Category Archives: Passion

Consuming Stars

A lifetime past, he spoke,
though these syllables, preserved
have never faded, nor broken,
nor is dust or rust observed:
“Be the sun, not the moon.”
and like molten rock
runs downhill, absorbs, consumes,
it imbued with sudden shock
a missing piece, a missing trust.

I am not a lifeless entity
Dull but for the daylight.
The living Power living in me
is a wondrous, flaming sight
and we are one, as He is one
Why add layers of varnish?
It is futile work to be done
while He burns off every tarnish
to shine in the authenticity

of His work inside me.


Tongues of Flame

I miss the airports
the foreign elbows and tongues
making gestures of intonations
the bells of language unrung
slipping by on the socked toes
of non-verbal nods and smiles
of being isolated in a crowd
of traveling a thousand miles
to share what I received for free
luggage tumbling in waterfalls
inspected, measured, taped, and tossed
unnecessary to fulfill the call
their contents scanned, likewise my gut,
but I smuggle in treasure from afar
in quiet ways machines can’t see:
I carry wildfires in glass jars,

and when the time is right,
I set them free.


Red

And that my sense of red
may be wholly different than your own
while Red, in its being, its flesh,
exists outside what our perceptions hone
as an unseen creature, by and large
filtered by eyes and adored
for its intangible qualities.
By effect, endeared or abhorred,
but never known from the inside
by the masses in transit
along the rainbow’s slide.
In these short gestational days
we see in part, in reflections,
murmurs and heartbeats
fledgling inspections
through incomparable lenses
That your sense of red
may be tied with a thousand tethers
in loops of ideas left unsaid…


The Traveller’s Song

Is the thought gone?
Did it dissolve away
like the sudden snowflake
on the tip of a hot tongue?

And the words on the tip of my tongue
Dissolve, but are never destroyed
Piggybacking on the steel legs
of reason and wonder,
exhaustion, joy,
and the foreign wanderer
I have always been.

Not an idle word is abandoned
in the wake of new songs
How they flicker in the sun
turning, keeping time, telling stories
in wordless languages
of colors colliding, instrument strings
vibrating, resonating the songs of our souls

And I was born old
Onward I crawl, by day and year,
Towards the day of my birth:
Rewoven again in trembles and starlight.
I’m going to see Him-
All these years waiting,
traveling alone,
though I never have been.

What was the thought?
The traveler’s cloak
a defense against the cold
wrapped over the bare emotion
breathing beneath
It unravels to expose
the naked beauty

of the forgiven soul’s migration.


A New Open-Door Policy

I have become a keyless creature.
I, even I, the inveterate locksmith, the Queen of Doors,
The custodian of moon-sized jangling rings,
Keys braided in my hair, hidden under floorboards-
Now all my keys
…are no more.

Twelve years ago, or so, some unknown day,
Gaping, ajar, a lock unclasped,
I pressed a key into another palm, giving it away
Before I could rebolt the trap
The cross-breeze lent a peaceful sway
…and I never looked back.


Sound and Furies

All my life, jostled between
Direct candor and stray wit
And people who hate what I have to say
But love the way I say it.


The Defense Rests

I stood before you
Pleading my case into the offended silence
Assuming no able mediator
Would intervene in the violence,
The waste, the butchery,
And the endless consumption
Framing my identity and
Crippling my function
But the unthinkable happened, as I unraveled
Spilling confession where I noxiously sinned
The Judge handed me the very same gavel
With which I should have been condemned-
Mine to beat upon you, and the past,
To damn, or to set down free.
On it, engravings of our trespasses:
Killing you was killing me
And how deeply I considered it
With no one left to save-
Allowing my embitterment
To seal our ashes together in the grave
But what would be left behind
If I razed our souls to damnation?
We would both produce in like kind
The offspring of condemnation.
And the Great Judge pointed to a battered face
Hanging bloodied on an unearned cross
His wheezing body dripping grace
On the gnashing teeth of the lost.
I set the gavel down.
Where is the path forward?
What kind of future can be found,
Or excavated, or forged
After all these crimes between us?
My demon is my brother is my priest
And it is treasonous
To refuse your release.

So I release you,
But not to freedom.

We, neither of us, move autonomously
Outside the constraints of our pardons
We must not live dishonestly,
Sowing what separates and hardens
But pursue good, each for the other.
I sought you once, for help getting me through
The tragedies in each collision of breath
But you instead became the catalyst that got me to
A reality higher than death
And I am grateful for your diversion,
Your oppression and extortion,
Because in your exclusion and aspersions
I found that, in Him, I am more than

A Conqueror,
And so are you.

We are blood, and able to stop shedding it
Putting down the blades of our desires and expectations,
What we’ve been revering or regretting
Before cutting into the next generation
The same slavers’ irons
That have clapped us both in chains
Don’t you likewise yearn
For freedom to change?
And you are free
From the past, from your sins
I release you;
Go and make your amends
By sinning no more
Become the man you were created to be:
Serve the least, stand for
We who cannot be heard, the weak
Lost under the grumbles.
Walk in bare feet, be true:
Stand in honesty, humbled,
And I will stand for you.

A companion piece to:

The Defendant Rises


Well Wandered

If I’d packed my bags then
During those first steps into the rain
How heavy-laden I might have been
To hold anything but love and pain
In these two, fragile hands

Only capable of carrying
What fits inside a coffin, or a womb,
A thing to bear, or to bury
One to produce- one to consume-
On either side of standing.

All those years, the quiet dignity
Growing in adverse conditions
Our roving anonymity
Void of live ammunition-
Defenseless but for invisibility

My identity I had only sworn
To deceased associations
I wandered, well-worn
With You as my nation;
My allegiance pledged in motility.

And my Nation wanders still
To the roadless places,
The empty hands, unfilled
But heavy with the graces
Carried to the last generation:

Shall I again pledge allegiance
To my well-wandered nation?


30 to Life

Hermit
Skipping shells
Like vagrant towns
Carrying homelessness
On my back
Sleeping in it
Slipping into tidal pools
To stay out of the rain
All my epiphanies
pounded free
from the firm wet sand
below the strandline
twisting in convolutions
revolving again
back out to sea
to tangle in the murky depths
of my hypocrisy


Pitter Patter

Tender rain falling
recalling wispy remembrances
Walking slowly into it unprotected
gray like our forgotten corner dances
cloudy like lost conversations
in strange, unlikely places
Cold like the corners of your mouth
when you say something tasteless

Tumbling walls of the dead
pooling in the streets
I splash through their loss
with forgetful feet
but they gather in rivulets
babbling in whispers
and I’m numb to forget
the secret, fervent vespers

Muted veil across the earth
and sky, neither light nor dark
diverts from bringing the past
to the high watermark
these rainy days halt our time,
and I again take a trip
to chasing butterflies in the open sun
while you licked your lips

I know you, always I will,
when gray insulates
with finger to mouth
hushing the disconsolate
Whether we’re both dead
walking through our phantom lands
and I never see you again in flesh
I am marked where I stand

and knowing you is part of who I am.