I will want my eyes open if I can,
when it happens.
Don’t stay
if it’s too hard.
But if you do,
you might see,
in my dry eyes,
a struggle of the soul.
A sea-change,
as I watch the silver sun,
and all that’s earthly folds its book.
For I’ve already peeked at the show,
And I know.
Category Archives: spiritual
Even the Angels must play
Some Angels from a silent night
had gathered on a day,
for so it was their Lord’s delight
to watch them all at play.
On silky chains
and silver chairs,
they circled round and round,
and sang a song of heavenly stairs,
and joyous was the sound.
Shamblings
I taped my mouth shut
for ten years,
‘til a professional told me
it was wrong,
I should wean.
There were pills, too,
that hypnotized
the disobedient sleep,
then upsold themselves.
On my knees,
I considered cuts,
and reached for a siren’s call.
But here
now
today
biding time.
Earnestly
Remember how to sing.
If not, to hum,
or whistle a waltz.
Understand the beast,
and restrain it
with a stumbling spot dance.
Think of your goodness,
and not of your sin.
Of the young,
for they are short of life.
Of your faith, or your doubt,
and the quality of prayer.
A killing
What’s lent
is a conjured greenfield.
A tree spreads,
knows the horizon.
I will feed
on atmosphere aquamarine
and minty clouds.
Give a cry at tempting scenes
of primal histories,
and wonder at our peoplings.
What words?
What doings?
With ages I am filled.
With cages, I am killed.
A grave matter
When I’ve left this locking body,
sack me in a shawl.
Don’t let this cat out of the bag.
Roll me over in the clover,
sling me slowly into the underground.
Take up your brought shovels
and fill me in. Tamp me down,
so the earth will plant a kiss,
and welcome the worms.
I will be watching.
Happy days are here again
Suppose
you could take me with you.
Into this, your shiny time
of smiling at the sun,
of feeling the quickening
of love’s stirrings.
Of planning without the thought of ending.
Of being adored.
Tag along, I would,
incognito.
Even, I would pay
with what I have left.
Dark Angel
What was the thing I saw
in the dimness of fog forest?
Tall and straight and still it stood,
its head bowed in supplication.
Its person was that of a dark Angel,
and the flowing mists imparted
an artist’s brushstrokes to it.
In my awe, it saw me not,
for it was of another world.
Quakers
I know why you couldn’t shave anymore
I used to think that you could
but needed to be touched
I think, now, that something told you
“What’s the use?”
and you agreed
and your hands and knees agreed
and next morning
your shrunken head
could think only of hard rivers of nerves.
the soul
For some, it wavers, I fancy,
as does a candle’s flame.
In others, it is
compacted and hard,
unreached by the light.
Molecules from a veiled realm,
finding fate and purpose.
Unlucky are those without shields,
for their radiance flows freely,
a boon for all,
but soon tainted.
Aremyfeetofftheground 