling valley.
Silk strands silently

stride surreal
toward sunset

begging as only royalty can, with
grace, exuberance and confident gait.

No heaviness shows as the wisps embrace the breeze.
Together they tangle thoughtlessly toward their tomorrows

Unaware and uncaring.

This fog enlightens. This fog encircles. This fog embraces
the truth that point of view creates beauty, perspective
defines value and morning’s tears often simply wait till evening to
express their joy.

Dance with them.

My Cross

I
bear a cross
made
of
would.

Sure Echoes

Sure Echoes

Out here in the land of blinding lovestorms,

The dunes of desperate anguish shift as I walk

Their stinging sands. Sinking deep in steps now gone,

I slide silent across the sorrow. Simply

A mirage somewhere

for some other dreamer’s wish, I

but wish I were your oasis

In the summer breeze just passed.

Numb to love’s protection, deaf to her yearning call

I march with Legion madness to a fight

That knows no spoils. Blind to what surrounds me,

Little keeps me moving but

the ache in my empty soul. Our burning love

Now smoldering, no phoenix

in the ashes; my calloused thoughts sweeping away

In this storm of wicked wandering.

Lost in self-absorption, is it pity

Or true reflection? A speck of dust in

Abram’s eyes, a constellation of only One,

I wonder why i wonder at the meaning

Of it at all.

Alone among the many, a fool among

The wise. Who are they but wanted and I found

Wanting still.

Go away, the coming day; leave me to my pain.

Destinations have lost their meaning to this pauper

Of the soul. All that’s been is now gone or done,

No hope that what’s left still matters. I am but

Dust in the whirlwinds here, an illusion

Finally broken.

Step aside my anguished heart, make ready

For your parched existence. Wake yourself with

the hollow smiles who ask for you to stay.

Rid yourself of your journey’s quest, it’s

but a blink in the eye

Of the storm. Face another day of duty, choices

Already made. Choose no more, my nomad friend,

For the storm will guide your steps. Cover your eyes,

Hide your heart, but stare into the sand.

Somewhere

In the desert is the compass for my days.

Somewhere in this searing death is the water

For my soul.