I set my jaw, my resolve,
No more poetry
Nonsense.
I sent a clot downstream,
To dam the torrent of words
Raging.
But the headaches come one by one,
Linguistic lobes fed by throbbing vessels
All the words composed,
All waiting…
All left undone.
Pyrocosmos
Existence is a raging bonfire:
Risk, love, thought, desire.
Devouring more to reach ever higher
Consumption of all it acquires.
Some memories are pallid ash
Light and flake, swirling mass
Clinging, climbing upward drafts
Dissolving into the dark and vast.
Others hiss and spit and spew,
Unprepared to burn all through,
To yield to fire and to flue.
They die neither silent, nor subdued.
Whatever remains in the great ash heap,
When every ember falls to its sleep,
Refined by fire, purest of deep,
Is forged alone for the eternal keep.
Heartwood
These are the days of ease,
The days of the Sugar Maple
And the Butternut trees,
The Walnut and the Hickory.
My young saplings grow as these,
Little roots, little branches, little bark,
Until they’ve grown, and put off leaves,
And leave me breathless in the breeze.
Should I never get to see,
Another limb stretch to the sky,
These days are hidden treasuries,
Of maples and of memories.
Pulling Thorns
I spoke a mantra
Wrote it down,
I thought I had expelled you.
The hiccups paused,
I believed were done,
Until another gasp inhaled you.
How can this be
For any good?
I must find and burn your altar.
How have ancient
Dreams withstood
These years they do not alter.
Why won’t they falter
Like I do?
Inevitable
All these dreams
They still persist
Even after my crude exorcism.
It’s so unseemly
They exist
Somewhere in reflex or optimism,
Behind my reams,
My pen, my wrist,
My highest tenacity or masochism.
A Slip of the Shun
The words themselves were kind,
But spewed out angry-
Like an indefensible accusation.
They were something reckless, something blind,
Measured methodically
In premeditated over-calculation.
They hit like poison darts
Swelling the blood,
Organ to organ, system to system.
Until cardiac necrosis imparts
Death by flood,
By sorrow, by unwanted wisdom.
Heritage
Hurry now, hurry!
The wind is vicious
Tearing off the little petals,
Scattered as embittered wishes.
Each petal crashes hard, hard
Weighing down this solid stone,
This earth of dirt and time
Of teeth and tear and groan.
Who will gather the crushed petals,
From every corner trod?
Who can build the rose again,
Save alone the Hand of God?
Tinted, Turning, Fallen
Black coffee cat,
Scat!
This is not your back stoop.
Troop of omen
Moan and wail, but
Leave me to my own.
What evil eyes shone
Through the night-
Lies! Threats!
Begone! Fly
Mangy imp of the devil’s devices
Limp back to hell,
Leave me to my own.
My God
Not because I need to speak,
To stand, to be seen or heard,
But because when I am weak
You stay strong and true to Your Word.
Not for my purpose,
But for Your affections.
Only You could work this
Dead mess to resurrection.
I am here for You alone,
And what pleases You is all
That makes me feel like home;
Your company alone enthralls.
Use me, hide me, either way
Don’t leave me to the hands of men.
Walk the unbroken union every day,
Speak unto my soul again,
Your words, not mine.
My God
And if I am to stand
I won’t push myself up
By my two filthy hands
Palms pushing earth pushing palms.
If these words must erupt,
Control the burn and balm.
Write this story, and if need be
Use me-
For Your glory.
