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Excellent God

The Beginning of You and Me
When was the Earth formed.
Do you know a time or place?
Do you know for sure or
Do you merely speculate?
The begining of God is not there.
But you and I need not care.
Just call him ephemeral, eternal
and Excellent.
Amen.

Blackened

Soul stitching, Where does the needle go? Heart mending, Where does the solder flow? Piece by piece, The picture is complete, Line by line, The book is written. Step by step, A mile is complete, Brush strokes and smudges, The painting is done. Nature has a voice, Nature speaks, There’s a clarion call, We’re too troubled to hear. There’s a message, Dawn harbingers it, There’s a cry, Twilight amplifies it. An ailing mother, Abandoned by her children, Frail and listless, Her hope is wearing thin. Let’s arise from our ashes, Strengthen our tired wings, Save her sinking ship, We’re onboard

Poet, A tormented Soul

World-weary, war-torn, weather-beaten
A poet is but a beleaguered soul,
A hopeless wanderer, a rootless wayfarer
Misunderstood often
Misinterpreted, ridiculed
Scorned by his lady luck
Spurned by his muse,
Wizard of imagination
reigning over a fantasy land,
He’s of a ragged spirit
striving to shape an ideal world,
A Spartan without a spear
A warrior without a weapon
Yet equipped to inflict a fatal wound,
Never home when opportunity comes aknocking,
No stranger to passion
yet true love eludes him—
Perennially lovelorn
Forever forlorn!

What formerly got celebrated as adventitious age of exploration...

1492 unleashed, jump/
kick started, and downloaded
a bittorrent götterdämmerung
spelling genocide of indigenous peoples
occupying Turtle Island,
now surviving tribes
just a shell of their former grandeur.

At present Columbus day
linkedin with high dudgeon
courtesy scattered remnants
of once proud nations
occupying contiguous United States
plus calling Alaska and Hawaii
their happy hunting grounds,
enshrine actual or mythologized
spectacular pièce de résistance
instances when counting coup.

I recollect needing to know

A Plea For Awesome Phrase (Imagist/Free Verse/Ekphrasis)

On a shattered pebble beach my soul,
becomes this dervish dancing to the tune,
of inchoate monsoon grass beats that’s dimly frowned on,
but words like the moss tide sea sweep in currents,
I gaze with indigo ocean eyesight at sheer rock faces,
where faculties plead for awesome phrases,
from eternal  page beyond deep well sand dune,
verses primed and pumped by ebbing sotto voce streams,
gust smitten lighthouse solitary pulsing wink always welcome,
grammar whose genesis scorned geo form cliche,
I scribble quatrains in a quandary that ooze magma inkling,

Ghazal Poems

Ghazal Poems About: - Originally an Arabic verse form dealing with loss and romantic love, medieval Persian poets embraced the ghazal, eventually making it their own. Consisting of syntactically and grammatically complete couplets, the form also has an intricate rhyme scheme. The ghazal is a form of amatory poem or ode, originating in Arabic poetry. A ghazal may be understood as a poetic expression of both the pain of loss or separation and the beauty of love in spite of that pain.

The Endless Table

I prayed earnestly for our first responders, to break bread with them, both the living and the fallen. It wasn't a dream that sunny afternoon. What I experienced was so very real. A honey-hued light radiated from Him, the glorious Messiah. He was at the head of an endless table. His nail scarred hands opened in welcome. One moment, I was walking my dog, then a light enveloped me. I wasn't frightened, yet so in awe. So many of His angels attended to Him, their sparkling silver wings glimmered in the sunlight. The linen was so bright white, but no match for His orbs of compassion.

Keith

Kinder folk may smile at him,
passing on some forest track
or when he makes rare visits to the town,
receiving in return a nod, but rarely words.
Others merely point and laugh
or spray graffiti on his shack.
He does not care: it is no more
than sheltered space to sleep.
His home is all around him,
under the enfolding arms
of his true friends, the trees.
He knows their ways, their changes,
lives with them the times
of dying and rebirth.

It is his business to ensure
their immortality – and his.
Town dwellers have no clue

Bad Luck & Lucky

1. Bad Luck You must come before 9 p.m. (miracles can be quirky) to the high way drug store where pristine pharmacists feed scripts into forked tongues of computers. Neat rows of sterile packs and crutches wait attentively. Herbal medicines, vitamins pose with gleaming lotions. One squat wobbly table marked “Last Chance” offers up my cure. I must salvage a phenomenon now.
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