I bend my knee
Praise God! How many rules you make in God’s name
God’s virtue everlasting
By your rules.
God speaks to you and we obey
I too am a supplicant
Am I not worthy of your voice in my ears?
Aligning the world to your ways
There are no interlopers
You see, you don’t exist.
How silly people are
They find existence overwhelming without a guiding hand
The effort to be without you
I am, therefore I exist
I don’t—need you
You are a contrary to my existence.
Glory be to God!
Glory be to Man!
Glory be to blood spilled in the name!
The name is one!
The name is all!
I am—who am I.
Not so if there is no God
But there are so many
And that, dear friend, is the problem.
In this time of blood and warmth
(Meant I good tidings and cheer, how blood poured forth, cannot be told)
So I repeat (repent?)
In this time, good tidings to you,
When love abounds (why not year round?)
I wish that all were gathered near
In joy and much convivial cheer
This time bodes well (though ill can seem)
For jackets downed (the geese do scream)
Fat woolen socks warm our feet (the sheep, now sheered, are prime meat)
This said, we gather round the fire
(the trees cry out as they expire)
Ah, what a sorry state it is
When joy is but one half
the other undermining
So is the way we have conspired
To hide the misery created
Behind belief that God inspired
Our indignation of people fated to expire.
So be it.
A Christmas tale is in the making
The deer, so charming to our eyes
Starves, as winter’s cold sets in and snow abounds
Too deep to forage in the land.
Death overtakes us all.
New York fills me with a haze
of smoke and soot
abides not well
New York borders on the hell
of crass indifference
and yet to tell
it often proves a boon
a source of pride as all collide
and come together, side by side
I’m sure you must know
I’m never this late
I’m usually asleep–
I live in the woods
With nary a peep
From fish or from fowl
Though they usually don’t howl
Like the coyotes do
Or the resident screech owls
That lurk very near
Yet rarely appear.
So I’ll turn off the lights
And tumble to bed
I’ll say my good nights
And sleep pretty tight
Till the mice start to party
At 4 in the dark
And I pull up the covers
And wait for daylight!
It’s very strange
That once or twice
I come upon a thing that’s right
For most of it is very wrong
And takes you on a path that’s long
And far away from everything.
It brings you grief and nasty things.
But when you find a thing that’s right
It makes you sleep quite well at night.
I sleep and sleep and sleep at night
And wake when it is very bright
Perhaps at 10, 11, or noon
Even 1 is none too soon.
I need my beauty rest, of course
There’s nothing worse than having lost
That beauteous glowing, silky skin
That ageless patina that’s akin
To Venus of De Milo fame
Or David, Michelangelo’s creation.
So let me rest till I decide
To rise and take myself outside!
To say “miss” is to imply there once was, but I assure you there was not.
Growing up in a morass of mediocrity, accomplishments were relegated to others, and ours was a life marked by others’ needs, a turning of the lamp before dawn, a turning off at night. What happened between was of no consequence.
Nor did it provide satisfaction or mere contentment.
It was but a passing of time till sleep. Sleep, less and less each day, and time grows burdensome.
Fragments of contentment appear and disappear, so subtle that their remembrance lasts not long, insufficient to be recorded.
Which yesterday revealed a moment with the possibility of renewal, satisfaction, meaning, continuity? If there was, it is lost, intangible.
Here I lay thinking
And you say I should
But not by you
It’s myself out of touch.
Behind pillar and post the nightmares collect
Dream on you say
But soon I regret
The stomping, the yelling
The howls in the night
If I don’t wake up soon
I’ll have such a fright.
Well, life is just that
To hell and then back
Yet the sun also rises in spite of this fact.
Each time he writes your name
His heart beats out a flame!
A fire in his loin
A flutter that doth spawn
A rare a beauteous morn
Awakening of dawn
A veritable display
Of nature’s way to say
The day draws quick
The spirits unrestrained
Return to rue the day
That turns itself to night,
And man’s abode abides
With heartfelt feelings more.
This day we have adored!
Howling winds. Ghosts of the night, chariots of the dead. That crushing force against your chest. You can’t get up. Dream of cars crashing into you, again and again. Wake before it’s reality. Take hold of the vision and destroy it before it you. Raise the dead but only in dreams. You walk amidst fear when awake; in sleep it is shuttered. Take me, take me, take me to nothingness, for nothingness is universal.
I find an eyelash on my cheek. One less part of me to worry about.