Morning Pages

Morning Pages are stupid,
Like a prayer to a void that doesn’t hear you.
I can hear critics saying now
“That’s redundant,
Why would she say a void that won’t hear you?
Of course a void doesn’t hear you!”
Well, it’s not redundant if it’s for emphasis.
I want the reader to feel the isolation.
Sometimes you scream into the void
Praying someone might hear something,
But in this instance they never do,
And they never will.

Collaboration Poems

Together

The yellow golden light
Of the fast and steady whistling night,
Cascading sound bytes
Wispy and translucent,
Mirrors of affection, wolves incantations,
Dirty sinners washing bloody hands,
Washed ashore in sunlight’s sinking bands,
A fading friends loss of cohesion
Glimmers in the twilight’s sinking vision.
Autumn whispers cold and strong,
With winter’s cruel fingers come,
To lay in snow body numb,
He longs for rest, weary, cold.
No three day tomb when Monday comes.

 

The Seen

Vicious moonlight of the oppresive overarcher,
Overbearing concrete building dealing with unspoken er,
Err of night’s goddess translucent,
Draped in darkness, empty hierophant,
Pillars of salt, marbled in forgiveness,
Bronze statues long for liveliness,
While the azure fairy lazes awhile,
Ancient kings teeth sharp from file,
Violating the heart’s strings open from wear,
Knight’s chest Chretien, young maiden heart open from tear.

On the Road to Austin Pt 1

“They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”

There’s a sudden strange magic that happens when one is enveloped in living, and technology is suddenly an empty threat at the end of a corridor. Living on my way to Austin and back was that miracle, and this blog was forgotten in the grandeur of what life could be, the unimaginably expansive hope. I felt the touch of others so fully alive that their very breath upon my set me to breathing, their very closeness brought me to the orgasmic future without the head stocks of time. For a moment in time, I was real.

It began with a petty road trip wrought with the nerves of one who just wanted to be alive again, and one who was haunted by what lay in wait at the end of the days. Two set off in the lust of a God-given bond that surpassed the gloom of how much weight rested upon them. Reminiscing times before their own lives, with Marilyn Monroe on their eyes and Thelma and Louise on their hearts, the fights were bearable because the road was unfolding and would become so much more.

It took two days to get to Austin. A stop in Dallas on the way provided solace for the one who had been there before, but continued the high-wrought nerves in its lack of kindness to their bagged eyes. Loping to the car one last time, the two made it-I in a half dream state. The entry itself was naught but another city like so many, but what would reveal so much more was the life inside. 

Appearing before me was a vision of two I had only seen in the dreams given to me by the constant bombardment in other worlds. They were like pixies, living the fullness of life, caught in the illustrious being of the now. Even their names departed from a world I had never known. Juliet and Bjorn showed us into a house that Monroe must have lived in, if not Hepburn herself. 

We spent days within those walls, languid in the moments of being alive in a dream. Breathing the solid air scented with God’s presence mixed with all the dreams that one could have, like living and God could coexist without crushing each other out of existence. In those moments, we were alive, but I was not yet breathing, just gasping for air out of the life support of friends I held dear. 

Dreams and Desires

I almost hit my first deer tonight.
He was right there in front of my headlights, 
And for a second I thought he was a person.
There were so many thoughts running through my head for that split second.

“I’m going to hit him!
I should stop…
I’ll never get around him,
JUST GET OVER!”

Thank God.

And then the strangest thing happened,
In the open window of terror
Through which panic usually comes
Came a strange invincibility,

This wasn’t the kind of invincibility
That teenagers possess that tells them 
“Nothing can kill us” and
“You only live once.”

Instead this was a special kind of invincibility
That reminded me that I came from someone else.
That He gives me my being, 
And is keeping me in being for some reason.

I have nothing to fear if this is the case
Of course, He could end my life at any day,
But if He didn’t today, maybe He won’t tomorrow,
And maybe I shouldn’t spend all my time worrying

Maybe He’ll protect me
And I’ll go do great things,
And maybe He gave me my dreams,
And He’ll fulfill my desires.Image

Holding Out on the Truth

How do I feel like somehow I still haven’t told the truth?
Like there’s one living being inside of me that isn’t quite out?
Like he’s gnawing, or maybe just sleeping, but definitely inside,
Waiting for me to let him out.

What would happen if I were to let him out?
Would he like a caged animal crawl into each one of you,
Tear you apart like a savage wild beast’s uncontrollable rage
The kind that comes from being backed into a corner

They talk about how an artist may feel like they are fighting for their life
And I do every day, it’s been a losing battle from the start
But I wake up and fight it every day. I don’t know how.
The worst is when all I can do is be awake.

Or maybe the worst is the hope, because somehow light is scary,
More terrifying than any words that ever crossed man’s lips,
This radiant tower that says “Maybe you can come alive.”
And the corpse trembles to ask “can i wake up?”

You say no, just to tell it to shut up, why? It hurts so much.
Because you know how much pain the corpse will live
If it ever once comes out again, and worse, you know despair,
The consuming fire that will destroy you innermost light if you breathe.

Outside of the Box

Does it ever occur to you,
That you are such a strange made thing?
A being conscious of being whom
He is, and what, where and when.

Then, the creature spoke to other
Asking for a peace of community,
Piercing earths lonesome presence
With a ray of what, and wherefore.

Yet some continuous life sits,
In the held in existing it,
That lives the day and goes on,
No matter the other worlds flaws.

The Meeting of Chaos and Dusk

Close your eyes
Poetry is meant to be read
In the silence of your heart.

I met her
In the tangle of cyberspace,
To see what she was saying.

Then again,
I met her in confused wandering,
Calling out her own hard fall.

So she said,
And it was true, in such a way,
But others coiled into scorn.

Best intent.
My mind reasoned sure and so taut,
While a deeper spirit hushed.

Like a sea
She tangled within the chest
That beat denial upon my breast.

Perhaps, then,
Mind and heart met. To come to terms,
Mayhap shes good and bad, too.

Looking up,
The spell broke fierce and cold without,
The sky flamed out, chest was tight.

Apocalypse,
She gasped in fear, but breathed a sigh,
When sky ships flamed forth in gold.

It was love,
That painted the sky in wisped fire,
Love to surpass all humans mire.

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