Following a Path of Poetry

RAIN

(to the memory of Bill Manchester)

Sh-h-h-h!

Tune in to the din.

There is no shadow

In the dim of the rush

In the hush,

Of the rain.

This

Is the gloom of sin

In a cowl of cloud.

We wallow in the splash,

In the lash

Of the rain.

Drips of spirit had gurgled down some drain,

Or slid in slow droplets from the window

Of my eyes to puddle upon my hands,

Writhing together in an empty pain

Like the weeping limbs of some willow

Who in summer-flooded fields sways, but stands.

Within this twilight in the middle day

Of later life, I hear the patter and ping,

The roar and crash and splatter. I listen

To the rain in its musings and its fury,

To its whisper, its shout and each tingling

Change of mood, when I catch the puddles glisten

Sh-h-h-h!

There is no thrashing.

Only bright silence

And the breaking quiet scream

Of the beam

Of the sun.

Thus

Comes the refreshing

Salvation of soul

That says today I don’t die.

In the sky

Shines the Son.

WIND

(a double acrostic)

Silence filled both hill and hollow

Perpetual emptiness enticed I

Icy winter seemed a yearlong season

Repeating dully throughout all my mind

It was the slate colored cloud that was I

Then through this valley blew a reason

It was a mystery stirring my spirit

Not just the breeze that chilled me through

This was deeper, something seeped inside me

Held my heart tight within its angel fists

Eased the flame I stoked under the deep

Wicked furies against past hurts that I

Imagined caused my agony and fear

Now forgiving all who punished me, I

Danced away under God on lighter feet.

FOG

A stroll after the rain of a humid day,

On this path I toddled since naissance.

I knew it well.

It curved and twisted throughout my mind.

And in the heat a mist began to dance.

It had a smell

Moist and pungent. Primordial this perfume.

Miasma shallow, pretending romance.

I knew it well.

Just an ambiance of earthly delight,

An enticing wisp come to entrance,

Like Pavlov’s bell.

It would reward my imagination

If I traveled after its promised chance.

I knew it well.

But a vapor is never grasped and held.

Now a murkiness started its advance,

It began to swell.

I know this twisted path so picturesque.

I won’t get lost but for a moment glance.

I know it well.

But my path of good intent is but smog

and this pleasurable road the entrance

Straight down to Hell.

I know this well. 

Cain & Abel & Ishmael & Isaac & Esau & Jacob & Today

Acrid vestige

Smoke cloaked carnage

Hell’s residue remarks the ruins

Eyes blink open to reality

Souls burned, broken, buried, blown to acuity

Ages’ cinders

Never blow clean

Death-soaked soil germinates its filthy seed

Divided from the first jealousy

Until the final trump

Shocked streets in a

Time without pity.

 AMONG THE STONES

Listen to the voices,

So still upon the hill,

Whisper in the grasses

And sigh across the leaves.

Look upon the faces

That form across the clouds

In a moment sudden

When the rain tears and grieves.

Find the past aside you

As you stand among stones

That speak in muted tones.

PROGRESSING TOWARD TRUTH

  

If

One

Looks for

Perfection

It is hid in nature’s number

On the petals of the stalk; distance of eyes to chin

In the spirals of our bodily coding this intelligence of eternity

Is the trinity of the designer and the mind, body and spirit of existence into the continuation of infinity...

WHAT OTHERS WISH

I know what they’d have me write.

No rhyme; no sunshine bright days,

Clothes white upon my lines.

This woman not old, not young

Hasty in her labor, exuberant,

Should be bent and bellicose.

I should find murkiness

In the attic, not an owl,

Stuffed, who never blinked.

My fright should be daily fed

Not by my imagination,

But the reality they’d have me have.

Why must my memories,

As dusty, creaky events now,

Be unmercifully mordant as well?

It wasn’t always gleeful, true,

But why only moments miserable?

Is that the past all poets embrace?

Who are these arbiters of the craft

Insisting on cluttered dim alleyways

Littered with our trashcan lives

Instead of with the beauty of words

And the Grace of God?