the sparrow and the fishes

There was celebration, in usually quiet congregation

hand-clapping thundered, and rose to rafters.

Bits and chips of leaded paint fell,

like confetti, or moments of immense sincerity,

and Walmart said Amen!

The God of Lesser Corporations,

HIS children reborn, artificial bodies filled-

Transfiguration, spirit to cash-mere flesh,

with life and blood more real than menstruation.

In gloried Halls like Valhalla

rituals profound as Jehovah's, witness to

an awakening, the freedom to be

life and breath entities, by a Godly Court

a decree of  life from ink and paper.

The Spirit of God

moved upon the face of  articles of incorporation

let there be life...

and Walmart said Amen!

Wither the woman, vessel of saints and saviours

your choice to live in an era of manly–men.

Virtue can corrupt the Judges, when measured

by faith in penises. Cast wide the net

and capture every offending fish

for they have thoughts of freedom

choice a voice which interferes
 with the dearer freedom,

the favorite of the law, and only God saw

the sparrows and the fishes

 For the sparrow wanteth not and

 like the fish, thrive in floods of love,

thrash and run in tides of caring,

gathering scraps and pieces of life
 into loving existence.

They boldly hold... 

“there shall be no more waterless sky nor airless water”!

The manly-men scoff, for in sound petition
hallelujahs rise among them, called for Profits

They bare knives and forks for feast and care not
for drought or things beneath the waters.

They know, choice is on the wing of the sparrow

and in the wish of the multiplied fish,

and Walmart said Amen!

_______________________________________

The U.S Supreme Court has ruled (Burwell vs. Hobby Lobby) that for-profit corporations can have religious beliefs; and  which beliefs can excuse them from obeying the laws that apply to them.  While the ruling purports to limit itself to reproductive rights, it does not. This ruling has changed the law into a place where wealth and privilege now have powers to dictate a selective assortment of behaviour controls and morals. In effect it extends and ratifies private efforts to control American citizens.

morning whisper

Five AM cruising empty streets

a neon sign says gas is $3.09

frost begins to clear windows

as last night’s snow lifts from the hood

like a rising voice of wind.

Speed increases although one does not feel

motion-up so much as slowing down

for the color red overhead,

and possibility of 18-wheelers’

cranky starts and uncontrollable stops.

In the quiet of mind

that rises above the hum and drum,

there is a thought- held like sugar

under my tongue- of one

whose sweetness I consider

a delicacy of my time

I think of a gift ...a greatness

amidst this momentary pause called life,

and it is the smile that ends on lips

of whispers which began in my heart.

Bankrupt

Risen from sewers
in legions - the corrupt
misled fair minds of A CITY,
now to be claimed by those
who only see the vulture's chance

bankrupt


Gritty City with a tilted halo
your spirit has a gangsta' lean.
Tied by hip to the reckless gas machines, you fueled
much growth; now the world chokes
on the four-wheeled felony: poisoning the air we breathe.

City of such loyal oaths, home and place,
those before came to find, peace and fortune
have blessed us. Kept smiles for so many little-ages.
NOW bankrupt and they sell the precious art.
BANKRUPT in chambers of justice poised
to aid the most unjust taking- democracy

The flower of many ages of sacrifice,
young men went only to return old and war-weary.
They fought and some died there, and there, and there...
died so young-- for Democracy.
Dead for the City they shared with their impatient dreams.
Taken away by whom? Who would dare?
Despoil blood gifts of so many heroes-- so many wonders?

It is a callous time, a time of little men
ruled by petty and corrupt, morally-bankrupt;
men possessed of no ideas
except to please their petty masters.
They are not of Democracy, they have raped it,
violated it with low-hearts of foul little men.

THE CITY where dreams come to be born and reborn
A PLACE tied by spirit to a people who wish
to Love a City

The City transforms, it always has-- it was
a place on the water once, now the water
is remembered on sunny days.
It was a place of sudden freedom for
the shameful days of small callous men
and chains.

We know a City, a place
never short of spirit and hope.
Sadly, never lacking small, indifferent men
who take the bounty others have made
and feed it to a base need for greed.

Yet THE CITY endures, finds sunshine
in the dark clouds, a plume of light to
lift us until dawn; a  candle to keep
a beacon for the Love of those
wh gave us this time and place

A CITY that will once again
prove greater than the puny evil
of small and ruthless men; for
in the City, in a Democracy,
there is a way to remove ...trash.

whisper...

It is when I am sure
you have heard
that I am content
to whisper

When you are as close as breath
involved  in every rustle
of sheets and toes that
I reach beneath silence-
speak to you
as one naked heart- in wonder

Of this tragic state
these separate lives...entwined
for the mercy of love and sunlight.
We find sparks, sudden arcs
to dispel an unwanted darkness
light the warm glow of night

It is when I know
you understand the wishes
that precede and follow-
my caravan of love
across the desert between us-
then I can whisper
and know ... that you know.

23rd Love poem

In a time of Moon and Jupiter
is  cold that holds so many warm thoughts.
There an ancient waltz of distant orbs
plays close to mind and eye; a certain
delight in winter skies, soon gone.

Spring will ring in the hearts of many
in this time of Moon and distant throngs of Moons
let my thoughts find a close orbit
in your eyes as they take in more of this world
its pains and the lights- yes, even within them.

As of  near and distant Moons, bright comet swoons
we create mystery to explain the known.
You are faraway yet frequently near
when I think of dear words, and moonlit epithets.

muse

You inspire

with slow movement of lips
a butterfly flight I see in your eyes;
in the way you look at me

to see far more than I imagine...Inspire
with fires in your urgent whispers
with loving that thrills my skin

Yes, You in ways

I can sometimes only feel in a place within
inspire...like the fold of Heavens in a setting sun
or the roll of stars to the glow of the Moon
Feel You, 

flowing into my thoughts...like breathing

a brittle tyrant

a heart, such a tender part of life
to have such power- a brittle tyrant
and when heart is an instrument of love
life's most precious metaphor

it fills songs and empty spaces
makes us weak and strong, bends
us til we feel we will break, and then
salves the wounds of its arrows

it can live in fruition, thrive in denial...
a heart holds passions, an
insignificant force in all but the heart
where it is tide and sea, moon and host
judge and prison, Eden and exile

It is in deep eyes that flow from one to one
a river of deepest life...it is you;
it is me and the space we tolerate
between a touch we desire and a glow
that burns in nights that cover dreams

a singular spark that lights a lasting flame
boundless and breakable, resilient and deep--
this heart--left me long ago
to find a truth of will, and I am like
the night sky- filled by fates and illusions;

beauty as if diamonds of
compressed  tears and laughter,
and  a singular purpose,  to embrace... your fires

man's own magic.

I confess to a sin of dreams
where freedom finds its will
like winds that fill sails
and take us where we'd might never be.

A sin of wishes, a luxury of imaginings
but a place where we weave
a tapestry of tomorrows
by strength of will, force majeure 
of the spirit; we rely upon nothing more
than breath and time, yet create
what has not been...a moment
in which to dwell, a spell
man's own magic.

Confess to a sin of excess
for I am blessed with you.

stranger's smile

when memories
stay and crowd the present
mingle like strangers on a train
a journey to a destination
crosses time like clack-ety tracks
to make rhythms of  rolling thoughts
new ways to see old things, discovery
jostles like strangers twice seen,
riding old rails to the first smile…

slivers...

hold to night, by slivers of time

watch moon grow
from red to gold, in your beauty;

unfolds like a night flower

I wish for petals to touch me

 your eyes to dance over me

lightness of fingertips on my face

trace smiles raised on my lips

when at once I reach for you

capture body in embrace

as thoughts race like hot blood

holding you, feeling

breath of passion, near

the heart I'd given away so long ago

then know the circle come closed

such an imperfect man…in a perfect love,
a love that does not ask a thing

Amanat

when air holds dear treasure

smoke climbs into ancient's heavens

where today we see
much deeper into miracles of existence,
we of our small round world

When air is the last place we see

precious life, in residues of hopes,

in dreams of luxuries, in unspent love;

through heavy hearts and watered eyes

lifted to memory, and rich skies, so poor

are we, to stand and see – a brutal  taking of beauty.

Amanat they now say, only a few days

from a time when the treasure smiled

felt the touch of heavy air, busy air

street airs, breath of those come near with love

breath of those come near…without welcome

When love was easy and violence crept

while a nation so oddly slept, mindless

accepting; the unlucky caste(--) now

revealed in the way we see a worthless thing(--)

a treasure- Amanat of clouds, Amanat

of grieving, Amanat of the hopeful

and fear has a brief holiday, a harder day
soon to come, in last blessing from…Amanat



Amanat  an Urdu word meaning treasure.  The name given to a young woman
whose brutal rape and murder had caused a world wide  focus  on the condition of
women in India, the lack of safety and due process of law.

a possibility of Grace

maybe the world did end
one in which guns make Angels.
Perhaps the huge asteroid no one saw
smacked into this remarkable blue gem
and set it to boil and burn

did these alternative realities occur-
within each moment is every possibility,
a dimension like chance, and we
have perished, or live in last agonies
fed to rodents and roaches; or
feeding upon each other
the animal self emerged from
civility, naked turtles

or perhaps a prayer found
the possibility of Grace
and the asteroid floated by
the agonies mere dread
and the children who became Angels
saw us change, from refugees of fear
into creatures of love...for even
such a great sea of change-- begins with a single drop;
a tear fallen into emptiness

fragments of summer in Africa

 [ of Love]

some words come sparingly
like Grace, a word like forgiveness;
some words fall like rain
rise into rivulets, pour to flood-
a word like Love- but when
a single droplet touches a dry seed
to green and reach for light, then
it is above the flood, it is Grace

[of poetry]

for there is something I wish to say
words to greet the Sun, forgive
a too-brief cool of night; bless
the unspent coin of this day
yet it will not emerge, choked on spring dust
asleep in winters' doldrums, pregnant
like the womb of a lesser Earth
joy mixed in fear--milk or tears --even
nascence has a price unpaid

[of night]

then quiet seeps within
where breath and heartbeat
grow to roar and drum
and thoughts that speak
without invitation, make
a stage of night,  where no one can say
hush

a more tender Moon

she was a flower

neath a too distant sun

as if she were born to a warmer place

pale petals adored the slanted sky

made dreams in the still of night

and dreams made motile roots

folded space in upon time

the vast round world shrunk into

a whirl in winds of change

and the fullness of day

soaked into skin, salt air

aromas that were once so far away

lifted her senses to their heights

she was once- and again- a flower

neath a too distant sun, but now

had felt the side once imagined

echoes of seas and busy seasons

fill the spaces she has made

in loving heart- contained

in wishes planted like seeds

in whispers to a more tender Moon, in

passion flares, rendered tenderly

in butterfly flights of her eyes

first rebellion

You bring me back to the root of things

(--)no, I did not ask for forgiveness(--)

back to the base of the mountain

before it rises, before it builds
through the deep blue water to the sun.

You bring me back

to the first rebellion

when the Earth refused to keep its heat

and Her land refused to stand aside

Twas thereafter volcanoes of time and spirit

became impatient eruptive forces.

I needed rock to stay beneath my feet

entreated air to remain in my next breath

sought refuge in bulging clouds,

as if I were a bird, a ship of the sea-above- the- seas

(--)no, I did not ask for forgiveness(--)

I trusted… as if you were rock, air,

the winds on which I'd soar.

You bring me back

where things are born and rise to the sky.

Volta

an emptiness, sands of  waterless seas

flat pan of ground lipped , beyond

whence I cannot see, beyond its edge

(--)as if the edge of this little world(--)

and lifeless too, defiant of search, reason ,

even madness of a season adrift in thought

as a dance of sun and shadow

incites an urge to spoken words- they too

drift beyond me unheard-

an essence of man and meaning

gone adrift into thinness- a sense of

missing air…

I watch the woman who fills my breath

slowly turn, she walks away…

then grit and pebbles take places of flowers

shadows as gold on the skin of the sea

sands weathered by eons of near stillness

roll like tides to shore,  sensed aromas of brine

sweetness of night blossoms

and memories of this soundless place

witness to silent thunders of missiled meteors

become the music of  lush green valleys

gurgled, cascaded, wind rushed and bird sung…

...she walks away...

night births a flower, petals strewn at my feet
Oh moon, an austere presence  redeemed

into paradise

a circle in wait

A star is born; a star dies.

Bathed in throes of birth and death

a cold heaven neither shivers nor shakes,

but simply gleams bursts of life.

Whether first or last,

into a circle in wait-

bounds yet to be reached.

Beginning to end, fire and flame

frightful waves of power

and all that can be exists within such moments(--)

powers of creation(--) wherein will is an absent vapor,

love without the pale;

yet when such a creature-a  love burdened life- beholds

then the cycle winds itself  anew.

For it is then that love infects the stream

and a dream begins to live.

edge of a flower

She has wandered far from faith

far from a  day when her world

folded within  a sweet Holy song;

followed  heels of an old priest

the old church, the whole family

layered like the ages of Earth

far from belief

where now we seem to be fools in folly

when death takes love and

time leaves us empty.

Time is a perfecting tide

come to erase random prints on shore

a choice remains -within us,

in the strength given our arms-

do we rise…or drown

She has wandered far from me

and I grieve, as in those takings,  

a wall like finality, separations

that bar another word, another

kiss; and recall when she sang

that little song of great faith for me.

Sweetness of a child in the apse,

an inheritance of hope…

wandered far….Now I must

have faith for two, reflect hopes of many. The love

that comes after tears, after the leavings, after

echoes of  door close

 She has wandered far,

while I hold a faith in happiness-

like the edge of a flower - and wait.

a greater light

Love

left its shadow

upon the Moon

its darkness consumed

a part of her, edges

of lips trembled in winds and cloudy sky

(I think it rained above dry ground).

A shade and a piece of her

are gone, an unfinished night

makes a new memory(--)

when the shadow was a dance,

a smile, warmest embrace(--)

as if life itself, held her.

Only Love can bend  a flower from the Sun

turn our faces to a greater light

for this shadow has an inner glow

a lasting warmth,

the embered coal of a most familiar soul.

Love left its shadow

in the heart of the Moon…forever.

Blue Moon in August

She was like the Moon,
 a rare distant beauty,
a magic - never far from my thoughts

and when she remains
an adoration of night lingers thru the day
in a lighter shade she does not pale

so many threads of my life
gather in this scene, when silent beams
connect the seams that wrapped me whole

a woman who touched me
in  an indelible way--and I stay
in a moment -not just to keep a dream-
but to breathe-in the rarest air -- of love