Category Archives: poetry

Ode to a Poet

There’s someone that I always follow

I think they bear a lot of pain

But never do I see them wallow

Each day, they’re hard at work again

Pursuing their eternal passion

Knowingly, they took a vow

To disregard the worldly fashion

To no one would they have to bow

Singular, I think their vision

Selfless do I think their heart

Noble do I think their mission

Affecting do I think their Art

I fancy that their poet’s soul

Society rejects

And that must surely take a toll

That nobody respects

And now, I think I’ve lost my rhyming

And better take to bed

I’ve never been so good at timing

The things that must be said.

Sweet dreams

in the dense darkness of the woods
there’s a perceived foggy softness of light
a way out, let’s hurry now

in a tree tunnel, as promised
closer now, we’re there
what follows is gaining

the way is barred
a barricade
a weathered rail fence
two heads high
knitted over with barbed wire
grown over with creeping vines

a quick look to right and left
its madness extends into the gloom
what now?

there’s deadwood, pick it up
use it as a lever
pry the stiff rails
hold them open
spread the barbed wire
apply tension, tune to the key of E
it is angered, I am cut, cut, cut
part the curtain of withered vines
dive through now!
more cuts, but life will heal

kick out the braces
keep one, it’s a perfect mace
climb up that tree
nice and dark in here
blood dribbles onto the fist and makeshift club

the obscenity approaches
I hear it, I smell it
demented screams and triumphant laughter

it thuds against the camouflaged barrier
more screams, now of pain
it has no higher brain, you see?
and knows not how or where I am gone

it climbs, crying crimson
my club, my mace
heavy, with jagged brokenness at its end

this thing of filth gains the top
bloody claw and drooling maw
I swing hard
so hard, I fall to forest floor
I hear grunts, choking drowning sounds

I am still enraged at this dogged pursuer
Through the pain and bleed I climb once more
and drop down upon it, flailing, flailing
the mace

like a mad dog struck suddenly
it makes a piteous show of aggression
then flees into the dimness

I stand in tremulous tears,
put my braces back up once more, with more care, more care
open the curtains
I am back on the right side
and it is in the wrong

will it heal and renew its rabid pursuit?
away, away, I hear
a cry of scorn, derision,
but also of defeat
it is gone, I think, forever.

 

 

Lies we tell, lies we are told

whiskey warmth in the belly
ah, what a good substitute
warmth of spirits for spiritual warmth

I think I will buy this
I think I want it
I’ll take it home.  It will make me feel better.
it’s the latest.  I’m back in style.
something to show, something to show

I’m saving up
a down payment
on that beauty beauty car!
then I can pay by the month too!
then, in six months
the thrill is gone
I feel funny
I feel anxious
and sort of doomed

hey, let’s go to the casino!
I’m only taking a hundred bucks with me
I’m not gonna use my bank card

come on man, everyone’s doing it
it’s a real trip
only lasts a couple of hours
you’ll be glad you did

in the evening of life
having navigated it all
we sit now in front of a blurting glow box
spoon feeding the same old, same old
The siren song of the neon God.

 

 

Once upon a December

In nineteen hundred and eighty one

At Christmas time, with Mrs. Dunn

And two unruly cats out for a ride

we headed west on 401

And branched off to a northern run

Just me, myself, and Deb (my pregnant bride)

In two more months, she would be due

And the cat would have its kittens too

and I would be beside myself with glee

But we were in a nasty stew

A snowstorm on the avenue

It slowed us down, and I could hardly see

Two hundred miles we had to go

On Christmas Eve, through blinding snow

To Mom and Dad’s, upon a northern bay

The wind was blowing to and fro

The road, it was a horror show

I couldn’t tell which was the proper way

Then all at once we took the ditch

Our Christmas plans had met a hitch

The wife and I (and cats) were all okay

then, someone stopped ( his name was Mitch)

And said Ain’t that a son of a bitch

And helped us back upon our merry way

He towed us with a cable hook

A little time was all it took

To get us once again upon our tour

Then gave us both a funny look

And said “A room, you’d better book

They’re closing up the highway now for sure”

Now, further up the road a way

We found a place where we could stay

And had to wake the landlord from his bed

The room was cold, but anyway

We slept our Christmas Eve away

And woke at dawn, with shadowings of dread

Another foot of snow there was

‘Twas quite enough to give us pause

I shoveled just enough to let us pass

The cats were busy cleaning claws

The wife was all upset because

We’d let ourselves run almost out of gas

This Christmas morn, the roads were clear

The storm had stopped, the sun was here

We woke the sleepy landlord once again

He had some gas, among his gear

He filled us up, said “Never fear-

You’ll reach your Mom and Daddy’s place by ten”

And so, we reached the northern bay

And spent a cheery Christmas Day

The memories would stay with us a while

We watched their little grandkids play

With starry eyes, and I would say

This year, we had a lot to make us smile.

For You

what makes a nightmare for you?
says the man who’s been stunted
’cause his whole life he’s been hunted
what makes a nightmare for you?

when cold comfort is all you can find
all the time you must be wary
and the heavy weight you carry
means the devil’s stalking you not far behind
and you may become entangled and entwined

what has your conscience done for you?
when you care for all your brothers
but they give their love to others
what has your conscience done for you?

when those who seek your confidence are few
and the troubled souls who’ve found you
with their sorry hearts surround you
and the burdens that they carry are so true
your conscience is what marries them to you

what is a man like you to do?
when you’ve been through so much sorrow
and you’re swallowing tomorrow
what is a man like you to do?

your spiritual strife will be undone
and your suffering be ended
and your weary heart be mended
when you call upon the mercy of the one

who knows your soul and cries his tears for you
who knows your soul and cries his tears for you

photo credit to:   https://charterforcompassion.org/becoming-compassionate/compassion-accepting-life-as-it-is-without-sorrow-or-emotional-reaction

I wish I may, I wish I might….

this heart has slowly settled
it wants to be at peace
pride and envy, jealousy
it’s willing to release

scriptures read and understood
’tis not a fairytale
their lessons are invaluable
companions without fail

I feel remorse for those who’ve died
without the chance to live
and I still here and need you now
my failings to forgive

my love’s been shown to some that were
impoverished in soul
and I’ve been given in return
their own, when they are whole

the call to judgement tugs at me
with spiritual strings
it mayn’t be long before it sees
my ghost upon its wings

and so I will not rage against
the dying of the light
or think that I am better than
the ones who’ve lost their fight

take me when it is my time
and leave the rest to me
I wish I may, I wish I might
your holy Presence see

 

Periwinkles

They headed down the valley
With their wine and picnic lunch.
The periwinkles blooming
They gathered by the bunch.
Happily remembering
The times that they had spent
As children, in the old ravine
Inside a makeshift tent.
With jam and jelly sandwiches
They’d huddled from the rain
And hoped that in the days to come
They’d be there, once again.
Soon they would be parted, though
Still children, and they wept.
They’d always been the only ones
Whose promises were kept.
Two decades passed, the wheel had turned
They never did forget.
And often looked within their hearts
Without the least regret.
Close unto this very summer
He thought of her once more
And prayed that he would find her
As lonely as before.
A fairytale friendship
Remembered o’er the years
Had sent him on this errand.
He’d not forget their tears.
Now he was a grown man
And thought she must be married.
Indelible the memory was
That in his mind he carried.
Back to their old school he went
To ask where she had gone,
But none knew of her whereabouts.
They said that she’d moved on.
Please tell me where, and name the town!
He cried, and someone spoke-
The old and grizzled janitor
Whose memory then awoke.
Away now, with the precious answer
He went with all good speed,
And sought her out, for days it was
He’d not paid any heed
The search had finally led him
To a dark and dingy bar.
She’d worked there as a waitress.
T’was said she had a scar.
And that was how he found her.
He would not have recognized
Her face, so drawn and haggard
But still, she mesmerized.
She waited on his table. He touched her hand and said
“Lissa, do you know me?”
She slowly shook her head
He spoke his name, and handed her
A jam and jelly sandwich
Her eyes grew wide, and then she cried
O’er the scars that marked her damage.
A man she’d met and stayed with
(She was so all alone)
Had used her as his punching bag
And cut her to the bone.
Remembering the long ago
And the tent in the ravine
Her heart within her melted
And they quit the ugly scene.
To his own, he took her
And let her rest in bed
He waited on her day and night
And caressed her weary head
Whole had she become now
And when this day had dawned
They went to pick the periwinkles
Of which she was so fond.

Dejection

His ears have been ringing for thousands of days,
as from a hard slap, but it stays and it stays.
A similar sound to a siren that plays
without losing its pitch pipe perfection.

A strangling snake seems to coil, and to tighten.
Never to loosen, never to lighten.
Its singular purpose to cow and to frighten,
‘Til its victim has no clear direction.

His nose, it is running.  His stomach, it churns.
There is no surcease from the acid that burns.
The doctors have done all their tests, and he learns
that there is “no disease, or infection”.

“My bones out of joint”, as was said in the Psalm
“My heart melting like wax”, with no spiritual balm
“I am poured out like water”, there’s nothing to calm,
and no miracle cure or injection.

All too common, our souls tell this harrowing story.
We cry out to someone (the Power and the Glory?)
We regret, we repent, and we say we are sorry.
We’ll accept any kind of correction.

Will forgiveness be ours, now our life is in doubt?
Can our guilt and our sin and our debt be wiped out?
If we care, then we’ll know what this story’s about-
We are called His Divine Imperfection.