Sunday, December 30, 2012

A Window for a Mirror

Once there was a desk
That would show you what you wanted
In the mirror towering above.
When a thought worth thinking appeared,
It was seen as his face.

Good thoughts developed smiling days.
Others dug lines at arrogant eyes,
Looks only as handsome as an original thoughts,
While ideas orbit the same nose chin ears
Allowing prediction of season
Knowing a mind’s warm productivity
And halting freezes, no wrinkle or glow
Unexpected by a stifled imagination.

Then the mind wondered.
What lies beyond the planets?
To see the world as it had been
And continued being.

Then the mind dreamed
Of what was unremembered,
Imagining that which it didn’t believe,
Recalling the unknowns of a universe
With chaos and a broader center.

As the heavens broke into a thousand
Reflecting pieces, he saw in a jagged shining sea
The endless possibilities of a world outside
Of himself, found in a face that will ever change
In the lights of the sun at a desk placed
With a view through a window showing
Inspiration from without, hoping for lines yielded
From more happiness than not.

Once inspired, the mirror was replaced to find
Courage to gain life through window’s transparent
Glass. Allow the spheres to break, the firmament
To fall, and find roaming grasslands
Grazing yonder to yonder
A world of vistas displaying beauty
And pain, not in vain.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Why Do We Spend Our Lives

With people we care nothing for?
We provide for one love
Because of another love, but no others
Are aloud in this ring. Possession
To the one who can handle this selection—denial.

The conversation around the table
Sends you to thinking of the others,
Who spent all their feelings
By honest, bursting hearts
To vanish from your life
To never be revived, saved—destroyed.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Suicide Series, Part VII

David Bazan once sang
That it’s hard to be a decent human being,
But its hard to just be
A human being.
Love is the reason,
As culprit of woes—As creator of boons.

Parents who love, fall out,
Friends you loved leave life,
You don’t love those who love you,
You love those who can’t return it.
Confusing is knowing who you love,
And how it keeps its vigour.

There’s fire on the ridge,
It’s coming this way.
Where are His clouds
When wells are dry
And rivers run a trickle?
We are but a breath in fragile skin.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Suicide Series, Part VI

There’s fire on the ridge
And the stars are losing luster.

I have planted my fields.
I have kept the surface covered.
I have amended the soil with great care.
The workers are paid, fit,
Hoes cleaned, blades sharp,
We wait to watch seeds grow.

But you are like a leopard in the bushveld.
I look for you but I do not find you.
You are laying in the cedar, cooling
From the day’s heat.
If you come it is at night,
When I lightly sleep
For another day's toil under that sun.

Waiting in sweat,
Breathing in smoke,
I am here,
In my field, attending,
Until over yonder, clouds
Do I see, the rains for a man
Who lives in earnest.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Suicide Series, Part V

I feel the wind through my fingers
As I ride with the windows down
I feel the wind on my face as I think
Of you on a bike, riding with views.

If all is chasing after the wind
then I will chase after it too
and the calm, cool relief it often brings.
In chasing the wind, maybe I will again see you.
I won’t stop driving until I do.

You will be a Senator in the life to come,
showing us the way to be rooted in love,
and there we all will dwell
where joy will abound,
the loss of you lessening ours.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Suicide Series, Part IV

As I cut deeply
Through the pizza
The knife gets caught
On the crust
And I scream knowing
I’ve gone over the edge
And don’t know when
I’ll stop falling.

The death I felt my own was to you
But a hand on the knife. The thrust
Fulfilled in your own wordless passing.
I wondered when it would end
Then realized you already had.
I pray honesty will come more easily
To shocked lips.

My words don’t have time
To hang in mid air before
My eyes kick tears and mouth
Gasps for the air, clenching
The counter’s edge in death grip,
For relief from the pain—
Like a bang through the head—
The overdosing, numb sensation
Of losing you.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Suicide Series, Part III

Once I took a walk, I cried all the way,
In fits and spurts to the telephone pole—
I leaned—where I overheard the caprice of my sorrow
That has built to magnitudes thought improbable,
A storm, wherein the wind I chased
The memory of you, seeking out
What has gone by and finding
I can’t remember all I once knew
About you and the time we shared.

Mountains beyond mountains
From which a crimson sky did bleed
Below heaven’s shadowy fingers.
I wished the lights had not cut,
When above, a calm blue pediment,
A waxing crescent moon.