Storms Change

Once upon a time the sun was setting in the east
The purple rays unfold like the violent breaths of the deceased.
In a torrent words release and they vanish like the beast
Until I wandered off again, to escape the point of peace.
At a razors edge, Occam , simple as a simple mind
Intrinsic positivity, the sun is shining, shine in kind.
Each day my recompense, to be completed in the morn
But this evening let me mourn the storm that is finally being born

Name him Hugo, Name her Wendy,
Name him William, Lee or Bailey.
In the alley, black Mercedes,
Alexis, Porschia and Stacy.
Praying during birth so I named my daughter Mary
Intercede and save the summer from Sam, Suzie and Haley.
Let the names vanish into the Autumn fog.
Cant change your life by the hair of a drunken dog.
Tighten up the meter then
Feel the winter creeping in
Feel it tiptoe over the breaths of sleeping men.

So it woke me up,
Cold breaths shorten up strides
Make a run for a change and take growth as a bride.
Thereby ascend on a ladder to defend the point to sacrifice
In the sacrifice of preceding greater men.
Lowly, but not Kafka-esque and besides
Not lowly, like the gaze of servants eyes,
I mean lowly, like the word humble but disguised
Like holy men, walking through the street unsurmised.
Until ever breath, every step every beat decides
That this Earth turns with a purpose greater than our lives,
That each fight turns with a purpose greater than its spite,
That each candle burns with a purpose greater than its light.

Until my world stops.
In an instant I can see
The words said were just as much for you as they for me
And the clarity of a transcendental moment
Can make the sun rise in the west
And I can own it.

Throwing Stones

My gaze skims across the surface of the trestled waves like a stone skipping across placid waters. Each bounce neglecting the existence of the water below. My sight propelled by the kingdom below and the white backdrop above. In the crisp Fall air I think, between the interruption of raindrops: there is beauty in things made to be beautiful; there is also beauty in things made to serve.

As I rise to make my reality one with my vision, I search for a stone among the brown pine needs and shifting shore waters. I wonder, which beauty I am.

I wander through the fog and rain of the sound and happen by shattered weathered glass. No longer jagged and clear, it is smooth and opaque. The glass no longer shimmers as it is struck by raindrops. As i pick up a piece and deftly toss it lightly from palm to palm I gaze at the waves. The glass lacks the weight to carry far into the waters of the sound. I toss the glass straight into the air, turn around, and walk past.

The shoreline extends eternally ahead of me; the rain grows more intense. I walk inland to the shelter of the pine forest. The musk of wet pine needles muddles the fresh salt air. I meander through the maze of tree trunks and happen upon a clearing. The remnants of a brick fireplace are all that remain of this old cabin staring through the treeline and out onto the shallow waves. The bricks splinter and turn to dust when I try to move them. They have been here too long. They crumble under their own weight.

I venture back to the shore and back into the rain. The shore of the sound opens into a rivulet. From the sea clouds come and to the sea they return. I follow the rivulet and kneel at a small eddie to take a drink. As i cup my hand and bring it to my face I see what looks like a perfect river stone. The clear cold water chills my hand as I reach into the eddie to retrieve my prize. I run my hand over its surface: flat and smooth, sleek and weathered. This stone can make it to the other side of the sound. I take the stone and walk to the shore. I stand, breathing deeply and admiring the mix of rain, ocean and my fogged breaths. I ready my throwing stance and cock my arm back and... I know better. I turn around and place the stone on an upended log. The stone sits, staring across the rain and fog and waves. It sits confused and relieved. Someone will make a beautiful throw from that stone.

On the other side of the rivulet sits a large grass clearing and a concrete foundation. Rusted steel rebar extends from the foundation like hands longing for their better half. The rust has stained the concrete to a dead blood red. An old truck sits intently as if admiring the quietly lapping waves. The rain tings off of the old truck as each headlight looks across the foundation and out onto the sound. The tires are flat. The trucks load: a slate roof never to be. Inside the truck sits an old razor and an old pipe. The drivers seat is stained dark brown and red. I keep my gaze down and want to leave this place. Glistening in the grass i see an ovular outline. A shattered slate tile sits black as a cold forest night. I reach down to dislodge it from the grass and weeds. This is sharp and ragged. This has the weight needed to push through the waves. This is strong.

As I walk back to the sound and stare at the fog I wonder how far it is to the other side. Perhaps I could swim? A silly thought. I ready my stance. I smile. "That which I was, to that I return," I whisper without knowing. I twist my hips, cock my shoulders sideways and breath as I hold my body in tension. Release. I stand and stare as the stone skips again and again until it fades into the white fog between the shores of the sound.

A beautiful throw.

Raindrops falling, but the pitter patter of my bloodied hand still resonates as it falls to the pine needs and soil below. The slate will smooth, and perhaps someday return. My hand will heal and go on searching for jagged stones. Someday I will callus. Someday, the fall rains won't taste me.

Untraining

I saw the moon
And I howled like I want to do
Many times before.
Let me race after many hearts
Under the shade of Acacia tree
In the mind of my savannah.

I'm still digging for water
In the dried up spring.
Searching for a soul
Down in the dust of the old ravine.
Sweat, sunburn my skin brown;
Please call me resplendent.

Dream Rebirth

WORDS WERE MEANT FOR MEANING.
RHYMES ARE EMPTY WITHOUT THEM.
FIENDING FOR EMOTION
OUR HANDS REACHED OUT TO BIND THEM.
MINDFUL OF HER COUNTERPART
HER HEART HELD LOVE OPEN.
MAN UNJUST CAN ONLY JEST;
HIS HEART COULD NOT BE SPOKEN.
LONELY NIGHTS AND TENEMENT BLOCKS,
DIME BAGS BY THE MOONLIGHT.
"KISS ME BY THE MILKY WAY
AND CHASE AWAY THE FIREFLIES."
SEARCHING FOR A PURPOSE
HIS MIND FELL ON ADONIS.
FEARFUL OF HIS TRUE SELF,
HE LEFT HIS MIND IN NIRVANA.
BLINDED BY HER BEAUTY,
HER MIND SHOWN LIKE SOLARIS.
SHAKING LIKE WITHDRAWAL
TILL HER HANDS GROPED THROUGH DARKNESS.
SHE TORE THE BLINDERS FROM HIS EYES
EXPOSED HIM TO PERCEPTION.
SOLAR SCREAMS AND TORRID TEARS
CELESTIAL TORNADOS.
VEILS AND BONES ARE TORN ASUNDER,
LIKE MORPHEUS AND PHANTASOS.
CLASH OF MEANINGS IN THE MIND HAD
LEFT HIS BODY LIFELESS.
SOULS ASCEND ON LADDERS LAID BY LOVERS CHANCE ENCOUNTER.
SACRIFICIAL LIFE AND DEATH ARE ANYTHING BUT HOPELESS.
SEEDS ARE BORN FROM FOREST FIRES,
YES WE ARE ALL REDWOODS.
ETERNITY BEHOLDEN BY THE GROVE OF MIGHTY TITANS.
CHARRED REMAINS AND BURIAL MOUNDS,
SACRED BLOOD AFFLUENT.
WOMAN OF MY DREAMS YOU KILLED ME
AND CLARIFIED MY VISION.
WAKE ME WITH YOUR GENTLE RAYS
AND SEND ME THROUGH THIS LANDSCAPE
PLACE ME ON THE SHORES OF SLUMBER
AND LET IN THE TRUE LIFE
STANDING TALL BEFORE THE SEA
IMMERSE ME IN INFINITE.
SET SAIL BLOWN BY MY OWN VOLITION
WITH FUTURE’S NAME ON MY BREATH.

Anger Understanding and Sacrifice

Hopes and dreams are meant to last through many
Winters enraptured by black clouds and thunder-
Desert of emotions, everyday life, equipped with real vultures, cultural striptease of hope and empathy.
These games are not the same twice,
I cannot reascend the ladder and pretend to be surprised.
I will not sit back, pack the tray table, Aesop can take slow labels and shove em with Vonnegut's cats cradle.

Every breath is like a quickened step I
Hurry so hard it seems I tend to miss a couple of them-
Am I strong enough to edify this commonplace and human vision
My motivation given - the perfect love of the Master grinning.
I mold inequity to motivation,
Knowledge can illuminate ignorance of every type and variation.
I'm so sick of talk and consolation,
Get off my ass and add some cash and equity to this conversation.

Now this sacrifice is just a tiny
Bit of my soul I broke off and planted in a memory -
If that seed can only grow to beautiful monumental comedy that never alters
See my heart is planted here with a gaze that never falters.
I got a melody of life I follow,
The beat is syncopated - belated - insatiable, but never hollow.
Some acts in life we should never follow,
And others grow like evergreen forests and snow white swallows.

Potential Energy

I am a ten ton hammer poised to fall.
Force equals mass times acceleration due to gravity.
So, I am a ten ton force existing on the brink.
Potential energy existing within my spring like limbs,
My limber limbs lack luster, but are not lackluster.
My strength of body exists simply as an example for strength of mind.
A blueprint for the future set upon the foundation of the heretofore.
It’s pen inked with the solace of my spirit.
That tenuous force that guides the wayward
And brings remedy to the stricken and downtrodden.

So I am a ten ton force.
And I am driving piles into the swamp of self.
Pumping out water to make space for the edification
Of this human race.
It all starts within myself.
So I take this hammer and raise it up to the heavans.
With one switch of the mind,
I bring it crashing down—
Forcing order on entropy.
Divinity and the other half,
And building calluses from my bloodied hands.
Can’t nobody tell me what a dollars worth,
I know the exact amount of blood and sweat
It takes to dig a ditch with a pickaxe.
And though I know the flow of blood slows,
Coagulates and grows into scabs that show
The world for what it truly is,
I have no fear that fear can disappear,
And love can clear the clouds of confusion.
Replacing them with that clear vision—
I am a ten ton force
And can’t no man keep me down,
But the one standing before you.

Whats worst?
To be held down,
Or to have never tried to rise?
To have stared at the dirt ones whole life?
Or to have gazed at the skies?
I am not even a broken winged bird,
I am a groveling dung beetle,
Making my life on the refuse and waste of others,
On the land that no other wanted.
I welcome constraints and limitations,
Confusions and upheaval.
Give me pain and frustrations,
Anger and tears.
Lord knows if I didn’t have them,
I’d have made them on my own.
Give me the higher path,
Or give me a mountain and a walking stick.
Show me the highest mountain peak,
And it will be my next step.

These lines are not enough
To sacrifice for love.
This language is not enough
To sacrifice for love.
There is not enough breath in my lungs,
Nor Blood in my veins,
To sacrifice for my love.
And if I sundered every part of my body,
Atom by atom.
Molecule by molecule.
That pain would not be enough of a sacrifice for my love.
Since my death cannot be a sacrifice to thee,
I offer thee my life, my dance, my laughter, my hope and my joy
As a sacrifice to thee my love.
That I may drive piles into this last,
Until all that exists,
Is this ten ton hammer,
And these two callused hands,
Service in sacrifice,
A potentiality of love.
And nothing more.

I am a ten ton hammer,
But it takes a ten ton soul
To set me free.

You are what you think

Your worths existent
But your ignorance is insistent
Why cant you see the golden man?
That mirror, did you miss it?

In the land of the thoughtless
Your mind shows true
Your words a lighthouse
With an oil slick type view.

A diamond in the rough
It cuts rough apart.
Bring light to the world
With a brilliant heart.