While I Was Sleeping

While I was sleeping
some children went unfed,
and bankers kept on reaping
their useless, leavened bread.

Poets were keeping
their records of the dead.
Autumn was sweeping
spent leaves of gold and red.

And dreams were steeping
like tea leaves in my head
while I was sleeping,
and resting on my bed.

I was not weeping
nor filled with cares or dread
of darkness creeping
or evil rumors spread.

While I was sleeping
sweet slumber wove a thread
of visions leaping –
as joy and peace were wed.

Ghost Riders

scribere ad nauseum necessa est

Two poet ghosts cling to these hallowed walls,
from Oedipus and Chiron by & by.
Some ghosts prefer to haunt old shopping malls.
But these ones, no! They light here on the fly
making themselves at home like gypsy thieves
disguised with party favors and spider webs
and pumpkins garlanded with autumn leaves,
their silent presence is hidden as music ebbs
its magic through the guests this Halloween,
slow-dancing in our dim-lit sitting room.
These ghosts stand watch and hear us in between
the laughter gliding on a witch’s broom.

The moral of this story is like a spell:
a secret riddle – so sorry, I cannot tell!


~._.~._.~scribbled here on 10.17.08~._.~._.~

The Green Vampire

- for my Aussie friend Paul -

Among stalactites, deep in molten caves,
La femme Batilda hangs out as she waits
for green hors d'oeuvres Some patrons barely leave
a trace of hemoglobin on their plates.
The only blood Batilda will consume
is chlorophyll, slow-cooked in leafy veins.
She craves the heads and necks of raw legumes
and fan-shaped radish tops on rose red flames,
(ummmm.... spicy balls of fire topped with sage).

Her taste for tofu waxes – then it wanes –
she’d much prefer to dine on cabbage rows.
‘To-die-for’: pumpkin seeds at Halloween,
ambrosia of bean-sprouts and plump mushrooms.
Make love! Make love, not war beneath the moon!
Batilda hopes the whole world soon turns green.

Clockwork

It's said that love is stronger than the grave;
but if not, may we drink eternal sleep.
Oblivion might be the thing to save
us from a world too terrible and steep.

But if not, may we find that death can keep
the evil from our eyes – far from our sight;
a respite from the tears we’ve had to weep.
Let nothingness become a wingless flight.

Unending sleep may cauterize the fright
that haunts us as the years unwind and blend
themselves in search of joy and love and light
as we await the stillness of the wind.

Oblivion might just as thoroughly save
should death outweigh love’s power in the grave.

Sunshine and Shadow

Sometimes it seems that God just wants to play
a game of hide-and-seek with all his sons
and daughters. Darkness keeps his face at bay --
the goodness of his glory. We're the ones
who form his shadow. Perhaps he dims the light
so not to slay too soon with zephyrous sun.

How bright the Day when God must break the night!
In love he knew we'd need a place to run -
a rock to hide in - lest we be exposed
before the whole world. The naked have no clay!
All hearts shall faint when all has been revealed
and we shall fall as dead. Yet we'll be healed
as sin and death and hell must flee away
and every tear is evermore transposed.

Mood Swing

Temporarily Removed pending publication (Sorry!)

One Begotten

Once I saw nesting
like fine woven glass
low on a pine bough
in a cradle of green

a tiny perfection,
unique as each man,
a crystalline symmetry
formed by the hand

of a masterful artist
whose invisible brush
had seemingly swept
with a mystical gust

and a magical breath
clear across the blue lake
whose mellifluous heart
formed each lonesome snowflake.

A Measure

The pine wood boards were washed in egg-shell white.
Soon they would rise to brighten bedroom walls
of lavender. Green ferns would nestle tight
in faded terra-cottas bought in malls
from Barcelona's RAMBLA. Old World clay
we bought ten years before melds with our home,
small tokens fashioned for these shelves. "The way
that life should be", I say. A taste of Rome

or wisps of Spain now spread themselves around
our place in Florida. They comfort me
with memories I would never wish to trade
or chase away. That is the way I've found
to measure a thing's value worthily,
and know to keep or toss back in the sea.

first published in the Chimaera - Summer '08

Mood Rings

I'm tethered in the moment to a mood,
its shadow cast beyond penumbral light,
a bract of purple-green on blackish blue.
Some guy made rings that measured things with hues
around the time that Armstrong swept the moon
collecting rocks into his gunnysack.

With outstretched hands he gazed toward the earth
now tiny as a marble in its form,
its night lights splaying psychedelic blooms
reminiscent of the time when Hendrix played
his strange guitar strings. Flower-children swayed
and turned in round-a-bouts of scattered gloom.

It's all about escape, each trip we make;
a search for love in war’s long interlude.

Sympathy for God

Imagine that He is
but has no father or mother,
no one to whom He must answer,
yet no one to whom He may inquire.

Imagine that He is spirit
with power to create bodies,
both terrestrial and celestial,
yet cannot be reduced to a body
because He gives life to every body.

Imagine that He is Agape-Love
bound by the essence of ultimate purity,
yet He is opposed
by all sentient beings
who cannot comprehend Him
or understand His true intentions,
nor can His creatures help their lack of understanding
without His help, His love, His grace,
His granting of wisdom
to those who seek wisdom.

Imagine being God
and desiring fellowship with sentient beings
made in His likeness.

We were taught that God needs nothing and no one,
but perhaps He needed us
in order that His joy be made full.

God WAS, and IS
yet did not and does not want to BE alone!

Imagine creating such beings
without creating robots
who can only comprehend their own god-like-ness
by being made subject to sorrow and death.

Imagine that those He subjected to death,
(in order that He could convey the glory of life and righteousness and goodness),
were mostly confused by His dilemma,
or unresponsive, uninterested, unappreciative of the glory of His being
or even worse - thought him cruel or non-existent.

Imagine God wanting to be loved and understood
to the same degree that you and I want
to be loved and understood.

Imagine.