Posts for June 24, 2018 (page 2)

Infatuation made her give the world away
for a price you can find in a sofa;
you can bet an evil man would pay it.
Smitten by the spark, from the very start,
she let time do too much of the talking
through her imagination, gluing together
the feathers of the wings of her angel
as she expected him to be.

But a devil, he had chosen to be.
Space between sightings became sinkholes of seduction,
he lured her down the road of desire
as she had mapped out in her head.
Finally where fate intended
she drew an X in the dirt and gave him a shovel,
letting him dig and dig and sweetly dig
until the gold was exposed.
He let her peek at it,
then snapped the lid shut.
He hit her with the shovel
and buried her in the hole
where his interpretation of treasure used to lie.

Now the girl knows not what to do
with all these red flags she ignored to get here;
she cries by herself in the dark.
Reality is never what you make by dreaming,
her expectations, such vast overestimations.
But I guess that is all one can truly expect
when you give the world away for free.

                                                       
years yet lived 45
lives
with all The Heavy Lifting
he has done
by
His Limestone Bones
and
Workhorse force.
Poet father teacher founder
friend.
This Wretched Vessel
better for his 45
lives.
The Messenger Is Sudden Thunder
and yet
God Boy turns 31
saying
…we are doing something inexplicable
and by responding to one another,
we are doing something
holy…
it will feel like
praying…
& Grace.

                        for Chris

If I had to,
I would fly across the stars to you.

The light you see
will eventually reach where I am

And if the rays of the cosmos can travel
across vast darkness

then so can I. 

Trees wide as my car
reaching up taller than all
a slow step to God.

There is a sound then

One line is a view.
Two lines are a statement.
Three lines are a story.
Four lines are monotony.

One word is an action or thing.
Two words are a thought.
Three words are febrile imagination.
Four words confirm civilization.

Beauty appears in Ones.
Love appears in Twos.
Creation appears in Threes.
Philosophy occurs in Fours.

Bolster Ones.
Fragment Fours.
Close the shades.
Open the doors.

Multisyllabic words
can be as free
as flying birds.

Letters without words are sounds.

Silence is the breath
before sound,

or death.

Take me from behind
the shadow of the house,
into the brightness 
of the verdant garden.

Bend me over
the low fences
so I can reach 
the ripe fruit,
just waiting to be taken.

Make me take it all
from the garden,
enough for a good meal,
so breakfast can be prepared.

Fill me up
with happy memories
of crisp sunrises
and fresh bacon
and eggs.

Don’t stop
sharing this 
simple life
with me.

Come inside
and join me 
at the table.

I love it so much–
this country life,
even though,
sometimes,
it gets harder.

Let’s do it again.

In South Africa paleontologists discover
Homo habilis in a cave; archaeologists dust off
and reassemble the bones.

I vacuum forgotten items in the basement:
a sparkly-haired Barbie, her plastic white horse,
as assortment of weights, an old clock.

With a sweep of the dusting brush,
the alarm that roused the kids for school
starts ticking again.

A friend’s disgnosis makes me clear the air–
dust we are, and unto dust we return,
then comes the resurrection.

There are people in this world who seek a life without regret.
But I tell you, son, if you have none, you just ain’t lived much yet.
For almost everything you do and almost everything you say
Will effect the ones around you in a smsll or profound way.

Yes I know that I’ve been guilty, and I know that I’ve caused hurt
By my careless words I’ve spoken or the ones across a shirt,
Or the ones I never spoke cause I was proud or was afraid,
Or some stupid thing I did as part of stupid games I played.

I allowed myself to be manipulated by some kings.
They told me I should care about some unimportant things.
And then, like a parrot, all their stupid songs I’d sing.
I should have known they wanted the division it would bring.

There are things in life I’ve done that I thought I had to do.
I guess I’d do it all the same, but I regret it too.
If I listened to some people, it was evil, they would say,
But self hatred is a price, I say, that isn’t mine to pay.
For I am but a man.

I’ve grown to hate to kill the spider walking on the floor.
God knows that I don’t really want to hurt no one no more.
But this ain’t no perfect world, and I ain’t no perfect man,
And I know that I’ll pile up regrets again, again, again.

I swallow them dry 

In thirty minutes I can see all truth 

In one hour I can feel all pain 

I’ve got this tiring God-complex for the 21600 seconds

I will climb to the top of the water towers and pretend that I control all that my eyes can see

I’ll read three books, maybe four, and possibly every word in the dictionary 

And as the timer begins to sing,  I will descend that rickety ladder and go home 

I’ve not learned a thing