Leaves and crickets

I recognize that ivy!

No, ivy all looks the same. 

The foliage in my eyes has come and gone

And come again. 
Living in a swaying plain of monolithic grass

Of monsters huge enough to kill with a single crack

My smile brightly blunders through the aging sky above

And of all the stars within my soul, I can find no one to love. 

Blood horizons

Unwilling knife-holder,

Reluctant betrayer

Folder of small paper hearts. 
Wearer of trinkets which in actuality

Are shattered disasters of lovers-to-be. 
My eyes have set on the dawn of new days

I’ve let happen what I did not want

My heart has snickered in countless new ways

now pain streaks across your horizons. 

The Lady Who Would Be

I saw a figure walking toward me 
Wreathed in colorful perfume
Her eyes were lit with shifting flame
That cured my illest, darkest gloom. 

I perceived a future passed
Which featured me most prominent;
My worth was not a shifting dance
And I freely sang Your song again. 

The woman wreathed in scents was I,
As should be in another time. 
Lit instead from deep within,
Her flames not earthly but Divine. 

She laughed as freely as I sigh,
And firelight flickered from her eyes.
From deep within I felt a cry;
Longing for the me which died. 

So came I to a place of smoke;
Unearthly, holy-fire-caused;
And took a knee to search about,
For someone who would hear my cause. 

To my side there came a presence
Overwhelming, warm as love itself
I wept for perfection which instead
Of condemnation longed to help. 

So returned I to a future renewed
The true path was re-affirmed
I sought out He who breathes the stars
Who heals with Fire our earthly burns. 

By grace I became the lady in color
Whose confidence did abound;
Wreathed in the love of my beautiful savior,
My drifting soul had been found. 

Reckless endangerment of language 

I am disgusted with my word-mongering

Flippant and useless forging, like the waste of good iron

I clasp my cup of cluttered words

And spill them carelessly, without design. 
Sometimes the feelings build inside

And they frighten me with the strength of their tides

So I gather my weapons of syllables, sounds

And I cast the emotions


The Eye of the Poem

So many words to capture this feeling;

This dark slumbering now brightened 

So many thoughts that spiral around

A cyclone of rushing, which inside is silent. 
Breathe in clarity for the first time in decades

Enjoy the oxygen’s dizzying rush

Leave behind bitterness, anger, frustration

Welcome home your recovering Trust.