Prayers of Defiance

Hands clasped together

knees firmly rooted 

eyes closed

each breath measured

in the quiet

alone,

praying

but for what?

Love is the desire

of everything we do

as the world lurches

from one idol to the next

seeking happiness

in the squalor 

of massage parlors

and brothels of shame.

Holding on to faith

in the midst of despair

an act of defiance 

against those seeking

to chain the hearts

of those who love

The Headache of Zeus

I’m looking for that perfect sentence

the one that will open this poem

the perfect metaphor never used

so that you will read my poetry.

I even bought a book or two

to help me on my quest

to find the right combinations

of those words that I seek.

Poetry for Dummies is one

that claims to help demystify poetry

only will it help demystify me.

I dream, dreams of words aligned

all in perfect poetic order

then when I sit to write they are a jumble.

Outside the sun shines bright

and I hear the birds singing

the world is slowly waking up 

as I emerge from the dreams.

Now I sit here writing once again

looking at the blinking cursor

on the blank screen of the iPad

trying to remember what I dreamed

in the midnight hours

because what I saw was that sentence

all pretty and perfect

just waiting to be birthed

a sleeping fetus

enclosed in a darkened womb

of my mind

the headache of Zeus

that refuses to be born.

Anniversary

Okay, Wendell Berry says shun the electrical wire

find a quiet place, a place of solitude and peace

there, in the quiet let the words flow out from you

write them down as you picture the projected scene

capturing the sights, sounds, smells and textures

remembering the feelings that each evoked.

The sweetness of that first tentative, nervous kiss 

the birdsong that emanated from the meadows and fields

as we walked along hand in hand, warm sun shining

remembering how the heart felt when love entered

into the very depths of my soul and made me yours.

Sitting here now in the silence, in solitude, remembering

I write the scenes I see on the screen of my mind

trying to shun the electrical wires and mechanical noises

that drown out the soft sounds that lie deep within the heart

sounds of the Spirit that sighs too deep for words,

the still small voice heard in the deep silence

the mystical root connecting me to you and you to me.

The Harrowing

Oh, to write an ode or poem

to set down in words

the deep love within

showing the scars

on the landscape of the heart

left by travelers along the way.

Oh, to write of my life

in all of its intricacies,

the threads I have weaved

in the grand fabric of my world,

some tattered and worn

others new and complete,

each a different color

each a different texture

the complexities of the human soul,

upon which he bore the wooden beam

whose love carried the weight of grief

high above the city gate,

as the veil is torn

to reveal the grace

of loves true light

upon the darkened landscapes

that dwell in the depths

as he harrows the hardened heart

bringing peace to the wearied 

and life to the dead.

Mining My Poets Heart

Poetry is my escape

into the realms of the mystery

that lies deep within.

Poets open up the landscape

where new vistas are viewed,

horizons filled with light

exposing the truth hidden below.

I write poetry

to peel off the scabs

of a well worn soul.

Exposing the rawness underneath

to the healing light

giving sight to my blindness

and breath to my corpse.

Loves lost and found

memories mined for the treasure

that lies there for the taking

in the words that play across

the dreamscape as I sleep.

The mystical pathways

long lost to human memory,

our connection to that

which lies outside of our realm

found in the poets heart

and in the poets soul