A Little Broken...

Once again in an embrace of tender thoughts,
you are there in an air of need, when the body
bends past its bounds, and the brave sounds
of denial, are but flimsy reeds whipped
in a powerful stream.

The eyes that care, and clearly see
the bare wounds and  raw feelings
and once again, you are stronger than you can be
you  do not allow pain that breaks the will,
and will alone connects the jagged seams...
 a little broken

Still you are  the moon in a dream of night
and the beauty that dwells in a dear heart
that holds you always,  in a boundless wish

a thing not done

 

I choose to be near you
And to feel the warmth of loving
Even when you call upon a distant wind
And see across the bend of the world
I choose
I decide to reach for you
Across wrinkled bed covers
And to hold a treasured memory
It is the best use of closed eyes and moonlight
To choose your shadow, and be near you

There are no guarantees in life
No certainty of a thing not done;
when I choose to spend the next breath
in a whisper just for you
I choose, a simple wish…to be near you

Someday not soon enough...

there will be an awakening,

a recovery of sudden awareness
as if rescued from a deep drugged trance

We will be revulsed at the sight

of that we have done
at the poured blood of innocent life

Wet upon our hands

It will come like a wish,

and a nightmare will face us
awakened to what we have allowed,

the senseless slaughter of so many to enrich and amuse so few...

guns and violence

Someday not soon enough, to keep more innocents
alive and in the world

to bathe in the miracles of abundant life
a sad glad day will be, someday…

 not soon enough

wet...

Happiness is the wind

That lifts the wings of the heart

To soar above the world we see

Into a realm of boundless truth;

That within each recognition lays

the possibility of an entire lifetime.

The past is no more clear than tomorrow

It is born still wet, and never dry

Until the end of change when we become

Fixed in a forgotten frame. It is wet

until memory loses touch with its maker,

All pages wither, and its bindings fail.

Even then, might breath disturb the dust…

Or laughter

a comedy of creation

We take this Sun for granted
our familiar nearby star, the furnace
for the eternal winter in which we spin
endlessly- and along the swath it makes

We take this journey, as if not moving,
we travel farther and faster than
anything man has created, barely imagined
in our comedy of creation, where
deep space is the greatest stage
for petty, earth-ish adventures

No, we take this wonder for naught
it would be better if we ought send smoke
blessings and song in offerings
to a god of sun, goddess of moon
acknowledge the debt we owe
to the alternative of lightless cold

where we would simply be
unmade things, like every bit of latent energy
a mere potentiality waiting,
waiting, and waiting for a spark
that lights a star.

Upon the Chess Board

Kings fall and the games end

for one in defeat and one in glory.

It is a story told again and again;

joy in the taking, sadness in the rest.

The board holds a test of skill and will

to avoid the end until we can somehow begin—

overcome, rise against time and troubles...

It is so much like the way life can seem;

Balanced within the chess board is a game

bound tight with rules, each move a vivid possibility

but always given to full expression

is the freedom to fly or fail.

The Martian water

In an age committed

To petty conquest, so we

Who dream among stars are captive

Bound by the gravity of greed.

But knowledge grows

The need to be what we might

And the sight of the Red Planet so near

In bright summer night, we feel we might

Reach out and touch it

In time, we discover that in the great out-there

are the things that create life; this red dust world

has a history rife with mystery. Signs of watery worlds
once, and what used to be

Still might, be hidden beneath eons and red dust.

Ohh, the ache in the soul, the explorer’s breath

Rises from within, the need to be there

It rises without fault, and conscience suffers too

An unquenchable urge to touch…

The Martian water.