Long Until Poems
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My writing gets wavy and I bet it would annoy some perfectionists out there.
I’m annoying but I don’t care right now.
They hate me, so I write about that too.
The tree outside is weird and funny and bouncy.
So I scribble a tree and the tree has a face.
So I look outside again, and the tree is talking to me.
I’m alone and talking to this tree.
I’m in my room and I sleep here sometimes.
But tonight, sleep seems silly and far away.
Stretching out my words.
Ohhh,
Or awww!
Or owww!
Howling in my room.
Until my mom hears my song and opens my door.
She’s angry.
I turn the light low but never off.
And write about that too!
From the first encounter until now, clearly seen by anyone daring to engage
There spiritual eyes, was the presence of of a garment not made with human hands. The garment he wore was not an attire that one could remove from one's body at will. This garment appears to be a permanent fixture permeating his entire being. I tell you, there was also the detection of a halo of honor and respect as he called me 'Sir'.
A recent dialogue with Zenny also convinced me that he has a depth of
Character so rare in his generation and this present culture. When we
Gather as the body of Christ, we owe to ourselves and to each other to
Really 'See' each other. In many respects, it's like panning for gold or
Seeking to discover that pearl of great price made in the image of God.
Or dare I say, if we are not mindful, we may well behold the Face of God.
091819cjPoSoup
Take a slow tick of time
to shut-down the brain.
Rebooting also works,
the writing on the mind wall
will probably continue,
but don't get back on the thought train,
The much annotated, over-cluttered script
will fade away
when your eyes begin to look through it.
We are all born with a soft spot
atop our heads, that aperture is still there,
it opens when you unplug
from all your self-talk.
The starry universe can now pour in,
or just a scent of an unworldly flower
that swoons your sense.
Keep brainless, sit apart from its
scrolling word-monitor,
sit, lay or stand one breath away
from its constant chatter,
watch from a distance
watch the one who watches
do not editorialize
just observe.
That metaphysical hole
in your emptying head
will let your Higher Self inward
and it will fill you with wonder
until you know there is no 'you'
at least until once more
you turn back on
your beeping and buzzing brain
to find some news of yourself.
Part One: What I Love
After seven decades I am satisfied
with the me I see, the inner self is beautified,
wounds of youth have healed well
and every scar to no longer dwell,
they were absorbed by tears I cried~
I write the words by which I tell
stories rich and maybe plied,
but absolutely bona fide!
Part Two: What I Regret
I admit I used to runaround,
party and carouse until I ran aground
against days-long blackouts
and poor decision fade-outs,
knowing my next stop was a grave mound~
Momma said the only way out
was for me to turnaround,
and become a sober devout.
Part Three: What I Hope
I have no grandiose plans for the future
because the future is unsure,
the present becomes my habitat
and I have no desire for idle chit chat,
time grows short, there is no cure
to stop death’s scat* whereat~
I will sing the words allure,
and dance upon the welcome mat.
* scat: singing jazz; the singer substitutes nonsense syllables for the words of the song and tries to sound like a musical instrument
My life was full of doom and gloom
until Gods' presence came and filled my room
His Unfailing Love touched my heart
His spirit touched my soul
a person who was once broken
was now complete and was once again made whole
His Love is higher than any mountain
His devotion is deeper than any sea
His love is the most precious thing that was ever given to me
A Love so sincere so loyal and so true
Dear Lord there is no greater Love than the Love that comes from you.
there is no greater love than the Love of God,
his Son has Risen and we all forgiven,
by his Grace we will one day see his face. Amen
The jaws sing
As the drip, drip, drip,
Of the petroleum chorus
Dances across
The inverted aluminum
And the hissing starts
And the hissing stays
Its smell a warning
A final omen
Like the last rose
Of summer
Or the fragrance she wore
For that final goodbye
The teeth tear inward
Like the regret for today
And the regret for yesterday
And the lament for tomorrow
Its promise broken
And your khakis red
And baptized
A stigmata
To self-infliction
As the music plays constant
And the rushing you feel
An emptying of sorrow
Onto the crushed ceiling
Of a dream in reverse
Of all life in reverse
Until two arms grab you
And you fall from the sky
And you fall from the sky
Waiting
For the ground
To coronate the outcome
And for one more answer
To a ‘why’ unquestioned
And to love you one more time
But the lights are now dim
And the voices muffled
As an organ can be heard
And storebought flowers smelled
And an old woman cries …
As a young woman cries …
And a stranger pronounces
What you feared the most
They didn’t know you
And couldn’t know you
The exit sign flashing
But there is no door
“There is no door”
—and then the music stops
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
I am climbing the ladder of life, one step at a time
Sometimes, so slow I come to a halt
Rocks from all directions hurl me to the asphalt
It seems like with each step up I go two steps down
If there was an ocean below me, I’d surely drown
I’ve climbed this ladder many times before
At the top is an array of open doors of temptations to explore
One true door I must choose
I don’t want to lose
How many times must I attempt this climb?
My ladder is growing unsteady and weak
My legs are weary, and my tears begin to streak
I want to give up badly, but I must maintain
Thoughts of failure and defeat invade my brain
However, I will continue to climb, there is no doubt
Until I give in or my heart gives out
But until the moment that God calls me home
Still, I climb and climb, one rung at a time
They say every problem
has an answer somewhere,
a road through the darkness,
a breath in the despair.
They say every mountain
has a path to the plain,
every wound has its healing,
every sorrow its rain.
But life is a riddle
that mocks what we know;
some questions have answers
that time will not show.
Some battles are fought
with courage and pain,
yet morning refuses
to follow the rain.
We search for a doorway,
we pray for a key,
we wrestle with shadows
we desperately flee.
We bargain with sorrow,
we reason with fate,
we plead with tomorrow,
we challenge the wait.
Yet sometimes the answer
is not what we seek;
it hides in the silence
of the strong and the weak.
For the river finds rest
when it reaches the sea;
the leaf finds its freedom
when it falls from the tree.
The candle finds purpose
while giving its light,
then solves its own burning
by surrendering night.
And death—yes, death—
that we fear and deny,
sometimes closes the question
that life couldn't untie.
But do not mistake me:
death is no friend.
It takes without warning,
and refuses to mend.
It leaves empty chairs,
it leaves tears in the rain,
it leaves those who loved us
to wrestle with pain.
So while there is breath,
let us struggle and strive;
let us fight for tomorrow,
let us choose to survive.
For death may be waiting
at the end of the road,
but life is the journey,
the burden, the load.
Every problem may carry
a solution unseen;
every night has a morning,
however dark it has been.
Sometimes the answer
is courage to stay.
Sometimes it is leaving
and choosing a new way.
Sometimes it is patience,
sometimes letting go;
sometimes we find wisdom
in what we don't know.
And when life's final curtain
descends without sound,
perhaps death is the answer
where no answer was found.
But until that last moment,
until breath has an end,
let life be the question
we refuse to suspend.
For death ends the journey,
but life is the art—
the place where we struggle,
the place where we start.
So if every problem
must somehow be solved,
remember: the answer
may not be what we thought.
For some storms teach sailing,
some wounds teach the soul—
and sometimes death closes
what life could not control.
I’ve known those who say they’ll be there,
until it matters when they just don’t care,
And you realise they use you
Like you for what you do
Under the illusion
they do the same too
They let you down
aren’t around
when It’s your celebration
But when it’s their day
they have expectation
You give time and attention
help them regain direction
But when you’re in need
they find a deflection
They feed ego, they lie and let down
they are weak and feeble they are a clown
They’ll make you bad
so they can look good
They’re quick to get mad
Gloat as Robin Hood
They are inflicting
Then play the victim
They do little for others
But are always owed favours
They tell you a fact
They were your savour
But they give no time
Just them on their mind
There is a coldness inside
When you look in their eyes
Tell blatant excuses
Use you for your uses
I’ve known many people
That are called losers
I love you for being true: feel the touch of these hands
steadily touching and caressing your irresistible skin;
do sensual kisses confuse passion with momentary needs?
When the flow of my blood rises, another desire will begin!
I love you for being true,
for hiding the tears you shed,
for smiling when my distant hand was cold;
I love you and still regret all I couldn't undo!
Our mellow whispers are sweet notes of lovely music
played by a violin, being so close makes us too frantic;
everything is ours, nothing can escape from our tight hands:
I love you with all the strength and the devotion I possess!
I love you for being true,
for hiding the tears you shed;
I love you for smiling my distant hand was cold,
I love you and still regret what I couldn' t undo!
Stars and sky can fall and bring darkness, wind can hiss;
we won't ever be afraid, we shun all doubtful notions:
others only believe in romantic and magical moments,
they're after pleasure and reject the love that God blesses!
I love you until I lose this breath and this heartbeat;
I love you until my lips are faithful and won't cheat!
10/23/2021