closer to heaven

The mind is a camera

Keeping the obscure; the shaper

Of a world of sight and touch

And time makes treasures.

 A soft set of chords and words

That keep a moment long past

As fresh as the breath we spent

Skin on skin, when lips could not say

What lips would say, and so

We painted and wrote in snail-foot movement

a wet-stained poetry

It was in a time of full moon and Jupiter

You were the altar for  passion prayers;

So many lives ago…when the heat

Of your breath solved cold winter air

And I was near inner peace...and closer to heaven.

Guided…

A rainbow in the clouds,

A fond and nearer imitation

of the distant winter sun

and harsh glares fill the glass

stings the eyes as I pass on a guided journey

In a day when the weight of air

bears down, and laughter floats close,

as if bound to fly a small piece of sky,

and the eyes take in no more than needs see

Signs are everywhere when the weight of care

Sharpens the senses, and the connected air-

from the first breath to now-

come full-flower in the fertile heart.

The touch of unseen hands

Assure, that the path is right,

and the courage of the last step taken

will be found before the next… The road

grows smooth in the hard places;

It rises again, to meet my weary feet

both sides of a journey

I watched the River through your eyes,

Counted clouds in ripples and curls,

And the gentle face of the ageless flow

Gurgles like the voice of a friend.

Like any winter day

the barges move coal, the bridge

touches both sides of a journey, but today

the waters reach out in supple fingers, as if

to calm the restless heart 

that carries longing in each step.

Breath is satisfying and whispers

puff into vapors; they cloud the eyes

for only the moment allowed,

to see a reflection…of love.

simply, more of you

Somewhere there is Christmas

Remembering a birth of hope

And the feelings of a fortunate childhood

revive and kindle as if a fresh breath

has met the rise of a slumbered hearth.

Somewhere there is gentle snow

falling to fill a season’s reasons.

Joy in the soft flutter of white

as unseen winds make evidence.

Falling and rising, a vision of home

and memories of happiness.

Somewhere there are soft eyes

that watch the slow road home;

With hope for change and a wish

For a familiar shadow at the door,

When more means simply, more of you…Somewhere

there is Christmas,

Somewhere there is gentle snow;

Somewhere there are soft eyes...watching,

when more means simply, more of you…somewhere.

the lee of the wind

Silence came between the first words

And the last were whispered, effort

and gauzy-breathed whispers.

Life can be this way, a long pause

between words and labored lasts.

Always within the man is the man himself

Stepping outside a bit to see the lee side of the wind 

 and the spirit wave like banners in the breeze

where the rolling masts invite the tiring gulls

To pause and settle, accept the rolling face of the sea

as a most fitting mirror.

Always without, the sense of self,

the judge’s judge; admitting the bias of pained heart.

The lasting scars are the words and deeds

done to the living now-dead

Where apology falls like the soft night curtain

and the petal’s edge has lost all invitation.

Always the man, in action, thought and word

A great deception upon the world for

Within the man within…is a lonely, lost child;

As soundless tears make lullabies.

a deeper slice of sky

Crowding against the cold
skin gathers itself to contain inner heat.
A prickled outward skin to keep heat within
and the world notices little
of the battle in brittle layers of life.
It is an ordinary winter day, and yet the sun
betrays the golden face of warmth;
aslant and through a deeper slice of sky,
we tremble and yearn for calendars to turn

faster

No matter the width of the world
one only feels the nearest inch, and in an endless bound
of space and time, sitting at sea's edge
it is the ship launched by the winded breath
of the mind's own sky, takes the onward path
to nothing and back, and all along the way,
creation in each inhale, filling forms
of bubbled galaxies in each passed breath

slower

than the pulsing light of life, can it become
a snail foot, when missing the reason
for the next step, when the only fear
is that tomorrow arrives before I can repair
today.

flames

Struck as if from pure air
a fire of the spirit catches and invents itself-
a formless filament nurtured by the essence of grief and loss-
fanned by  powerful winds of change
Breathing as if living for the lost
it rises upon unseen waves,
fills the already full hearts
that wonder after justice

Heaven is a place within the soul
that accepts peace of the righteous
it is to the outward eye
a fury... a burning rage

Yet to those who hunger so deeply
it is the rest of the unending urgency
to bring life from wrongs, to raise an altar
for the sacrifices that have been made.



-----------------------
Thousands of people march and protest the wrongful killings of Black men and boys in America; it is a movement begun from the hearts of those who value life...hdm

orbit slowly

Sometimes surprised at the brilliant full moon
as if I should always know
when she pulls my eyes to sky and dazzles
in a swarm of memories, stirring hopes
as the scars that remind of the fights I made
the flights taken to rise above the tedium of passing night

She honestly replies when asked of the meaning
of every task, that press down like fogs
falling beneath the cloak of darkness
when cloudy vapors rise like ghosts of dreams.

Sometimes surprised by the pristine beams
that fill the evening yet leave it empty still,
and waiting to be filled by apology for the missing
and the vow to be...a presence in the present.

I do know, for I can hear the tinkled glass retort
when beams fall like icy petals, parting the cold.
Near ground where I orbit, slowly; held by the gravity
of tomorrow, and still I am sometimes surprised,
how she...is the moon.

a ruined cocoon

Justice rides a slow, slow train

On a winding track, uphill

Into headwinds, broken rails and promises

They waited in Ferguson

Where heartbreak fell, ripped

Bolt by bolt from the peace of the world

They felt they could do what ever they pleased

And they were right…

Walking the streets like they belong

Is a cause for a strike, blonde-washed brains

See so much more than others, they see

A future of respectability could emerge

Like a butterfly even from a ruined cocoon

And so douse and burn, and entertain

The passion of the flames…walking down the street

Like they belonged

A flash, a mad dash, and head bumps anger

Flash and flash…flash flash flash flash

Fall like the clouds have gone to stone

Fall like fires of heavens into the sea

Fall in the tears of disbelief, and deep is the grief

That follows, can you feel the hot flame and cold

Steel of eyes that find a reason to make this the season

For taking the sun-kissed child…for

Walking down the street, like they belonged.