I have no beef with your God
(unless it's The Golden Calf)
who they may say
works in mysterious ways
but I take umbrage at those who claim
to speak on his or her behalf
and here's a laugh
'No graven image' was handed down
yet they're here there and everywhere
all over town
A sea of marble markers
In perfect rows and place
Adorn the sprawling green
Above each cherished face.
Beneath the graven tombstones
Are soldiers low and dear.
Void of breath, still, at peace
Full of honor, lost in tears.
No one will forget these lives
Though silent, markers speak.
White monuments still stand
Like glorious mountain peaks.
Trumpets blare their tributes clear
Through heaving, sobbing faces.
Salutes surround the site
Where loved ones kneel in places.
Their dear loss is not in vain
They bore great pain for us.
High is the soldier's worth
Come lift a grateful chorus.
THANKSGIVING
This altar of grace, rough-hewn by gratitude,
Brazen heart to flame in enduring worship,
Fall and yield to Your providences of beatitude,
The Earth and its fullness proclaim Your Lordship.
Purged unto brokenness by blessings of seasons,
Render true blue folded palms of throb and breath,
To say, 'Thank You' through love and for all reasons,
Never to alter the altar, faithful in life and death.
It’s the cry of joy of all alive in blithe rebirth,
Resounding cacophony of praise in vibrant revival,
Prostrate in total surrender to the One of Worth,
Blade, then head, then full grain forever loyal.
Here we are, here I am, all of us, all of me,
In that Eternal graven thanksgiving: "Bow to Thee."
Christian daimyo, Yukinaga Konishi
Born a merchant, became Commander of the Sea
Granted favour by God and man
Defended faith throughout the land
A youth once given his father's name
Twin strokes that promised a life of pain
Graven in paradoxical parts
Warrior with a gentle heart
In a world that met cruelty with acclaim
Defeat in war cost him his head
But faith he held unto his death:
"The things on Earth are all in vain
But when they pass, God shall remain."
Gods of Man
In the days of yore, in distant times
Life was simple
Man was simple-minded
and his gods were simple, as well.
Life began with the light of day
and ended with the fall of night.
The light and the darkness were magical,
mysterious, awe-inspiring, and dreadful.
So, he made the sun his god
and the darkness his devil.
A little wiser, he made the graven images
to bow to, sacrifice and worship.
Then came the sly and savvy one
and he made god an anomaly,
a paradox and an enigma.
He made god like no one
and no one was like him.
He was nowhere and everywhere,
And yet he built magnificent
houses of worship and
installed idols of gods
and turned it into a thriving enterprise.
He spawned dos and don’ts…
And as a deterrent he engineered hell,
As an incentive he promoted heaven.
I did it my way
After I am dead and gone away
Let them say whatever they may,
Night to night and day after day
I have lived my life my own way,
A god of my own I created to pray
and my own devil I made to obey;
I will own all my sins at play
and vow all their wages to pay.
Your first touch awakened in me
A longing, a lotus
A love I once thought dead
You stood there and filled
My entire sky with only that sole
Moonstone look in your eyes
The one that told me I was
No longer alone on this desolate plain
And then something broke free
From the dusty shale and quartz
Shaped like a heart inside of me
As deep as a well
And as dark as the eyes of a barn owl
Unearthed from beneath the wild mustard
On this grave a graven image
Of a love I prayed for in vain
Somewhere buried beneath
The shattered asphalt of indifference
You freed that moth-winged hope
Because you touched me that deeply
Filled me that fully, that completely
How you slivered me like lightning
Resurrected me with a kiss
And then you rained.
Sans mind and body— who am I?
Nothing, nada, no one— I am not I,
Sans brain, I am mere flesh and bones
Sans body, a graven image in stone;
But mind, Ah mind, is of another kind
Perceives the secrets of God of a supreme kind,
There’s no concept of the soul without the mind
The mind coalesces with the soul to find
The sense of self, the concept of eternal mind—
It’s the seat of human consciousness
It’s a sight to see your way in darkness.
Inconceivable, indescribable, transcendental,
The concept of the soul is not merely accidental.
A wind, sharp and cold
Leaves the trees shaven,
Of such colors bold
Yet, in my mind are graven
Come November days
Less sunlight remains,
Where it stayed and plays
Filtering, as it drains
Through amber waves
Leaving my heart warm,
In my memory saves
Before the first snowstorm
Be it white by morning
No more gold and red,
Be it winter's warning
That autumn is almost dead
Come November nights
Stiffened by the chill,
The dappled sunlights
Cling to my soul still.
She leaves footprints –
on the wet concrete of blinded doubts,
For she has carved lives - -
like graven images on the palms of her hands,
There is substance in her eyes,
fire in her soul,
zest in her spirit,
And her passion? –
She is anchor, rudder and dock, sail and compass,
Storms are her vanquished
for she kindles hope to enliven her faith,
Wars and Victories are her poems –
inked with blood, sweat and tears,
For she flames her faith –
with the winged cherubim and seraphim of prayers,
And in her steadfast stride,
barely noticeable are her hurts and pain,
She is wife and mother,
teacher and mentor,
support and pillar,
Give her a reason or none at all,
she is battle, she is warrior,
the Lord her Banner.
This fourth day of the second month –
she still writes her walk and talk,
With testimonies –
of unrelentless dauntlessness and dare,
She is that indomitable woman –
true to her name,
‘Nurturer and protector’ – Isadora
The sun tugs young hours,
Wrings the day. Flowers spring,
Pupils play,
Waitlessness on one youngling.
Longing eyes cashed the calendar,
But father’s clock ticks.
Abysmal seconds cool son’s glare
Oak floor boards catch salty drips.
Minutes and months and now.-
Minutes-
and minutes-
and minutes-
Young blood flow still warm’s sign
Th’at least… young years are yet to give.
Naïve nowadays deprived of
First father’s lessons never lived.
Don’t you see! What is a man?
-Somehow boy did pursue,
Though, t’will never return those lessons,
Thrill’s seeking soul spurs no such blessings;
Mirages o’ dreams: a slew.
Upon composure: supple closure,
Baker’s dozen years gone over.
One son’s frozen dreams adjourned,
By mother’s smother, slack heli-hover,
Manhood grasped, not graven: learned.
One causal cadence continues casting,
Crawling, creeping, conniving, grasping,
Graven, rotten, rude, deprived,
Hatred, boiling, bursting, sly.
This cadence is personified, the cause
Is what leads men to die, the lack (it’s called)
Is like a lie, Augustine wrote while ‘twas
Close. Yet, and by grace yet, a slain Man’s cry
To the Father makes men to fly, the Dove so free
Chose each to be here personified anew.
The wise can read, they sure can count, and well to do,
And yet their days seem long as pouting from a babe.
One to death and one to save.
He (not Him) knows what men do and like to hear and can
Construe. Watch keenly, for his unseemly breeding takes
A chord and deprives it of color, this is his crown, and makes
To the wise the young seem older, and have wit of a frown.
Again, the wise know much if wise they’re true.
Wisdom and knowledge are
Not a synonym to surmise just as eagles to food.
The enemy travels wide and far.
nature’s gallery
rough-hewn graven images ~
sculpted windowpane
Inspired by but not entered in* the Ice, Snow or Frost Haiku Poetry Contest sponsored by Tania Kitchin
*I was just too dang slow in deciding which one to enter! LOL
Grand basilicas
built to papal false idols
of graven image -
to apostate relics from
pagan Rome and Babylon!
the conversations are rolled into the corners
stretching into a fifth dimension
perpendicular to all points
this is where i love you
curled back upon itself
unavailable to the eye
the physicist’s graven image
produced at energy levels
no longer on demand
counterfeited
lying useless on the floor
moments escaping
till you do
back into the visible spectrum
where the colored quarks
come to rest upon
a mask i have come to know
all too well
and given up all hope
of ever removing it
we chat in silence
the quietude in our pervading existence
is what we ultimately share
the empty spaces between galaxies
collisions that are temporarily ignored
a cosmos enveloped in its own existence
a life to be never seen
conjectures upon a table filled with mathematics
and nothing more
the weak force begetting pyrite
once radiant and full of promise
now lies a barren moonscape
awaiting expulsion, embers now ashes
fate in the coming winds
Fergus Falls 2000
Have you ever heard a crow caw in the dead of night
Never the thought crossed my mind until such was my plight
In the bright of the light I saw vast more than one
Nary my delight when their numbers sent me shook to stun
Pondered to run but when said and done everyone knows
That you don’t mess around with a murder of crows.
I thought mayhaps I’ve had my fill of bad omen
But my foes superior cousin flew down more than ten
Yet again I comprehend they represent a prophecy
Not sure what this vocal unkindness has to do with me
Still I see the knowledge be in my mind where it’s graven
There is no safe haven, in a conspiracy of ravens.
Swiftly I flee afore a new plague rains down
The worst was yet to arrive to this cursed, sleepy town
I frown to find myself betwixt these predators absurd
My own personal horror movie version of the birds
Swooping and warbling, they sculp a shadow in the skies
Really just a nuisance… a gulp of magpies. :S
For the Magpies that have invaded my backyard tree....
You've won this time........
July 7, 2022
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