Cave
Stand in the caves; let the winds harrow;
In the carved hollow; in the sea’s wallow;
Let the salt-rot burn through your marrow.
Stand in the caves; hear the damp sorrow;
Hear the waves crying; hear the rocks dying;
Hear the hourglass sand of tomorrow.
Stand in the caves; feel the wound gaping;
Feel the earth slaking; thirsty waves taking;
Feel the ever-hungry tide reshaping.
Stand in the caves; let the death be;
Let the shore lose; let the land bruise;
For naught can stand the tug of the sea.
In the caves; let her reign;
Streams will flow; storms will blow;
Crumble into her domain.
The caves; her altar;
Tribute; fall mute;
Here you too will falter.
Caves; yawn;
Sea; be;
All else gone.
Caves;
Sea;
Craves.
Cave.
In the carved hollow; in the sea’s wallow;
Let the salt-rot burn through your marrow.
Stand in the caves; hear the damp sorrow;
Hear the waves crying; hear the rocks dying;
Hear the hourglass sand of tomorrow.
Stand in the caves; feel the wound gaping;
Feel the earth slaking; thirsty waves taking;
Feel the ever-hungry tide reshaping.
Stand in the caves; let the death be;
Let the shore lose; let the land bruise;
For naught can stand the tug of the sea.
In the caves; let her reign;
Streams will flow; storms will blow;
Crumble into her domain.
The caves; her altar;
Tribute; fall mute;
Here you too will falter.
Caves; yawn;
Sea; be;
All else gone.
Caves;
Sea;
Craves.
Cave.
A Tome's Greatest Worth
What is a page but a holder of ink,
And the ink, but a former of words?
Is it not in the words that the worlds are formed and the world is evermore stirred?
Is the medium naught but the sum
Of the message there scripted or scrawled?
Is there nothing so grand about paper and hand, is the story and poetry all?
Aye, surely I’ll say that the tale is most,
That the words are a tome’s greatest worth,
But covers to linger o’er, pages to finger o’er, these are yet treasures of earth.
Try dusty old pages gone yellow with ages,
The binding all eaten, the cover grown dim,
Touch paper, don’t fumble, take care or you’ll crumble Words lying safeguarded within.
Fresh-pressed, crisp and white, crackling pages delight,
Bright-black ink with a new story burning.
What pleasures are found in the scent, in the sound, of a book with its pages a-turning.
Aye, surely I’ll say that the tale is most,
That the words are a tome’s greatest worth,
But covers to linger o’er, pages to finger o’er, these are yet treasures of earth.
And the ink, but a former of words?
Is it not in the words that the worlds are formed and the world is evermore stirred?
Is the medium naught but the sum
Of the message there scripted or scrawled?
Is there nothing so grand about paper and hand, is the story and poetry all?
Aye, surely I’ll say that the tale is most,
That the words are a tome’s greatest worth,
But covers to linger o’er, pages to finger o’er, these are yet treasures of earth.
Try dusty old pages gone yellow with ages,
The binding all eaten, the cover grown dim,
Touch paper, don’t fumble, take care or you’ll crumble Words lying safeguarded within.
Fresh-pressed, crisp and white, crackling pages delight,
Bright-black ink with a new story burning.
What pleasures are found in the scent, in the sound, of a book with its pages a-turning.
Aye, surely I’ll say that the tale is most,
That the words are a tome’s greatest worth,
But covers to linger o’er, pages to finger o’er, these are yet treasures of earth.
Song as Old as Spring
Sing-a-song-o-springtime, the people begged the bard--
Said he; “To find new rhyme is hard.
Sweet spring has sprung too oft from ground,
Who’d wish to sing another round?
For spring’s been sung into the ground.”
Sing-a-song-o-springtime, the people begged him yet,
Of flowered boughs and bursting buds and grasses green and wet.
“Sing what?” cried he. “Of bird’s return? Of growing nest and egg?”
Of that, and more, the people said, a song of spring we beg.
“But what is new to say of new?” Cried troubled troubadour.
“This vernal tide, this flowering prime, has thus been called; and more.
I’ve naught to say of spring but this--
That sunshine wakes the earth with kiss,
And ground grows green in vibrant bliss
Then all goes damp with rain and mist
Until the rain and sun make tryst
And rainbows arc between the twain
Till grey clouds fade, and with them, rain
And sun again holds full domain.”
A song-o-springtime, sing us more!
“What’s this?” Quoth he, “What awful chore!
To make anew a thing so old,
I cannot sing of spring so bold,
I cannot freshen green and gold,
And blue of sky with words oft-told.”
“The budding new has too-long stood
The budding songs that once were good
Have long been sung into the ground.
Who’d wish to sing another round?
Sweet spring has sprung too oft from ground.”
A-song-o-springtime, still they said, and so he sadly did.
He sweetly sang of songbird’s love, of newling lamb and kid.
The smell of earth and wet and green he wove into a song,
With words well known and sung before, and still he sang along,
Of waterfalls of melted snow, and skies washed blue and clean,
And though the tribute, true, was old, it sounded new as spring.
Said he; “To find new rhyme is hard.
Sweet spring has sprung too oft from ground,
Who’d wish to sing another round?
For spring’s been sung into the ground.”
Sing-a-song-o-springtime, the people begged him yet,
Of flowered boughs and bursting buds and grasses green and wet.
“Sing what?” cried he. “Of bird’s return? Of growing nest and egg?”
Of that, and more, the people said, a song of spring we beg.
“But what is new to say of new?” Cried troubled troubadour.
“This vernal tide, this flowering prime, has thus been called; and more.
I’ve naught to say of spring but this--
That sunshine wakes the earth with kiss,
And ground grows green in vibrant bliss
Then all goes damp with rain and mist
Until the rain and sun make tryst
And rainbows arc between the twain
Till grey clouds fade, and with them, rain
And sun again holds full domain.”
A song-o-springtime, sing us more!
“What’s this?” Quoth he, “What awful chore!
To make anew a thing so old,
I cannot sing of spring so bold,
I cannot freshen green and gold,
And blue of sky with words oft-told.”
“The budding new has too-long stood
The budding songs that once were good
Have long been sung into the ground.
Who’d wish to sing another round?
Sweet spring has sprung too oft from ground.”
A-song-o-springtime, still they said, and so he sadly did.
He sweetly sang of songbird’s love, of newling lamb and kid.
The smell of earth and wet and green he wove into a song,
With words well known and sung before, and still he sang along,
Of waterfalls of melted snow, and skies washed blue and clean,
And though the tribute, true, was old, it sounded new as spring.
These Too-Restless Hands
Drawn like a moth to the hearthfire of life,
My fingers cannot stray for long.
Were the keys and the pen like the blades of a knife,
Even so would my hands there belong.
Though the red ran rich as it sometimes does
On the page in invisible stain,
I could not keep my members from scribing because
‘Tis their life, e’en when also their pain.
They rouse me from comfort, they rouse me from peace,
They drag me from apathy’s lair,
My fingers, a-twitching with words to release,
Draw me into—or out of?—a snare.
Their passion is dauntless, their focus ill-turned
From the pen and the print on the page.
Were I ill in my bed, then my needs would be spurned
For their hunger would whirl in a rage.
Up and out, they would hound me, demanding the chance
To pour out their life force and mine,
Then to dip their quill deep in that pool and, perchance
To craft words on which others might dine.
My fingers dart, pause, and adjust on the keys,
Building poem and tale and remark.
They care not to care for me, do as they please,
While I languish, they fly on their lark.
And galvanized sore by these too-restless hands,
Moved, aye, from a coveted rest,
I feel my whole being revived by their plans
And find that fool passion knows best.
My fingers cannot stray for long.
Were the keys and the pen like the blades of a knife,
Even so would my hands there belong.
Though the red ran rich as it sometimes does
On the page in invisible stain,
I could not keep my members from scribing because
‘Tis their life, e’en when also their pain.
They rouse me from comfort, they rouse me from peace,
They drag me from apathy’s lair,
My fingers, a-twitching with words to release,
Draw me into—or out of?—a snare.
Their passion is dauntless, their focus ill-turned
From the pen and the print on the page.
Were I ill in my bed, then my needs would be spurned
For their hunger would whirl in a rage.
Up and out, they would hound me, demanding the chance
To pour out their life force and mine,
Then to dip their quill deep in that pool and, perchance
To craft words on which others might dine.
My fingers dart, pause, and adjust on the keys,
Building poem and tale and remark.
They care not to care for me, do as they please,
While I languish, they fly on their lark.
And galvanized sore by these too-restless hands,
Moved, aye, from a coveted rest,
I feel my whole being revived by their plans
And find that fool passion knows best.
Since the Veil was Torn
I dance in a Holy of Holies,
My feet strike hallowed ground,
I swish my fingers through the stuff of God,
Through the Awesome I Am that abounds
In the air, in the air all around me,
In the silent song that sounds
With notes too high
for my ears to hear,
My soul leaps with the song,
Presses nearer, near
To the Source, to the Singer, to the Light, to the Bringer,
And my feet must dance
With the soul’s sweet joy
And they dance on hallowed ground.
My feet strike hallowed ground,
I swish my fingers through the stuff of God,
Through the Awesome I Am that abounds
In the air, in the air all around me,
In the silent song that sounds
With notes too high
for my ears to hear,
My soul leaps with the song,
Presses nearer, near
To the Source, to the Singer, to the Light, to the Bringer,
And my feet must dance
With the soul’s sweet joy
And they dance on hallowed ground.
Bound to Stand
There is a hopelessness
like mirk’s morass,
that sweeps the hearts of men
in darkness vast,
It wonders if we’re
doomed to fail,
to ever stray from
narrow trail
and fall into the void.
And we are
Doomed to fail
Doomed to die
Bound to stand again and try.
The chasm is as deep,
as black as space,
and through it tumbles
Adam’s roiling race,
Searching hard
or running far,
how we wonder
what we are
within that fearful void.
And we are
Doomed to fail
Doomed to die
Bound to stand again and try.
But men still stand like suns
in stretching dark,
a pricking pin of light,
a hilltop spark.
Deeds of greatness
burning brightly,
tiny candle
re-lit nightly
to stand against the void.
And we are
Doomed to fail
Doomed to die
Bound to stand again and try.
There is a hope within
like burning sphere,
outnumbered by the
cold and dark and fear,
And yet when men
stare up at sky,
what do they look at,
count, and scry,
But diamonds in the void?
And we are
Doomed to fail
Doomed to die
Bound to stand again and try.
A latticework is laid,
the Milky Way.
Small flames can turn
the deepest dark to day.
The darkest hour
is but a cloud,
all open eyes
see past the shroud;
that starlight fills the void.
And dark is
Doomed to fail
Doomed to die
Bound to vanish, bound to fly,
For light is greater far than greatest void.
like mirk’s morass,
that sweeps the hearts of men
in darkness vast,
It wonders if we’re
doomed to fail,
to ever stray from
narrow trail
and fall into the void.
And we are
Doomed to fail
Doomed to die
Bound to stand again and try.
The chasm is as deep,
as black as space,
and through it tumbles
Adam’s roiling race,
Searching hard
or running far,
how we wonder
what we are
within that fearful void.
And we are
Doomed to fail
Doomed to die
Bound to stand again and try.
But men still stand like suns
in stretching dark,
a pricking pin of light,
a hilltop spark.
Deeds of greatness
burning brightly,
tiny candle
re-lit nightly
to stand against the void.
And we are
Doomed to fail
Doomed to die
Bound to stand again and try.
There is a hope within
like burning sphere,
outnumbered by the
cold and dark and fear,
And yet when men
stare up at sky,
what do they look at,
count, and scry,
But diamonds in the void?
And we are
Doomed to fail
Doomed to die
Bound to stand again and try.
A latticework is laid,
the Milky Way.
Small flames can turn
the deepest dark to day.
The darkest hour
is but a cloud,
all open eyes
see past the shroud;
that starlight fills the void.
And dark is
Doomed to fail
Doomed to die
Bound to vanish, bound to fly,
For light is greater far than greatest void.
A Skimping Shell
A single truth,
A truth entire, that words all fail to tell.
A single word,
To truth attached, as paltry, skimping shell.
That single word,
A single word no image can contain,
One single whole
A thousand pictures try to hold in vain.
A single truth,
A single truth, ill-wrapped inside a name,
And all attempts
To speak or write or show it seem to shame
The truth entire.
A truth entire, that words all fail to tell.
A single word,
To truth attached, as paltry, skimping shell.
That single word,
A single word no image can contain,
One single whole
A thousand pictures try to hold in vain.
A single truth,
A single truth, ill-wrapped inside a name,
And all attempts
To speak or write or show it seem to shame
The truth entire.
Winter's Mistress
Dance in a blizzard with nary a care,
Know not the whirlwind you whirl through
Has frozen and shattered man, woman and child,
As blithely as now, he dances with you.
See only the beauty in ice-carving air
That cradles you, gentle and fierce,
See naught but the wonder in snow-flurries wild,
See not the hearts he has pierced.
As great as his glaciers, as fresh-snowfall fair,
The North holds you near his cold heart
You favored of nature find winter’s kiss mild,
As you dance past ice-dervish’s darts.
Small snow-dancing sprite, you know not what you dare
When you reach for the hand of the storm,
For you’re fearless as innocent, ice-lover-child;
Let wind’s cold touch keep your heart warm.
So dance in the blizzard with nary a care,
Know not the snowstorm you twirl within
Has frozen and shattered man, woman and child,
As blithely as now, you go dancing through him.
Know not the whirlwind you whirl through
Has frozen and shattered man, woman and child,
As blithely as now, he dances with you.
See only the beauty in ice-carving air
That cradles you, gentle and fierce,
See naught but the wonder in snow-flurries wild,
See not the hearts he has pierced.
As great as his glaciers, as fresh-snowfall fair,
The North holds you near his cold heart
You favored of nature find winter’s kiss mild,
As you dance past ice-dervish’s darts.
Small snow-dancing sprite, you know not what you dare
When you reach for the hand of the storm,
For you’re fearless as innocent, ice-lover-child;
Let wind’s cold touch keep your heart warm.
So dance in the blizzard with nary a care,
Know not the snowstorm you twirl within
Has frozen and shattered man, woman and child,
As blithely as now, you go dancing through him.
Web of Art
Rapture in the story,
power in the strands,
beauty in the blood and sweat and tears.
The web in all its glory,
the best of men’s laid plans,
ensnares us in our greatest loves and fears.
power in the strands,
beauty in the blood and sweat and tears.
The web in all its glory,
the best of men’s laid plans,
ensnares us in our greatest loves and fears.
Diamond-Cutter Eyes
There was born a babe with eyes open wide,
Clear as diamonds, and sharp on all they spied.
And all wondered what he saw, as he laughed instead of cried,
There was born a babe with eyes open wide.
There grew a lad who looked at all he saw,
And from the time he opened his wee maw,
He’d point and say, oh look and see, there’s beauty in the raw,
There grew a lad who looked at all he saw.
There ran a boy with diamond-cutter eyes;
Slowed for flow’rs, and watched the red sun rise,
They cut away the everyday and found where beauty lies,
There ran a boy with diamond-cutter eyes.
There was a youth with eyes so sharp and strong,
And steady hands; could hit a mark so long,
But e’en with rifle in his hands, he saw life’s clear, sweet song,
There was a youth with eyes so sharp and strong.
There was a young man on a workin’ crew,
Wide-eyed, he worked ‘til dawn and dusk were through,
Still like a child, he’d laugh and point where wild orchids grew,
There was a young man on a workin’ crew.
There was a young man wanted for a war,
They marched him ‘til he fell down on the shore,
But ‘fore exhaustion closed his eyes, he smiled at ocean’s roar,
There was a young man wanted for a war.
A soldier stood with diamond-cutter eyes,
As horror raged and comrades fell like flies,
He saw a light, though night was dark, far brighter than sunrise,
A soldier fell with diamond-cutter eyes.
Clear as diamonds, and sharp on all they spied.
And all wondered what he saw, as he laughed instead of cried,
There was born a babe with eyes open wide.
There grew a lad who looked at all he saw,
And from the time he opened his wee maw,
He’d point and say, oh look and see, there’s beauty in the raw,
There grew a lad who looked at all he saw.
There ran a boy with diamond-cutter eyes;
Slowed for flow’rs, and watched the red sun rise,
They cut away the everyday and found where beauty lies,
There ran a boy with diamond-cutter eyes.
There was a youth with eyes so sharp and strong,
And steady hands; could hit a mark so long,
But e’en with rifle in his hands, he saw life’s clear, sweet song,
There was a youth with eyes so sharp and strong.
There was a young man on a workin’ crew,
Wide-eyed, he worked ‘til dawn and dusk were through,
Still like a child, he’d laugh and point where wild orchids grew,
There was a young man on a workin’ crew.
There was a young man wanted for a war,
They marched him ‘til he fell down on the shore,
But ‘fore exhaustion closed his eyes, he smiled at ocean’s roar,
There was a young man wanted for a war.
A soldier stood with diamond-cutter eyes,
As horror raged and comrades fell like flies,
He saw a light, though night was dark, far brighter than sunrise,
A soldier fell with diamond-cutter eyes.
Letter to a Sibling
...And I asked myself, what about this sibling mine most touches me? And I found that I most love your search; your search of yourself, your search of others, and the depth of both. And each of these three overlapping, intertwining fractions of this favorite facet demanded release in a poem, and so...
Quester.
A seeker.
A bester of fears.
Scaling the heights.
Mining the tears.
Maker.
A builder.
A taker of years,
Crafting a light
of the darkness it shears.
You see much of yourself, and seek to see more. I always find you peering, peeling through the silver layers of mirror. You seek the purifying fire, even knowing the pain it will bring. In this, you are my inspiration.
Questioner.
Ever armed with a tongue
that pierces deep with inquiry--
and stills to hear the truth.
They hold the mirror to my mind,
And bid me look and seek
and find my thoughts.
Questioner.
Ever armed with Elven eyes
that pierce so deep with listening,
and brim with life so seen.
They hold a mirror to my soul,
and dare me look and seek
and find my self.
Every time I speak to you, I show me something new. You cast a fey light and fill up all the corners. I see myself and others more truly in that light, and cannot help but grow.
Creature of the Deep.
Discontent to stand on iceberg peaks
and peek
At faces in glass boxes and the bubble words
they speak.
They shatter the display and glass rains sharp
to pierce
the pretty masks and ugly masks and masks in all
their tiers.
They seek the answers under answers given first
to please,
They dive for truth beneath the words, beneath the face
they see.
Farther up and farther in and
farther towards the core within and
ever deeper down and steeper ground and truer truths and still more found and
done and grown and been.
They are a Creature of the Deep
and "Ever Deeper!" will they sing
and Ever Deeper will they wing
into the heights.
Quester.
A seeker.
A bester of fears.
Scaling the heights.
Mining the tears.
Maker.
A builder.
A taker of years,
Crafting a light
of the darkness it shears.
You see much of yourself, and seek to see more. I always find you peering, peeling through the silver layers of mirror. You seek the purifying fire, even knowing the pain it will bring. In this, you are my inspiration.
Questioner.
Ever armed with a tongue
that pierces deep with inquiry--
and stills to hear the truth.
They hold the mirror to my mind,
And bid me look and seek
and find my thoughts.
Questioner.
Ever armed with Elven eyes
that pierce so deep with listening,
and brim with life so seen.
They hold a mirror to my soul,
and dare me look and seek
and find my self.
Every time I speak to you, I show me something new. You cast a fey light and fill up all the corners. I see myself and others more truly in that light, and cannot help but grow.
Creature of the Deep.
Discontent to stand on iceberg peaks
and peek
At faces in glass boxes and the bubble words
they speak.
They shatter the display and glass rains sharp
to pierce
the pretty masks and ugly masks and masks in all
their tiers.
They seek the answers under answers given first
to please,
They dive for truth beneath the words, beneath the face
they see.
Farther up and farther in and
farther towards the core within and
ever deeper down and steeper ground and truer truths and still more found and
done and grown and been.
They are a Creature of the Deep
and "Ever Deeper!" will they sing
and Ever Deeper will they wing
into the heights.
Scribe for Hire
Ooh,
Ooh,
New
New new,
Characters
Let them stew
In the mishmash,
In the mire
Of my mind,
A scribe for hire.
Ooh,
New
New new,
Characters
Let them stew
In the mishmash,
In the mire
Of my mind,
A scribe for hire.
Greater than the Constellations
Maker of sun, Master of wind
Has now begun old hurts to mend;
He stokes the fire's hottest heart,
His love goes deep at loving's start,
Its' flames a-dance with able grace,
Its' embers warm as star's embrace.
Many waters cannot quench it,
Fear and flood will fail to drench it,
Greater than the constellations,
Force beyond our comprehension,
Brightest of all conflagrations,
Dark will shrink in apprehension
Born of God and undefeated
Set in heart makes heart completed,
Fire of love forever burning,
Lit of one heart’s loving yearning.
Has now begun old hurts to mend;
He stokes the fire's hottest heart,
His love goes deep at loving's start,
Its' flames a-dance with able grace,
Its' embers warm as star's embrace.
Many waters cannot quench it,
Fear and flood will fail to drench it,
Greater than the constellations,
Force beyond our comprehension,
Brightest of all conflagrations,
Dark will shrink in apprehension
Born of God and undefeated
Set in heart makes heart completed,
Fire of love forever burning,
Lit of one heart’s loving yearning.
This is my World
This is my world, this is my fantasy,
Everything here, blowin’ my mind I see--
Creatures of wonder on every street corner--
Is that a feline, marbled and grey?
Slit-eyes that divine, cunning and sly,
Beasts from the fey world are lining my way.
This is my world, this is my fantasy,
Everything here, blowin’ my mind I see--
Great spreading boughs towering sixty feet upward,
Needles for leaves in a dusky blue-green
Can it be real? I feel bark ‘neath my fingers,
I’m walking through groves that are built out of dreams!
This is my world, this is my fantasy,
Everything here, blowin’ my mind I see--
Water turned white, gushing down in a geyser,
Dangerous as dragons and loud as their roar.
Some say canals are but dirty dull rivers,
I see fair silveren slipstreams of lore.
This is my world, this is my fantasy,
Everything here, blowin’ my mind I see--
Sunrise and sunset, explosions of color,
How can the world hold such spectrum and hue?
Light is a miracle, brightness a legend,
Tell me a tale of a sky made of blue!
This is my world, this is my fantasy,
Everything here, blowin’ my mind I see--
Up in that blue sky a predator roams
Great fearsome creature of feather and claw,
Wings beating, circling, both hunter and hunted,
Riding the wind above gravity’s law.
This is my world, this is my fantasy
Open your eyes, to impossibility.
This is my world, this is my fantasy
Open your eyes, to this reality.
Everything here, blowin’ my mind I see--
Creatures of wonder on every street corner--
Is that a feline, marbled and grey?
Slit-eyes that divine, cunning and sly,
Beasts from the fey world are lining my way.
This is my world, this is my fantasy,
Everything here, blowin’ my mind I see--
Great spreading boughs towering sixty feet upward,
Needles for leaves in a dusky blue-green
Can it be real? I feel bark ‘neath my fingers,
I’m walking through groves that are built out of dreams!
This is my world, this is my fantasy,
Everything here, blowin’ my mind I see--
Water turned white, gushing down in a geyser,
Dangerous as dragons and loud as their roar.
Some say canals are but dirty dull rivers,
I see fair silveren slipstreams of lore.
This is my world, this is my fantasy,
Everything here, blowin’ my mind I see--
Sunrise and sunset, explosions of color,
How can the world hold such spectrum and hue?
Light is a miracle, brightness a legend,
Tell me a tale of a sky made of blue!
This is my world, this is my fantasy,
Everything here, blowin’ my mind I see--
Up in that blue sky a predator roams
Great fearsome creature of feather and claw,
Wings beating, circling, both hunter and hunted,
Riding the wind above gravity’s law.
This is my world, this is my fantasy
Open your eyes, to impossibility.
This is my world, this is my fantasy
Open your eyes, to this reality.
Envy of the Silent Songbird
Rays of songlight, spilling sparkling
From a minstrel skiest blue.
Silent songbirds in their bowers
Harken as the notes fly true.
Chorus:
Ever dancing, ever giving
Song of life so full of living
To the breeze which blows him onward,
Envy of the silent songbird
Larks fall silent as he passes,
Flitting as a bird of wing.
Mockingbirds find naught to mock
And have no answering song to sing.
Swift as wind through forest gliding,
Gone is minstrel, gone is song.
Birds emerge from bashful hiding,
But the silence lingers long
Slowly songbirds start their singing,
Once again their music ringing
Round the woodlands, sounding hollow
Cry of warbler and of swallow
Paling in the sunwarmed wake
Of every word the minstrel spake.
From a minstrel skiest blue.
Silent songbirds in their bowers
Harken as the notes fly true.
Chorus:
Ever dancing, ever giving
Song of life so full of living
To the breeze which blows him onward,
Envy of the silent songbird
Larks fall silent as he passes,
Flitting as a bird of wing.
Mockingbirds find naught to mock
And have no answering song to sing.
Swift as wind through forest gliding,
Gone is minstrel, gone is song.
Birds emerge from bashful hiding,
But the silence lingers long
Slowly songbirds start their singing,
Once again their music ringing
Round the woodlands, sounding hollow
Cry of warbler and of swallow
Paling in the sunwarmed wake
Of every word the minstrel spake.
Sea Maiden
Said the selkie, I am the water
Said she, the water is me
My skin is mine,
In your hands, yet mine,
And the water is mine, the sea.
Take me from myself,
And never will I see
The master you think to be,
For I gave myself away
To that you can never slay
For I am the waters, the sea.
Said the selkie, I am not my own
Said she, nor am I yours,
My soul now pours
To distant shores,
And my soul belongs to the sea.
Think you me so small,
Think you have me bound,
Yet freedom I have ever found,
For there’s greater things within
Than can be held by simple skin
My heart beats are the waves, the sea.
Said the selkie, I am eternal,
Said she, all time is me
My seconds, mine,
In your hands for a time,
While I count the forever of the sea.
Trap me in your arms
And I will wear them down
‘Til in my hold you drown
For you cannot hold the waters
As you might hold men’s fair daughters
We will break you into sand of the sea.
Said she, the water is me
My skin is mine,
In your hands, yet mine,
And the water is mine, the sea.
Take me from myself,
And never will I see
The master you think to be,
For I gave myself away
To that you can never slay
For I am the waters, the sea.
Said the selkie, I am not my own
Said she, nor am I yours,
My soul now pours
To distant shores,
And my soul belongs to the sea.
Think you me so small,
Think you have me bound,
Yet freedom I have ever found,
For there’s greater things within
Than can be held by simple skin
My heart beats are the waves, the sea.
Said the selkie, I am eternal,
Said she, all time is me
My seconds, mine,
In your hands for a time,
While I count the forever of the sea.
Trap me in your arms
And I will wear them down
‘Til in my hold you drown
For you cannot hold the waters
As you might hold men’s fair daughters
We will break you into sand of the sea.
Sand Dollar
I find a sand dollar
Put it in my pocket with a wealth of other
Trinkets, counterfeits, poor attempts
To stand taller.
If I amass enough
Bitter nothings, will they be worth something to another?
When will my trash
Be another man’s treasure?
When will mundanity
Forfeit some pleasure?
When will the eye of some fanciful beholder
Make some beauty of me and my
Mouldering collection
Of half-hearted keepsakes?
For the sake
Of the ill-kept,
Mouldering
Half of my heart
Not yet crumbled into sand,
I pray my degraded, inflated supply
Will someday
Meet with demand.
Put it in my pocket with a wealth of other
Trinkets, counterfeits, poor attempts
To stand taller.
If I amass enough
Bitter nothings, will they be worth something to another?
When will my trash
Be another man’s treasure?
When will mundanity
Forfeit some pleasure?
When will the eye of some fanciful beholder
Make some beauty of me and my
Mouldering collection
Of half-hearted keepsakes?
For the sake
Of the ill-kept,
Mouldering
Half of my heart
Not yet crumbled into sand,
I pray my degraded, inflated supply
Will someday
Meet with demand.
Facets of Facination
Facets of fascination multiply like amoebas upon inspection
For the deeper you know, the deeper goes the cavern of learning
Fastening to the mind, spreading and deepening upon reflection
And the mind spelunks ever on, for more, ever yearning
But the deeper you go and the more that you see and know
The more that you see the caverns spread infinitely deep
And even wider and higher than infinite vision could show
And even if you lived a thousand and one lifetimes without sleep
You would never swim the circumference of even one sphere
Of information, for the unknown will always spread past understanding
Like a net, like a trap for inquiring minds that forget to fear
Spending eternity exploring infinity and always demanding
To find more facets of fascination growing as we reach into something
That looked like nothing at the beginning, but nothing was standing
Just outside of our understanding so we reached out hoping to bring
Everything under the lens of our microscope and telescope and intelligence
And we will never see it all or understand all of what we see no matter
How closely we look or how far we search or how much we learn to sense
But that’s the glory of it see; the rest is immaterial: it’s the hunger that matters.
For the deeper you know, the deeper goes the cavern of learning
Fastening to the mind, spreading and deepening upon reflection
And the mind spelunks ever on, for more, ever yearning
But the deeper you go and the more that you see and know
The more that you see the caverns spread infinitely deep
And even wider and higher than infinite vision could show
And even if you lived a thousand and one lifetimes without sleep
You would never swim the circumference of even one sphere
Of information, for the unknown will always spread past understanding
Like a net, like a trap for inquiring minds that forget to fear
Spending eternity exploring infinity and always demanding
To find more facets of fascination growing as we reach into something
That looked like nothing at the beginning, but nothing was standing
Just outside of our understanding so we reached out hoping to bring
Everything under the lens of our microscope and telescope and intelligence
And we will never see it all or understand all of what we see no matter
How closely we look or how far we search or how much we learn to sense
But that’s the glory of it see; the rest is immaterial: it’s the hunger that matters.
Only Me
Is it only me, or does
A swell of silence
Blossom outward through sound
A spreading bubble of quiet, sure as a cast spell.
Is it only me, or do
Heads turn
Mouths hush
Sensing, spotting, in the middle of the crowd.
Is it only me, or do
Their ears catch
The sound of a pause
A suspended moment of shutting-up.
A multitude stopping to hear
The beat before the pin drops
And listening to the life that breaths in still air?
No
It is only me
And I only wish
Company
In stillness
Head cocked to hear
The silence beneath the sound
The stillness behind the fluster
The crowd roils
Hearing only the sound waves that hit their ears,
Leaving me
To stand alone
And cock my head
At the ocean beneath.
A swell of silence
Blossom outward through sound
A spreading bubble of quiet, sure as a cast spell.
Is it only me, or do
Heads turn
Mouths hush
Sensing, spotting, in the middle of the crowd.
Is it only me, or do
Their ears catch
The sound of a pause
A suspended moment of shutting-up.
A multitude stopping to hear
The beat before the pin drops
And listening to the life that breaths in still air?
No
It is only me
And I only wish
Company
In stillness
Head cocked to hear
The silence beneath the sound
The stillness behind the fluster
The crowd roils
Hearing only the sound waves that hit their ears,
Leaving me
To stand alone
And cock my head
At the ocean beneath.
A Park Squirrel
A tricky life
An easy one
Living among
the teasers
and the feeders
And the folk all in-between.
An easy one
Living among
the teasers
and the feeders
And the folk all in-between.
Try
Try,
Try again.
Unfit
For anything but to try,
Try again.
Melancholy
Shifting upward,
Trying to take me.
Access denied; Try,
Try again.
There is no try, only do but
All I can do
Is try,
Try again.
Enough is enough
But all I do isn’t,
And it’s all I can do to try,
Try again.
I can not seem to win,
But I know no defeat,
For loss is in ceasing to try
Try again.
Something new, yeah,
I try every time,
Something new never works,
But I try,
Try again.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
This time will work.
This way will work.
I’ll try.
Try again.
Try again.
Unfit
For anything but to try,
Try again.
Melancholy
Shifting upward,
Trying to take me.
Access denied; Try,
Try again.
There is no try, only do but
All I can do
Is try,
Try again.
Enough is enough
But all I do isn’t,
And it’s all I can do to try,
Try again.
I can not seem to win,
But I know no defeat,
For loss is in ceasing to try
Try again.
Something new, yeah,
I try every time,
Something new never works,
But I try,
Try again.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
This time will work.
This way will work.
I’ll try.
Try again.
Perfectly Perfect
My life is perfectly
Fine and
Good and
Grand and
Well and
All such things without him.
I have plans that are perfectly
Fine and
Good and
Grand and
Well and
Perfect and
Great and
All such things without him.
All is undeniably
Fine and
Good and
Grand and
Well and
Perfect and
Great and
Happy and
Swell and
All such things without him.
But it’s just, you know,
It would be nice
With him.
A Golden Spear
I open my arms and admit the pain
Though the cost of admission is fiery to pay.
There is a spear, golden, pierced through my heart
That seems to stretch from then to eternity,
And to turn a blind eye
To this sharp shaft of light,
To this sharp shard of light,
--breaking inside of me into stinging rainbows like drops of rain that laugh for joy and stab into every painful thing before putting themselves back through the prism and rolling into a straight white-gold beam and streaming away to forever out there--
To turn a blind eye to bright truth and its might,
Is to turn a blind eye to myself.
To turn my eyes to stone and stop my ears against the mourning cries inside
And to claim no such thing as a golden spear runs now deep through my heart, shining and bloodless, the wound seared clean as the truth lodged home,
Is not only to lie, but to strangle, to slay,
To kill and to let something beautiful die before its time.
Let me leave the light on--
This sharp golden rod, stretching from then to who-knows-when
--And look while it lasts, for to look away is to miss a wonder of the world,
To deny the prism bursting inside of me in painful colors of untold joy.
I'll not deny my story,
Nor stay my hand from life's bounty,
Nor check my lips from tasting half the joy of love,
Nor shall I starve myself of life's sweetest pain,
Nor rob myself of the riches of a spear of light, breaking into a thousand rainbow gems inside my heart.
Though the cost of admission is fiery to pay.
There is a spear, golden, pierced through my heart
That seems to stretch from then to eternity,
And to turn a blind eye
To this sharp shaft of light,
To this sharp shard of light,
--breaking inside of me into stinging rainbows like drops of rain that laugh for joy and stab into every painful thing before putting themselves back through the prism and rolling into a straight white-gold beam and streaming away to forever out there--
To turn a blind eye to bright truth and its might,
Is to turn a blind eye to myself.
To turn my eyes to stone and stop my ears against the mourning cries inside
And to claim no such thing as a golden spear runs now deep through my heart, shining and bloodless, the wound seared clean as the truth lodged home,
Is not only to lie, but to strangle, to slay,
To kill and to let something beautiful die before its time.
Let me leave the light on--
This sharp golden rod, stretching from then to who-knows-when
--And look while it lasts, for to look away is to miss a wonder of the world,
To deny the prism bursting inside of me in painful colors of untold joy.
I'll not deny my story,
Nor stay my hand from life's bounty,
Nor check my lips from tasting half the joy of love,
Nor shall I starve myself of life's sweetest pain,
Nor rob myself of the riches of a spear of light, breaking into a thousand rainbow gems inside my heart.
Abridged Reality
If you try hard enough
You can grow deaf to the world
Live in absentia,
Home-grown dementia,
A home grown right
Between your stoppered ears,
Sand filling your mouth and nose.
Little pockets of bliss;
A determined abyss:
Life has always looked better
In the director’s cut.
You can grow deaf to the world
Live in absentia,
Home-grown dementia,
A home grown right
Between your stoppered ears,
Sand filling your mouth and nose.
Little pockets of bliss;
A determined abyss:
Life has always looked better
In the director’s cut.
