poetomachia

Tea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe,
designing futures where nothing will occur:
cross the gypsy’s palm and yawning she
will still predict no perils left to conquer.
Jeopardy is jejune now: naïve knight
finds ogres out-of-date and dragons unheard
of, while blasé princesses indict
tilts at terror as downright absurd.

The beast in Jamesian grove will never jump,
compelling hero’s dull career to crisis;
and when insouciant angels play God’s trump,
while bored arena crowds for once look eager,
hoping toward havoc, neither pleas nor prizes
shall coax from doom’s blank door lady or tiger.

consequence perception
foregone remembrance
granted to redress
jargon porcelain

I’ll tell you something.
I’m not one to lie,
but it might leave you feelin’ cold.
I’ve been a sinner
most of my life.
Dear God, have mercy on my soul.

You like the sunshine.
That’s not my way.
I need a hurricane
to wash my sins away.

I like the rain…
I like the rain washing over me.

i want to feel your hope in my hand
to know your healing on my head
hold me now
hold me now
please

and when i’m sprawled out on the floor
there’ll be a knock, love will come open the door
casting neither shame nor hollow compassion
love will hold me in a gaze full of passion

my body will quake, my spine will shudder
wracking tears from my dry eyes, groans are all i can offer
squeezed, i can’t grow to hold the fat mercy
nor the promise of what she says i can and ought to be

am i awake beneath a sliver of moon
having the hope of a dream
pulling thread, new fabric cut,
drawing the seam

And when I found I had cancer I told my family
And I grabbed my daughter by the ears
And I pulled her face in close to mine
And I told her that I wished I would live forever
And that I believed I might
But that I was not sure
But that it mattered a lot that she understand
That to live is good
And to die is inevitable
And that they are to pass on their love and their best wishes
To their own
Who would be everyone who would ever exist after them,
Stars and sand, dollars and cents
And that someday, on a distant planet
A skinny, worthless old man would sit at the end of a row of grapes
Next to the shade of an olive tree
When his heart would not keep up
And time would slow down
And the blue above would become the deep smile of a young woman
And his chest would be thick and heavy with the happiness
That comes from being immersed in a force-field of pure love
And though he would imbibe the shallowest of breaths
He would be utterly refreshed
Transported
In the sunshine

did you hear the lightning?
did you see the thunder?